Gon's Harem System
Chapter 167: Day one training

Chapter 167: Day one training

The training yards baked under the noon sun, dust hanging in the air over rows of straw dummies and rune, circles that pulsed faintly in the dirt. Open fields stretched out, dry and flat, the crisp air carrying the faint bite of sweat and steel.

The mages gathered near the center, shifting on their feet, swords and gear in hand.

The training master stood at the front, his scarred face set hard, voice barking out orders like a whip crack. "Day one, physical work! Split into groups, sword drills, stamina runs, dummy practice. Move!".

His good eye swept the crowd, daring anyone to slack.

Gon drifted to a small group near the dummies, five or six mages breaking off with him.

He gripped the sword he’d picked that morning; light, rune-etched, balanced just right, and stepped up to a dummy, sizing it up.

He swung once, a clean slice across the dummy’s chest, straw spilling out in a thin line.

Steady, not deep, just enough.

He’d keep it basic today, controlled cuts, working the rhythm.

Around him, the yards split into motion.

A group jogged off toward the fields, boots pounding, while another clanged swords near the rune-circles, metal ringing sharp.

Gon’s group spread out, each taking a dummy.

A short guy with a broadsword hacked hard, grunting with every swing, too eager.

Gon kept his rhythm slow, another cut, then a third, slicing the dummy’s arm. He swung again, shoulder cut, basic form, no flair.

The master prowled between groups, barking corrections. "Tighter grip, you, stop flailing!" he snapped at a mage nearby, then moved on.

Gon kept swinging, another slash across the chest, wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

The broad-shouldered brawler from breakfast was with the sword group, swinging wide and loud.

Gon’s blade bit the dummy again, a shallow cut, and he stepped back, catching his breath.

The crisp air warmed as the sun climbed, dust sticking to his hands.

He reset his stance, feet planted, and swung once more, chest again, same spot, deepening the cut a little.

The short guy next to him cursed as his blade snagged in the straw, yanking it free with a stumble.

Gon ignored him, focusing on his own rhythm, cut, step, cut.

The sword felt good, light enough to keep moving, and he stayed with it, drilling the motion.

The master’s voice cut through again, calling time on the first round. "Switch or stay, keep moving!".

Some mages shuffled off to the fields, others grabbed new gear.

Gon stayed put, rolling his shoulders, sword still in hand.

The dummy in front of him sagged, straw leaking, but it’d hold for more.

He lined up another swing, simple and sharp, feeling the weight in his grip.

Three days of this, he’d use them to build what he needed.

The dummy area sat quiet under the noon sun, straw figures lined up in uneven rows, some already nicked from earlier swings.

Dust clung to the air, kicked up by boots and blades, the faint clatter of steel echoing from the training yards beyond.

Gon stood by his dummy, sword in hand, working through steady cuts; chest, arm, chest again, his rhythm tight and simple.

The morning drills had his arms warm, sweat beading on his neck, but he kept going, focused on the feel of the blade.

A heavy thud broke his pace, wood splintering, straw flying.

Zara stomped up beside him, axe gripped in both hands, her swing burying the blade deep into a dummy’s side.

The thing cracked, half it’s torso slumping to the ground, and she yanked the axe free with a grunt, grinning wide.

Her leather armor creaked, stretched over her broad frame, and she planted her feet, looking over at Gon like she’d just won something. "Not bad, huh?" she said, wiping her brow. "These things don’t stand a chance."

Gon paused, resting his sword tip on the dirt, and gave her a nod. "Not bad," he said, eyeing the wreckage.

She had grit, raw, loud, the kind that could carry through a long day.

He liked that.

She swung again, another dummy splitting with a sharp snap, and then turned to him, axe propped on her shoulder. "Come on, Gon, light spar, you and me. No magic, just steel. Show me what you’ve got."

He considered it, rolling his wrist to loosen it up. "Alright," he said, lifting his sword. "Let’s see what you can do." They squared off a few steps from the dummies, dust settling around them.

Zara moved first, axe swinging in a wide arc, fast but controlled.

Gon stepped aside, letting her lead the pace, and brought his sword up to block, metal clanged, the jolt running up his arm.

She was strong, no question, but he kept his moves tight, parrying more than striking.

She pressed forward, another swing aimed at his side. "Come on, Hanan, hit me like you mean it!" she said, grinning through the effort.

Gon ducked under it, tapping her axe aside with a quick flick of his blade. "Don’t want you out too early," he replied, voice steady.

"Pace yourself." He lunged then, a short, sharp thrust she blocked with the axe haft, her boots skidding back an inch.

She laughed, loud and rough, and came at him again, overhead this time, forcing him to sidestep.

They traded blows for a minute, steel ringing, dust swirling.

Gon held back, keeping his strikes light, testing her rhythm more than pushing his own.

She swung hard, he deflected tight, until he saw an opening, stepping in with a quick slash that stopped just short of her ribs.

She froze, axe mid-air, then lowered it, breathing hard. "Close one," she said, still grinning.

He nodded, stepping back, sword down. Narrow win, but enough.

The yards kept humming, mages swinging at dummies, shouts carrying over the fields.

Zara clapped his shoulder, solid and friendly. "Not half bad, Hanan," she said, heading back to her axe work.

Gon watched her go, liking her grit.