Trash Warrior Becomes War God

CHAPTER 5

The academy training grounds blazed under the afternoon sun, heat radiating off the packed earth in shimmering waves. Marco spotted Sofia immediately—she was in the center ring, her sword flashing as she faced off against Father Dominic, sweat soaking through her training clothes.

"Again!" Father Dominic called, parrying her strike. "Your footwork is sloppy! Plant your back foot or you'll be swept!"

Sofia gritted her teeth and lunged. Her blade whistled through the air, but Father Dominic sidestepped effortlessly, tapping her shoulder with the flat of his sword.

"Dead. Third time in a row."

"I'm trying!" Sofia's frustration was evident. "I just—"

"Pathetic."

The voice was cold, cutting through the training ground like a knife. A man in knight's armor approached, his cape bearing the insignia of a captain. His face was weathered, scarred from real combat, and his eyes held zero sympathy.

"Captain Bennett," Father Dominic said carefully. "I was just—"

"Wasting your time, apparently." Captain Bennett stepped into the ring, his gaze raking over Sofia with open disdain. "Girl, you move like you learned swordplay from a book. Which, knowing Kensington's pampered brats, you probably did."

Sofia's face flushed. "I've trained every day for three years—"

"Training against old priests and academy instructors who've never seen real blood?" Bennett's laugh was harsh. "Let me show you the difference between theory and reality."

He drew his sword in one smooth motion. "Come at me. Full power."

"Captain, I don't think—" Father Dominic began.

"Shut up, priest. The girl's got a duel in two days against Vincent. Vincent, who spent five years in the Western Red Mountains fighting actual monsters and actual enemies who wanted him actually dead." Bennett's eyes glittered. "She needs to understand exactly how screwed she is."

Sofia raised her sword, anger overriding caution. She charged.

Bennett didn't move until the last second. Then his blade flickered—once, twice—and Sofia was on her back, gasping for air, her sword spinning away across the dirt.

"I'm an eighth-level knight," Bennett said flatly. "But I just suppressed my power to seventh level. You're what, fifth? And I didn't even break a sweat." He prodded her with his boot. "Vincent is eighth level with battlefield experience. He's going to tear you apart."

"Get off her!" Marco's voice rang across the training ground.

Bennett's head turned slowly. His gaze fixed on Marco, taking in the shabby clothes, the grayish skin tone, the half-orc features. His lip curled.

"And what's this? Sofia's pet mongrel come to defend her?" Bennett stepped over Sofia's prone form. "Let me guess. Another one of Kensington's charity cases. What are you, Level 2? Level 3?"

"Level 1," Marco said evenly.

The training ground erupted in laughter. Students who'd been watching from the sidelines doubled over.

"Level 1!" Bennett's grin was vicious. "Oh, this is perfect! Sofia, you're keeping company with a Level 1 nobody while preparing to fight an eighth-level knight? No wonder you're so delusional!"

"Marco, don't—" Sofia climbed to her feet, her voice pleading.

"A Level 1 what, exactly?" Bennett circled Marco like a predator. "Let me guess. Warrior? Please tell me you're a warrior. That would make this even more pathetic."

"Warrior," Marco confirmed.

Bennett stopped walking. For a moment, he just stared. Then he laughed—deep, cruel laughter that echoed across the grounds.

"A warrior! A Level 1 warrior! Boy, do you have any idea how worthless you are?" He turned to address the crowd. "This half-blood trash chose the one profession more useless than him! It's like watching a cripple try to become a dancer!"

"Captain, that's enough—" Father Dominic tried to intervene.

"Shut your mouth, priest! This mongrel needs to learn his place!" Bennett jabbed a finger at Marco. "Warriors are obsolete garbage. Cannon fodder. Meat shields. The only thing they're good for is dying first so real fighters can do actual work!"

"Interesting theory," Marco said quietly. "Coming from someone who needed Blessing of Light to survive the Red Mountains."

Silence crashed through the training ground.

Bennett's face went purple. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." Marco stepped forward. "Blessing of Light. The knight's emergency shield. You relied on it thirty-seven times during your service, according to your official reports. Without it, you'd have died six times over."

"You little—"

"And that's fine. It's a valid strategy. But it means your vaunted 'battlefield experience' is just you hiding behind divine shields while calling other people weak." Marco's smile was cold. "So yes, Captain. I'm sure an eighth-level knight could beat a seventh-level one. When the eighth-level has better gear, better support, and runs away the moment things get dangerous."

"I'll kill you." Bennett's hand moved to his sword.

"Try it. Suppress your level and fight me fairly. Or are you too scared?"

"Scared? Of a Level 1 warrior?" Bennett's voice rose to a roar. "You're not even worth the effort of—"

He moved faster than Marco expected. One moment Bennett was standing still; the next, his fist crashed into Marco's chest, sending him sprawling backward into the dirt.

"That's your worth, mongrel! Less than a warm-up punch!" Bennett spat. "Warriors are trash! You are trash! And I don't waste time teaching trash how to fight!"

Marco coughed, tasting blood. "Typical. Knight can't win without level advantage."

"You want a fair fight? Fine!" Bennett's power visibly suppressed, dropping from eighth to seventh level. "I'll beat you with one hand, half my strength, and—"

"Captain Bennett."

The voice came from above. Everyone looked up to see an old man in red robes descending from the academy walls, landing with impossible grace in the center of the training ground.

Marco's chest tightened. "Benjamin, what are you—"

"Forgive my intrusion, young master," Benjamin said, his tone formal. "But I cannot stand idle while ignorant fools insult the warrior profession in your presence."

"Young master?" Bennett's confusion turned to anger. "Old man, who the hell are you?"

"Benjamin Carter. Guardian of the Warrior Temple." Benjamin's eyes fixed on Bennett with cold fury. "And I've had enough of your disrespect."

"Disrespect?" Bennett laughed. "What are you going to do about it, grandpa? Bore me to death with stories about warriors' glory days?"

"I'm going to educate you." Benjamin drew a practice sword from his belt. "With Fatal Strike."

Bennett's laughter intensified. "Fatal Strike? That's a myth! No warrior has successfully executed that skill in two hundred years!" He activated his defensive stance, golden light surrounding him. "Earth Shield! Go ahead, old fool. Break yourself against real power!"

Benjamin moved.

He was old—seventy-eight years old—but his body flowed like water. The practice sword became a blur, and Bennett's confident expression transformed into shock as Benjamin's strike came at him from an impossible angle.

"Fatal Strike," Benjamin said calmly, "isn't about power. It's about finding the heart's opening."

The blade struck Earth Shield—and went through it.

The golden barrier shattered like glass. The practice sword's tip stopped an inch from Bennett's chest, but the force of the blow sent him flying backward. He crashed into the training ground wall hard enough to crack the stone, then slid to the ground, gasping.

"Impossible," Bennett wheezed. "That's... that's a Great War Master skill. Minimum Level 65. How did you—"

"Because I had a proper teacher." Benjamin turned to Marco, bowing deeply. "Forgive me, young master. I should have asked permission before intervening."

"Wait." Bennett climbed to his feet, his Earth Shield flickering and dying. "Young master? He's your... but he's Level 1. He's a nobody. He's—"

"The bearer of the War God's complete inheritance," Benjamin said coldly. "The first warrior in nine hundred and seventy-three years to receive divine blessing. The one who will restore our profession to its rightful glory." His eyes blazed. "And you, Captain Bennett, just insulted him in front of the entire academy."

The color drained from Bennett's face.

Sofia stared at Marco, her mouth open. "Derek... you received divine blessing? Real divine blessing?"

"It's... complicated," Marco muttered.

"Complicated?" Benjamin's voice rose. "Boy, you demonstrated skills yesterday that haven't been seen in centuries! You executed Fatal Strike perfectly at Level 1! There's nothing complicated about being chosen by a god!"

"Fatal Strike?" Sofia whispered. "But that's—"

"Impossible for anyone who hasn't received proper training, yes." Benjamin gestured at Bennett, who was still leaning against the wall, clutching his chest. "Your captain here has Earth Shield, one of the knight's strongest defensive skills. It should stop any attack below Level 70. But Fatal Strike bypasses conventional defenses. It strikes the heart's opening—the moment when body and spirit are misaligned. A true warrior's technique."

Bennett's expression cycled through disbelief, anger, and finally, fear. "You broke my Earth Shield. In one hit. That's... no warrior should be able to..."

"No warrior trained in the current broken system," Benjamin corrected. "But young master Marco possesses the real techniques. The complete inheritance. Everything we lost when the temples fell." He turned to the crowd of students, who were dead silent. "Bear witness! The warrior profession is no longer the crippled shadow you've mocked. The War God has returned his blessing, and through young master Marco, we will reclaim our rightful place!"

Marco wanted to disappear into the ground. Every eye in the training ground was on him—some shocked, some skeptical, most just confused.

"This is insane," Bennett said, but his voice lacked conviction. His hand kept moving to his chest where the strike had nearly landed. "Warriors are... they're supposed to be weak. They're supposed to be—"

"Obsolete? Cannon fodder? Meat shields?" Benjamin's smile was sharp. "Keep believing that, Captain. It will make crushing you in a real fight that much more satisfying."

He bowed again to Marco. "Young master, shall we return to the temple? I believe you have more techniques to teach me."

Marco glanced at Sofia, who looked like her entire world had been upended, then at Bennett, who was staring at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"Yeah," Marco said quietly. "Let's go."

As they walked away, Benjamin's voice drifted back across the training ground.

"Oh, and Captain? You might want to visit a healer. Fatal Strike leaves spiritual damage that ordinary healing can't fix. Side effect of striking the heart's opening. Painful, but not permanent." A pause. "Usually."

Bennett slid down the wall, his Earth Shield still flickering uselessly around him.

The strongest defensive skill of the knight profession, broken by a single warrior's strike.