Chapter 69| Stone Against Fire
The joint training facility WHRIB had arranged for the combined operation’s preparation sat on neutral ground just outside Geneva, a sprawling complex of reinforced arenas and simulation chambers where American and Canadian forces would spend the coming week establishing coordination protocols before final deployment.
The Canadian delegation arrived with considerably more fanfare than Allen expected — a dozen S-rank Hunters moving with the disciplined, confident bearing of a genuinely elite guild, led by a broad-shouldered man whose presence commanded immediate attention the moment he stepped from the transport vehicle.
"Damon Ashgrove," the man introduced himself, extending a hand toward Allen with the easy, assessing confidence of someone accustomed to measuring potential rivals at a glance. "Stoneheart Guild. I’ve heard considerable things about Fallen Crown’s rather dramatic rise."
"Allen Veton," Allen replied, accepting the handshake, immediately noting the sheer, understated strength behind Damon’s grip. "Looking forward to working together."
"Working together," Damon repeated, something sharp and competitive flickering behind his easy smile. "Or perhaps something a little more interesting first, if you’re willing." He gestured toward the nearest training arena. "I make a habit of testing anyone claiming a growth curve as remarkable as yours. Purely professional curiosity, you understand."
Myria’s sharp eyes narrowed with immediate wariness. "This isn’t the time for unnecessary posturing."
"Wouldn’t dream of unnecessary posturing," Damon said easily. "Consider it valuable reconnaissance instead. We’re about to trust our lives to each other’s capabilities in a matter of days. Seems reasonable to actually confirm those capabilities beforehand, rather than simply taking reputation on faith."
Allen considered the proposal carefully, weighing the genuine value of the suggestion against the obvious competitive edge behind Damon’s easy delivery. "Alright," he said finally. "Friendly spar. Nothing more."
Damon’s grin widened, genuine anticipation replacing his earlier assessing calm. "Excellent."
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The arena filled quickly with curious onlookers from both delegations, word spreading fast enough that even Vice Commander Farrow made a brief, quietly observing appearance near the arena’s edge as Allen and Damon took their positions.
"Standard engagement rules," the appointed referee announced. "First to yield, or first strike rendering further combat unsafe, ends the match."
Damon moved first, and Allen understood immediately why the man commanded such fearsome reputation — his enhanced strength bloodline manifested not as flashy, telegraphed strikes like Edward’s had once been, but as devastatingly efficient, economical force, each movement calculated with the precision of someone who’d spent decades refining raw power into genuine, disciplined mastery.
Allen weathered the opening exchange carefully, Guardian’s Instinct tracking Damon’s movements with practiced precision, Ashfall Talons deflecting rather than directly countering the sheer physical force behind each strike. When his own counter finally came, dragonfire-infused and precisely aimed, Damon’s block held with startling, immovable solidity.
"Not bad," Damon said, genuine respect coloring his voice despite the exchange’s brutal intensity. "Most opponents don’t survive an opening exchange with me intact."
"I’ve had good teachers," Allen replied, already shifting tactics, incorporating Ashkar’s Ancestor Blade techniques into his footwork with fluid, practiced precision.
The match continued for several intense minutes, neither combatant gaining decisive advantage, until finally, in a moment of calculated risk, Allen used Shadow Transposition to swap positions with a discarded training weapon near Damon’s flank, catching the larger man off guard with an angle he hadn’t anticipated defending.
Damon’s block came a half-second too late, Allen’s strike landing solidly enough to send him stumbling back, though clearly more surprised than genuinely hurt.
"Yield," Damon said immediately, raising a hand with easy, good-natured acceptance rather than wounded pride. "That’s a trick I genuinely didn’t see coming. Well earned."
The gathered onlookers’ murmured reaction carried clear, mounting respect, and Damon approached with an extended hand, expression carrying none of his earlier competitive edge, replaced instead by something considerably warmer.
"I don’t extend this kind of respect easily," he said, clasping Allen’s offered hand firmly. "But I believe the reputation preceding you was, if anything, understated. I look forward to fighting alongside you, rather than merely testing you."
"Likewise," Allen said, genuine warmth replacing his earlier wariness.
Vice Commander Farrow observed the exchange with quiet, satisfied approval from the arena’s edge, and as the two delegations gradually began mingling with considerably more ease following the spirited match, Allen found himself cautiously optimistic about the operation ahead — not because the danger had lessened in any meaningful way, but because the alliance meant to face it had just proven itself considerably more solid than mere shared assignment alone could have guaranteed.
"Rival, or friend?" Vivian asked quietly, falling into step beside him as the crowd dispersed.
"Maybe both," Allen said, echoing a sentiment he’d once offered his own wives, months and worlds ago. "I’ve found those two things aren’t always mutually exclusive."
Damon fell into step on Allen’s other side a moment later, having shed the last of his earlier competitive posturing entirely. "Your wife makes a fair point," he said, nodding toward Vivian with easy respect. "I don’t extend friendly rivalry to just anyone, Veton. Consider yourself among a rather short list."
"I’ll take that as high praise," Allen said.
"You should," Damon said, grinning. "My guild’s reputation isn’t built on generosity toward outsiders." He glanced toward the assembled Canadian delegation, several of whom had already begun exchanging easy conversation with Fallen Crown’s own wary but increasingly relaxed members. "Though I’ll admit, watching my people warm up to yours this quickly wasn’t exactly what I expected walking in today."
"Shared danger has a way of accelerating trust," Myria observed, joining the conversation with her usual sharp, measured focus. "We’ve learned that lesson rather thoroughly over the past year."
"Then let’s hope that lesson holds," Damon said, his earlier easy humor giving way to something more solemn as the weight of their shared, looming deployment settled back into place. "Jenunl Island isn’t going to care how quickly our two teams learned to trust each other. It’s only going to care whether that trust actually holds up once things go wrong."
The sobering observation settled heavily over the gathered group, and Allen felt the familiar, steady resolve reassert itself despite the daunting scope of what still waited ahead. "Then we make sure it holds," he said simply, and around him, both delegations, gradually finding common ground across nationality and guild affiliation alike, murmured quiet, unified agreement.