With a firm handshake between Asher and Ironwood, the match was officially on.
"Alright then, no point in stalling. Sable, you're up." Asher turned, calling him forward.
Standing with Indigo, Gray, and the others, Sable stiffened at the sound of his name. Still, he stepped forward without hesitation—he'd already volunteered, and backing out now wasn't an option.
Well... I get paid either way. Win or lose, it's all the same to my bank account. No reason to stress... right?
That thought helped, at least a little.
Asher led him across the room to one of the nearby cylindrical chambers. Unlike the earlier demonstration pod, this one housed a fully armed Insurgent Armor unit, outfitted for actual combat.
"Every chamber has your handprint registered in its authorization database. This one's assigned to you." Asher gestured at the terminal embedded in the side of the structure, stepping back to give Sable space.
"When did he even get our handprints?" Ochre muttered, brows furrowed. He was one of Indigo's crew, an Insurgent. None of them had ever registered anything officially, and growing up in the slums meant anonymity was a survival tool. Fingerprints? Not something they'd ever handed over.
Yet somehow, Asher had them all on file.
No one had an answer for Ochre. That unsettling silence said enough.
Sable stepped forward and placed his palm on the scanner. The moment he did, a clear voice echoed from the chamber's internal system—GAIA's synthetic tone, calm and clinical.
[Print authorized. Please identify yourself.]
"Um... Sable?" He offered uncertainly.
[Voice recognized.]
With a hiss of pressurized air, the chamber began to unlock. The sleek metal door slid open, unfolding smoothly to reveal another Insurgent Armor unit—this one combat-ready. It looked sealed tight, a fortress in humanoid form, sturdy enough to shrug off direct artillery.
"You just have to tell it to open," Asher said, nodding toward the suit.
Sable glanced back, then faced the armor again.
"Open suit."
[Command received. Confirm action?]
"Yes."
The suit responded immediately. A soft series of clicks and the whir of servos filled the air as internal mechanisms activated. Panels along the chest and limbs disengaged, folding outward in precise, calculated movements. Layers of hardened alloy parted to reveal a surprisingly cushioned interior—form-fitting, lined with biometric sensors and responsive tech designed to monitor the user's vitals and adjust accordingly.
It was like a second skin—one built for war.
Once again, Sable hesitated before finally moving toward the suit. He turned to face the others, then stepped into the open leg slots, easing his body into the snug yet surprisingly comfortable frame.
The moment he was in place, a soft beep sounded, followed by a sharp hiss as the suit sealed shut around him. It folded in just as swiftly and seamlessly as it had unfolded, and in an instant, Sable vanished from sight.
For a second, everything was pitch black. Then a soft pulse of light traveled across the internal panels, and the HUD flickered to life as the interface synced.
From the outside, the suit's eyes still appeared blacked out. But inside, Sable could see clearly—crystal-clear, in fact. He could see everything in front of him, like nothing was in the way.
A flurry of notifications began lighting up the augmented reality display.
[Power Core Stabilized. O.M.N.I. Frame Connection Secure.]
[Neuromuscular Link Active. Synchronization at 98.7%.]
[Vitals Steady. Bio-reactive mesh responding optimally.]
[Memory Gel Padding: Calibrated.]
[Shock Absorbers Online. Gravitic compensators holding.]
[Armor Integrity Confirmed. All plates locked.]
[Electromagnetic Shielding Charged. Kinetic dampeners primed.]
[Predator Pistol Secured.]
[Vibro-Knife sheath magnetized. Dust capsule reserves full: 2 per element type.]
[S.G-2 Compartment Sealed.]
[GAIA Visual Interface Active.]
[HUD Elements Projecting. Threat Detection Calibrated.]
[Stealth Functions… Nominal.]
[Combat Mode Loaded. Ready for engagement.]
[Welcome, Operative. You are now combat-capable.]
Okay... this really does feel like the O.M.N.I. Frame.
Sable moved to take a step, and was surprised at how effortless it felt. There was no resistance at all. He hadn't even finished consciously deciding to move before the suit had already acted, mimicking his intended motion perfectly.
But for all the ease and smoothness of movement, the moment his foot hit the floor, it landed with a heavy thud that echoed through the training room. The whole platform vibrated.
Half a ton—that's how much the Insurgent Armor weighed. And that didn't even include the arsenal or the advanced tech packed into it.
"How is it?" Asher asked, watching the armor come to life for the first time.
"It- It feels good, I think?" Sable glanced around, turning his head slightly.
"Honestly, I thought it'd be suffocating, but I've got a full field of view."
"Of course. The Insurgent helmet comes with high-speed micro image sensors that replicate the standard 180-degree field of view humans are used to. You've got full peripheral coverage. The eye slots up front? Those aren't just for show—they're equipped with the suit's highest-resolution optics."
Technically speaking, even if the helmet's so-called "eyes" were destroyed, the user inside would still be able to see just fine thanks to the backup sensor array. The only downside would be a slight drop in image clarity.
"Now then, you two—your stage awaits," Asher announced, glancing at Winter and Sable before motioning toward the cube-shaped training arena.
Unlike its base state, a grided flat field, the current setup still had a more complex environment that the Insurgents had been using for the past two months. Training obstacles such as barriers or cover were still in place, remnants of their more advanced drills.
"Very well," Winter answered without hesitation. She stepped into the area, drawing her sword from her hip in one fluid motion. The blade slid free with a sharp, clean shear of metal.
Sable, however, lingered.
He turned toward Asher and muttered, "I know I agreed to this... but I have no idea how to actually use this armor."
Asher didn't miss a beat.
He gave a calm smile and answered, "The Insurgent Armor's intuitive. You don't need to understand how it works—it's designed to respond to you whether you know what you're doing or not. Just trust it. More importantly, stick to your training."
That was apparently all the advice Sable was going to get. He stood there for a moment, sighed, and finally made his way toward the training zone.
From the sidelines, Indigo, Gray, and the rest of the Insurgents exchanged uneasy glances as he passed. Their expressions varied, but none of them looked particularly confident. Asher, meanwhile, curled a finger at Liv, beckoning her closer.
She stepped in without question and leaned down to hear him.
"What was Sable's average accuracy rating?" Asher asked quietly.
"And his overall ranking?" Liv barely had to think. She'd memorized nearly all of their training metrics.
"He usually landed between sixty-four and sixty-seven percent," she replied.
"Fifth overall among the Insurgents." Out of eight, which put him third from the bottom. Not an encouraging stat, at least from Liv's perspective. She glanced sideways to gauge Asher's reaction—but to her surprise, he didn't look concerned.
If anything, he almost looked... pleased.
"Good," he murmured to himself.
"That means he's fairly average. It'll make a good benchmark to see how effective my training method really was." He didn't elaborate further, eyes already locked onto the arena.
Liv frowned but didn't question it, turning her gaze forward again just as Ironwood stepped up.
"If no one has any complaints," the General said, casting a glance around the room, "I'll signal the start of the match."
He moved to the edge of the arena, lifting one hand as he looked directly at Winter. His expression was sharp, commanding. Winter caught the message instantly. Her eyes met his, and she gave him a subtle nod.
"Begin!" Ironwood yelled as he swiftly lowered his hand, marking the start of the match.
The General must want me to try and end this match as quickly as possible.
Winter could, of course, understand why. These suits Asher had made were high-value prototypes, and Ironwood was interested in what they could do for the Atlas. Damaging one would be a cost without reason. The cleanest outcome would be to immobilize the unit without destroying it.
That shouldn't be too hard. Based on the way it moved earlier, it seemed fairly heavy, and its speed is just average. Even if it is a power suit-
Her thoughts halted.
She hadn't let her guard down. Her stance was proper, shoulders turned, one hand behind her back in a traditional dueling pose. But even so, her eyes flew wide when the hulking figure of the Insurgent Armor was suddenly right in front of her—its massive fist already cocked and crashing down toward her head.
She moved on instinct, less than a second to react. Her body pivoted, feet sliding as she sidestepped, her sword flashing up just in time to meet the strike.
The armored fist smashed against the flat of her blade, the impact flaring into a shower of sparks. She felt the force all the way up her arm.
Immediately, she disengaged, backstepping fast and putting a few meters of distance between them.
Everyone was watching.
Even Ironwood—calm as he usually was—looked visibly stunned. And Asher, who almost never showed emotion during evaluations, had his eyes wide with disbelief.
From their vantage point, the Insurgent Armor—Sable—had gone from standing nearly ten meters away to closing the distance in less than a second. The speed was so extreme, it was almost as if he had vanished and reappeared, moving like a bullet fired from point-blank range.
To the average eye, unenhanced by tech or training, the movement would've been impossible to follow. That's what made it so shocking.
The Insurgent Armors weren't built like agile combat suits. They were half a ton of reinforced plating, high-density material, and internal tech. They looked—and should have been—slow, heavy, and cumbersome.
Nothing that size should've been able to move that fast. It was absurd.
Inside the suit, Sable was just as stunned as the others. He stood motionless, staring down at his hands as if they didn't belong to him.
All I did was start the motion. I was going to rush her and throw a punch—but it happened so fast, I couldn't even see it myself.
He turned slightly, catching Asher's gaze across the room. The boy stood with arms folded, nodding at him slowly.
So that's what he meant when he said 'The armor will work for you'.
Sable grasped it now. What the Insurgent Armor was truly capable of. It didn't take effort to move. The suit responded to intent, not just motion. It read subtle shifts in muscle, posture, and translated that into instant action. It didn't just follow your movements. It anticipated them, at least to a degree.
This armor... It's insane.
As that thought crossed his mind, a sudden alert flashed across the HUD—an incoming strike from behind.
Without thinking, Sable moved. His body responded before his brain fully processed the data, digging into reflexes hardwired by months of training.
One sequence rose to the surface.
It was a self-defense maneuver—not one anyone would use casually. Risky, even in perfect conditions. A technique used to deflect a weapon by striking the flat of the blade with the palm, timed exactly, or it wouldn't work.
But in that instant, it did work. Perfectly.
The moment Winter's sword came in from behind, angled and fast, his armored palm snapped up and caught it. The metal-on-metal clash rang out like a tuning fork, sharp and loud across the training room.
Winter's eyes narrowed. She'd struck with the blunt end of the blade, but it had been a serious hit, one meant to overwhelm through sheer force, and yet he'd stopped it clean.
She didn't back off this time.
Her sword became a blur, streaking silver through the air as she unleashed a barrage. Every strike came in fast—blindingly fast—twisting, angling, cutting through air like a whip.
Sable knew that if it came down to reflexes alone, he wouldn't be able to keep up. Not in while she was moving at class of speed that could be considered supersonic. Her speed was impossible for the average person to follow.
But that's what the Insurgent Armor was designed for.
[Target Data]
Name: Winter Schnee
Status: Hostile (Aggressive Engagement) [Locked On]
Distance: 0.81m | Speed: 621.3 m/s
Attack Commitment: 97% (Confirmed) / 3% (Feint Possibility)
Trajectory Path:
- 2A (Primary) - Jab → Vertical Overhead Strike → Spin Slash Clockwise
- 2B (Secondary) - Angular Left Strike → Reverse Cleave
Weapon Loadout:
- Primary: Single-Bladed Saber (One-Handed)
- Secondary: None Detected
- Hidden Threats: Concealed Secondary-Saber (Magnetic Scan Detection)
Threat Level:Elevated
Reaction Window: 0.013s (Recommended Counter: Palm-Based Deflection)
With predictions of Winter's every move fed to him before she even fully committed to them, Sable wasn't just reacting—he was preempting. Which meant that speed alone was no longer the defining factor. His body was already responding before her blade was even halfway through its arc.
And when his reflexes couldn't keep up, something else took over.
It was subtly—faintly familiar, almost like when he'd trained using the O.M.N.I. Frame's Training Mode. The armor didn't control him. It simply nudged. Guided him gently when he faltered. Like invisible hands setting him back on track mid-motion.
The result was a nonstop barrage of steel-on-steel.
A symphony of metal clashing and grinding in perfect rhythm.
Winter wasn't going easy at this point, at least not like she would during her sparring sessions with Weiss. She was committing and carried intent behind every blurred strike she sent out, increasing her overall speed with each redirection, each pivot—but not a single blow landed.
No matter how sharp her angles, how fluid her transitions, or how unpredictable her attacks, they were all met with precise deflections.
Perfectly timed.
Clean.
"How is he keeping up with Winter like that?" Ironwood's voice broke the silence around the observers, laced with disbelief.
He didn't sound skeptical of the armor's quality—he knew it was advanced—but Winter was a Special Operative. A top-tier Huntress, and could be considered the best of the best. She couldn't be compared ot the Huntsman Asher had fought on the airship, after all, she wasn't just fast; she was devastating.
And yet—she was being stopped.
"Reaction Time Augmentation," Asher answered, his gaze locked on the fight. His expression remained unreadable, calm, as if this outcome was inevitable.
Ironwood frowned as he asked, "Mind elaborating?"
"It's a micro-adjustment AI baked into the V0.3 version of the O.M.N.I. Frame," Asher explained, still watching.
"It runs assistive predictions during high-speed engagements. When a threat is incoming, it calculates likely responses and gently guides the user's body toward the optimal reaction, assuming they're physically capable of performing it." He paused, just briefly.
"It's not automatic. It won't override your movements or act for you. If you don't have the ability, the system won't matter." And for most people, that would make it worthless. Against someone like Winter, with her speed and technique, the average soldier would get overwhelmed long before the system could help.
But my Insurgents aren't average.
They weren't trained in a single, rigid style. They were molded to respond to everything. To recognize patterns, counter unfamiliar forms, and adapt on the fly. They might not consciously remember each technique drilled into them—but their muscles did. Their instincts did.
Fifth place out of eight Insurgents? Sixty-four to sixty-seven percent accuracy?
On paper, Sable might have looked average. Maybe even mediocre.
But numbers never told the full story.
Those stats represented how accurately he could replicate moves that exceeded conventional combat standards—forms that where created by Asher's combat knowledge being accelerated and enhanced by the Nexus Space, pushed past what most elite fighters even recognized as perfect techniques, beyond a hundred percent.
A sixty-percent replication rate of something beyond optimal wasn't a failing grade. It was extraordinary. At that level, Sable didn't just rank above average—he stood among the top two percent of trained combatants in the world.
Military, Huntsman, or otherwise.
I can't stay on the defensive—I need to strike back.
The moment that thought flashed through Sable's mind, the opportunity presented itself. As Winter lunged in again, her blade arcing toward him, Sable didn't fully deflect it. Instead, he let the edge skim across the Insurgent Armor's gauntlet. In the same motion, he reached out and caught hold of her sword's blade.
He caught my strike!?
Winter's eyes widened as she tried to yank her weapon free, but his grip was ironclad. Sable pulled the blade toward him, forcing her closer. The movement was quick, calculated, and just as he prepared his counterstrike, something new caught his attention.
The augmented reality interface shifted. An image—like a translucent phantom—appeared before him, showing the motion of the attack he was about to make. At the same time, a small red mark lit up on Winter's body, slightly off-center from where he'd originally intended to strike. He didn't understand what it signified, but instinct took over.
He drove the Insurgent Armor's elbow into that exact spot, using the momentum from pulling Winter in.
Just as the blow landed, a notification blinked on his HUD:
[Electrical Current – Active: Elbow Nodes]
Electricity erupted from his armored elbow, a violent arc that surged through Winter. Her aura held, but the shock was real—she screamed as blue-white sparks shot in every direction.
"Agh!"
[Electrical Current – Deactivated: Elbow Nodes]
The electric surge cut out as abruptly as it started, leaving Winter momentarily stunned. Her teeth clenched, her breathing uneven, and her body trembled from the residual jolt.
I didn't even know it had that feature… but there's no time to think about it now!
Capitalizing on her dazed state, Sable released his grip on the blade. His gauntleted hand clenched into a tight fist. Then, with the power of fifteen tons focused under the precision of technique, propelled by sonic-speed mechanics, he delivered a devastating punch straight to her stomach.
The impact was deafening. A concussive shockwave rolled through the room as the Insurgent Armor's strike connected.
Winter's body folded under the blow, and she was sent flying. The sheer force sent her hurtling through the training environment. She crashed through several cube-shaped obstacles, which shattered under the momentum, and didn't stop until she slammed into a four-by-four cube wall built for scaling exercises.
The training room fell into utter silence.
Winter slumped against the wall, hair disheveled, her form limp. Her aura hadn't broken, but it was clear the hit had taken a toll. Everyone watching—from Ironwood to the Insurgents standing on the sidelines—stood frozen, their faces a mix of shock, disbelief, and confusion.
Everyone, that is, except for two people.
Sable's heart was still racing so hard that he barely registered what had just happened. And Asher, arms folded, a faint smile on his face, remained entirely composed.
Good.
Asher thought, his gaze never leaving Winter.
But still suboptimal.
He knew the Insurgent Armor was capable of more. Much more. Meaning he needed more time to observe it in action.
Which means, I need you to get up, Winter. That shouldn't have been enough to keep a Huntress down. Even caught off guard, you can do better.
He wanted to see the true potential of what he had created.