CHAPTER 310: CRUMBLING COMMAND

While Aron and Na’s clash raged on, most of the Rejected Corps still believed they had a good chance of turning this battle in their favor.

The reason was simple: they weren’t just random thugs. They were trained. Every one of them had once been molded by the military. They had drilled tactics, they knew how to fight in groups, and they were used to covering each other’s backs in battle. In tougher fights, they could deploy formations and strategies that had once given them an edge over almost any opponent.

But all of that had become useless. And there was a very clear reason why.

There was no one left to lead them.

The Rejected Corps wasn’t a unified army, it was a patchwork, a group cobbled together from soldiers who had been discarded from different branches of service. Each had been rejected, cast out for one reason or another, and while they could be dangerous when gathered under strong leadership, they fractured without it.

Sometimes Na, or Dud, or Chrono could bring them together. But today? Na was locked in a fight with Aron. Dud wasn’t even present. And Chrono was far too occupied with Max.

The result was chaos.

Different members tried to take command in their own corners of the battlefield, shouting orders and demanding the others follow them. Instead of obedience, they were met with smirks, scoffs, and outright defiance. Their rebellious natures clashed, each one convinced they knew better than the next.

And worse, they still believed their enemies were "just" high school kids.

That arrogance was costing them dearly.

The Bloodline Group’s students outnumbered them from the beginning. But more importantly, the students were working as a single, unified unit. Meanwhile, the Rejected Corps and Chalkline Boys had only joined forces that very day. Their uneasy alliance was already crumbling before it could even begin.

"Hey, watch where you’re swinging that thing!" one of the Rejected Corps members barked.

"Why don’t you take your fight somewhere else!" a Chalkline boy snapped back, his voice cracking with rage.

Their insults rose above the clash of weapons, the disarray pulling them further apart.

In the midst of this, Print found himself trading blows with one of the Chalkline Boys. The boy snarled and swung a heavy meat cleaver, the blade whistling through the air. Print’s hands shot out, seizing his opponent’s forearm and shoving it aside.

"Hey guys, let me take care of this one!" Print called out.

At his words, the other students eased back, shifting to help their allies elsewhere while Print handled the fight alone.

The cleaver swung again. Print twisted his body just in time, slipping past the strike. The blade carved empty air, missing its target completely. Another swing followed, then another, each dodged with just enough movement.

Print’s eyes flicked to his sides, always aware, always keeping his footing sharp. He could feel the rhythm of the fight settling in his favor.

"Come on," he taunted, a grin spreading across his face. "You’re not going to do anything swinging like that. I’ll block you all day."

To drive the point home, he gestured mockingly with his fingers, then stuck his tongue out.

It was a stupid taunt, childish even, but somehow, it worked better than Print had imagined.

The Chalkline boy roared, charging with the meat cleaver raised high above his head. He screamed with reckless fury as he brought it down in a wild arc.

The strike was so telegraphed that anyone with a clear mind could have avoided it easily. But Print didn’t move right away. He kept his eyes locked on the descending blade, waiting until the very last second.

Then, with a sharp sidestep, he let it pass.

The cleaver came down hard, burying itself into the back of someone else entirely.

"AHHH!" a scream ripped out. The unfortunate victim spun around, eyes wide with shock and rage. The Chalkline boy who had swung the weapon froze as he realized what had just happened.

"You, you f*cking stabbed me!" the wounded man shouted. He was clearly a member of the Rejected Corps. His face twisted in fury as blood began to stain his uniform.

"You did that on purpose!" he screamed. "I told you to watch where you were swinging! You’ve been careless this whole time, and now you stabbed me!"

Without hesitation, the Rejected Corps member pulled out a small dagger and hurled it. The blade spun through the air and sank into the Chalkline boy’s shoulder.

The boy let out a howl of pain, staggering back, but the Corps member wasn’t finished. He charged forward, slamming a brutal punch across the boy’s face.

Around them, shouts erupted.

"Hey! What are you doing?! The Rejected Corps members are attacking us too!" another Chalkline fighter yelled in disbelief.

Confusion spread like wildfire. What had begun as a fragile alliance was crumbling, turning into open hostility. Chaos was breaking out in one corner of the battlefield, tension shattering the uneasy truce between the gangs.

Erik, one of the leaders from West Brinhurst, had been watching closely. His eyes narrowed as he pieced it together.

"I see... these guys," he muttered. "No wonder they’re dressed differently. They were barely working together to begin with. Their alliance is fragile, ready to break."

He followed Print’s lead, sparking more division where he could. Unlike Print, though, Erik had a faster method.

One of the Chalkline boys swung a knife at him, but Erik struck his wrist sharply, making him drop the weapon with a cry. Erik snatched the knife mid-fall, his movements fluid, and immediately hurled it across the fight.

The blade pierced the shoulder of a Rejected Corps member.

"FREAKING HELL!" Erik bellowed. He turned, glaring at the Chalkline boy. "That knife nearly hit me! Lucky for me, your aim sucks... or maybe you weren’t even aiming at me in the first place."

The words hit like fuel to the fire, stoking more doubt, more hostility.

The Bloodline Group’s first fight against two gangs had been tough, but now, it was about to get a whole lot easier.