"The lives lost today," All the students had gathered in the Academy grounds, tired, covered in blood, but mostly uninjured once they consumed some medicines and their replenished Prana began its healing efforts. A stream of water had turned into a pillar and bloomed at the top like a lotus. Standing on it and addressing the students was Principal Khakha, his tone sombre, "...Is a devastating blow to the Cooter Clan."
"But when I see you students…brighter, stronger, and more experienced with your abilities, I can remain proud." His tone switched up with one of vigour, "I can remain proud that the survivors are stronger, and have the strength to harness their wits and emerge victorious against all odds."
"TODAY!" He roared, "We, of the Cooter Clan, have proven why, despite every danger that knocked our doors, have continued to remain supreme!"
He raised his arms to the skies and offered prayers while the water lotus under his feet churned to become mist that blasted into the skies while his figure slowly landed on the floor, "We are survivors!"
"And as survivors," He waved his hands, rhythmically moving them up and down, motioning for the students to join the chorus, "We are the fittest on Sumatra."
"Sumatra's Fittest!" The students roared in sync, tears streaming down the eyes of those who had lost their friends. Blood drenched their skin and clothes, but their wounds had fully healed now.
The wounds brought about by the loss of their friends became their source of motivation, to strive to be better, to survive with greater grace, and most of all, to be the fittest of them all.
"To the Cooter Clan!" Principal Khakha punched into the skies with his fist and released a stream of mist that blasted up with force to form a mild boom.
"To the Cooter Clan!" The students responded with the same action. The mist they produced combined into a single pillar that rose up and exploded at an altitude to hover like a cloud before gradually being dispersed by the wind.
Over 500 students had died to the Troitails, a devastating number from the original 2800. But none of the Instructors present at the scene was saddened by the fact.
On the contrary, they were happy, because the survivors were better equipped with the Cooter Clan's teachings. In future fights, they would be more competent. The presence released by the surviving students were better refined now, sharper in its intentions, and amped up by a desire to grow stronger.
'I believe you, Principal.' Instructor Dudu observed from the sides, clearly impressed by the results, 'The growth they attained in a matter of hours trumps years of cautionary teachings that we have conducted. Now, they seem driven, like a sponge that, by virtue of its experience, will absorb our teachings better and think of ways to implement it in practice.'
The experience against the Troitails would serve as an example that the students would pit themselves in to think of ways they could survive better. It was like shadow boxing.
And over time, they'll be able to react to a situation faster, and with better countermeasures than what they could put together against the Troitails.
Every instructor at the scene was overjoyed by the result. And unanimously, not a single one of them were worried about the deaths. Students at the Academy, though precious to the Clan, weren't valued until their graduation.
Here, at the Academy, they were tested on their means to survive, irrespective of their status. Even if the son or daughter of a Settlement Leader were to get killed, no one would complain. If a student were to be killed by a threat, everyone treated it as part of nature.
After all, that was the kind of place Sumatra was.
Moreover, since they had a pretty significant death rate, every Cooter Clansmen couple had multiple kids. A couple thousand years ago, the Cooter Clan was incredibly stable. Most couples had at most three kids back then and only had more if too many deaths happened in a short duration.
Throughout history, they operated at the maximum possible population number the Settlement Leaders had determined was necessary to cater to the Cooter Clan's needs and dominance.
But in recent times, especially since the last century, Sumatra had gotten so dangerous even the Cooter Clan was losing more of their kind than they could replenish. Hence, the birth rate was amped up.
At present, a Cooter Clan couple had anywhere between five to seven children. And since the upper echelon of the Clan with Silver Grade strength lived through multiple centuries, they had dozens of children.
The only exceptions were those with the Buoyant Disease. They typically lived to either give birth to an Empyrean Snapper or die trying. And most of the time, the Buoyant Disease couple died futilely. Only a rare few managed to successfully give birth to an Empyrean Snapper.
Standing towards the front of the crowd of students was Runthral. And eyeing him from afar was Raurau, taking a few moments to appreciate the visage of his pride and joy, 'My honourable son, keep growing.'
'And I, your old man, will do everything in my power to fuel your every-increasing glory.' He landed on the sea water. A geyser burst out from under his feet and propelled him to the deck of his battleship.
The two battleships were positioned on either side of an Empyrean Snapper's mountainous back. Raurau took his position as Raid Captain and nodded at a Clansman positioned beside him.
"Yes, Captain!" The Clansman gathered a sphere of mist and injected it with force into a pipe, which passed through a series of nozzles and got ejected out of the top.
GooonNG!
The sound of a loud horn reverberated through the region, which was a signal for the group to make a move. The Raid Captain positioned in the other battleship commanded for another horn to sound, which was to serve as a confirmation.
And then, the mountain belonging to the back of an Empyrean Snapper began to move, assuming a 'V' formation with the two battleships trailing on its back.
Deep underwater, the neck of the Empyrean Snapper had coiled to shrink itself as much as possible, with the face positioned forward, eyeing the waters. Steadily, the group moved towards one the border of the Tsloch Sea, fully geared for war.
The horns from the two battleships resounded from time to time, their sounds reverberating with weaker and weaker amplitudes at the Academy the farther they travelled.
"Hear that?" Principal Khakha expressed in pride, "That's one of our Raid Groups. They're in a move to annihilate an enemy group."
"And the sound of our battleship's horn is an announcement to our enemies," He cheered, "Of their inevitable demise."
"That's our greatness…" Suddenly, he paused, too stunned to process what he intended to say next. The appearance of an individual had short-circuited his neural functions. Gaping with a loss for words, Principal Khakha stood rooted to the spot like a statue.
And seeing his condition, the students unanimously turned their heads in the respective direction. Collectively, they too were at a loss for words.
"Dammit…" Runthral gritted his teeth, revulsed to stare at the student who was walking towards the Academy grounds from the Dorms, 'Father spared him? Why?'
It was Torq, who was just happy to be there. He wasn't even concerned with the looks he was getting. Or rather, he didn't even notice it.
The only reason he even walked out of the Dorms was to head to the Academy grounds, which had an open section facing the sea. And from here, one could see the two battleships moving.
His eyes shone as Torq stared at the two battleships and the mountain moving between them, chuckling in excitement, "...Damn."
"That's hype!"