The Duke's Worthless Daughter Awakens an SSS+ Guide Core

The sharp electronic tone had barely faded when pure chaos erupted across the expansive training arena. The sudden transition from silence to active combat proved far too jarring for many of the thirty freshmen, who struggled to process the immediate threat.

Humanoid automatons surged forward with frightening precision, their heavy metal limbs cutting through the humid air. Steel practice blades clashed against composite wood as the machines closed the distance in a fraction of a second.

Every step, strike, and weight adjustment of the machines flowed with a disciplined efficiency. They moved with a rhythmic grace that closely mimicked the lethal martial arts of veteran frontier soldiers.

Several panicked freshmen instinctively rushed forward to meet the terrifying charge, desperate to assert their dominance. They believed that taking the initiative would mask their underlying fear and secure an easy victory over the constructs.

Among them, a highly rated sword-wielding cadet from a prominent noble family swung his weapon with aggressive force. He hoped to overwhelm his mechanical opponent before the machine could properly register his approach.

The gray automaton simply tilted its armored torso by a mere fraction of an inch, allowing the strike to miss. The heavy wooden blade sliced harmlessly through empty air, dragging the overextended cadet forward into a vulnerable position.

Before the young noble could recover his balance, the machine rotated smoothly on its metallic heel. It drove its practice shield squarely into his unprotected chest with a heavy, calculated impact.

The sudden kinetic force hurled him backward across the platform, and his weapon flew from his trembling grasp. His body struck the reinforced metallic floor with a painful thud that echoed off the high, arched ceiling.

The electronic display above the platform updated instantly to reveal his embarrassing and immediate failure. Bold red letters declared that he was officially eliminated from the exercise after only a few seconds of combat.

A collective gasp of disbelief spread throughout the remaining ranks of the thirty freshmen. The reality of their situation was finally beginning to sink into their anxious minds.

"He lost in a single move," a nearby student whispered, his voice trembling with a sudden, deep dread.

"How are we supposed to defeat something that moves with that kind of speed?" another cadet replied, his eyes wide with rising panic.

Nearby, another student armed with a long spear attempted to maintain a safe distance from his mechanical challenger. He thrust his weapon forward repeatedly with impressive speed, aiming directly for the machine’s primary optical sensor.

The automaton deflected every single attack using the shortest possible movements, effectively conserving its mechanical energy. It waited patiently for the exact moment the student’s posture began to falter from the exertion.

The gray machine slipped inside the spear’s effective range with a sudden, violent burst of speed. Its wooden practice sword struck the cadet’s wrist with calculated force, causing him to cry out in sudden pain.

The heavy spear spun away from his fingers and clattered loudly onto the cold, reinforced floor. A second strike landed squarely against his shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground beside his discarded weapon.

Another bright red light flashed above the platform, confirming his immediate elimination from the practical lesson. One after another, the sounds of falling bodies and clattering training gear echoed through the vast training hall.

The air in the arena grew thick with the smell of ozone and the subtle scent of heated metal. The physical gap between seasoned military constructs and pampered young nobles was becoming painfully obvious with every passing second.

Most of these cadets had only ever sparred with cooperative partners who feared their influential family names. Now, they were facing an opponent that held absolutely no regard for their social status or their prestigious lineages.

Major Garrick Holt remained completely motionless beside the central console, his arms folded firmly across his chest. His scarred face did not change as he watched the rapid and total collapse of his newest students.

He had expected nothing less from a group that relied on impressive titles rather than true combat experience. To him, their failure was a necessary part of the academy’s harsh and efficient molding process.

"Observe," he said, his deep voice carrying easily over the loud and messy din of the battle.

"Every one of you believed that your choice of weapon would win the fight for you," he added with a gravelly resonance.

His cold eyes swept across the struggling cadets who were desperately trying to survive their individual engagements. He looked for the smallest sign of tactical awareness among the sea of panicked and disorganized movements.

"None of you bothered to study the specific enemy standing directly before you," he noted with a tone of quiet disappointment.

Merianah stood quietly upon Platform Twenty-Seven, her dark composite staff resting loosely in both hands. She kept her posture relaxed, her weight evenly distributed between her feet to allow for immediate, fluid movement in any direction.

Across from her, the gray training automaton advanced with slow and measured footsteps. Its crimson optical sensors never left her face, scanning her continuously for any signs of hesitation or physical weakness.

The distance between the two shrank rapidly as the machine closed the gap with mechanical precision. When it reached the three-meter mark, the automaton initiated its first strike without a single moment of hesitation.

The heavy composite staff descended in a powerful overhead strike that would have shattered a normal human’s collarbone. Merianah did not panic or attempt to block the devastating blow with her own weapon.

Instead, she shifted her torso just half a step to the left, letting the heavy strike pass harmlessly by her. The attack crashed into the reinforced flooring, splintering the surface beneath the weight of the massive impact.

She did not immediately counterattack, choosing instead to preserve her positioning and observe the machine’s recovery. She needed to understand the physical rules governing this construct’s behavior before she committed to an offensive of her own.

The automaton recovered its balance with remarkable speed, its internal gears humming with hidden power. It immediately launched a low, horizontal sweep aimed directly at her ribs to force her into a retreat.

She moved back exactly one pace, allowing the wooden weapon to pass inches from her dark uniform. Again, she refused to retaliate, keeping her staff held in a defensive and patient guard.

Several nearby cadets noticed her unusual restraint and watched her with growing confusion. They could not understand why the top-ranked student in the academy was refusing to fight back against the machine.

"Why is she only dodging?" a student on an adjacent platform muttered while blocking an incoming strike.

"If she does not attack soon, the machine will eventually corner her," another cadet shouted over the noise.

Their frantic whispers barely reached her ears, discarded as useless background noise that held no tactical value. Everything outside the boundaries of her circular platform had ceased to exist for Merianah as she focused on the rhythm.

Only the armored opponent before her and its mechanical patterns mattered in this isolated space. She blocked out the failures of the other twenty-nine students, treating the platform as its own contained battlefield.

The automaton attacked a third time, executing a swift thrust aimed directly at her throat. When she tilted her head slightly to evade, the machine immediately transitioned into a spinning strike.

She ducked beneath the rotating staff, her movements fluid and entirely devoid of any wasted energy. Her crimson eyes calmly tracked the machine’s shoulders and hips rather than the trajectory of its weapon.

She was analyzing the physical indicators that preceded each of its offensive actions with the precision of a commander. She looked for the subtle shifts in weight that always occurred before a major strike was initiated.

"The hips rotate by exactly twelve degrees before every major strike," she calculated silently.

"The right knee locks for approximately one-tenth of a second after every lateral movement," she noted.

She watched another complex sequence unfold, her mind recording the mechanical telemetry for later use. She realized that the machine was not adapting its strategy, but merely following a sophisticated looping program.

"The recovery pattern is entirely fixed," she thought with a sense of calm satisfaction.

The automaton repeated the exact combination of strikes it had executed moments earlier in the engagement. Its programming relied on predictability, which was a common flaw in mass-produced training constructs of this caliber.

She knew that once she memorized the loop, the machine would cease to be a threat to her survival. Information was the ultimate weapon, and she was currently gathering as much as the machine would provide.

Around the vast arena, more cadets fell as their physical stamina began to fail them under the pressure. Some attempted reckless charges out of sheer frustration, only to be promptly disarmed and cast aside by their opponents.

None of them managed to last longer than a single minute against the relentless and tireless assault. They were fighting with their muscles, while Merianah was fighting with her mind.

Major Garrick Holt folded his scarred arms, his sharp gaze shifting toward Platform Twenty-Seven once again. Unlike every other freshman in the class, Candidate Twenty-Seven had yet to launch a single strike against her opponent.

She was completely calm, moving with an eerie grace that contrasted sharply with the chaos and noise around her. She had spent nearly an entire minute doing nothing except observing the mechanical construct.

The veteran major allowed a faint hint of genuine interest to appear in his eyes as he watched her. He recognized the strategy of a seasoned warrior who understood the immense value of information on the field.

"Good," he murmured, his quiet voice lost in the clashing of training weapons.

"She understands that the first battle is never fought with the physical weapon," he thought.

His gaze remained fixed on the silver-haired cadet, ignoring the failures of the others who were still being eliminated. He saw her half-steps and her subtle tilts, recognizing them as the marks of a master.

As if sensing that its opponent had finally discerned its basic combat rhythm, the automaton suddenly tightened its stance. Its crimson optical sensors brightened, and hums of electricity vibrated through its heavy metallic frame.

The machine adjusted its balance, preparing to execute a higher-level combat program to break her defense. It accelerated, its limbs moving with sudden, lethal velocity that signaled a change in the trial.

This time, it attacked at nearly twice its previous speed, thrusting its staff toward Merianah’s chest. The air hissed as the weapon cut through the space between them with terrifying force.

Merianah recognized the sudden shift in difficulty, but her expression did not falter for even a second. She had been waiting for the machine to reveal its full capabilities before she made her move.

The air screamed as the staff shot toward her chest with twice its previous speed. Around the arena, several cadets instinctively cried out in alarm for her, thinking she was trapped.

Merianah did not cry out, nor did she retreat as she had done before. Now, at the start of her counterattack, she finally moved her staff into an offensive stance.

Her silver hair flared behind her as she pivoted, the dark composite staff blurring in the light. She had seen the pattern, and now she intended to break the machine.