Thora stepped forward and zoomed in on the feed showing Ashton switching between a few camera angles. "Relax. It's just a drill. I brought you here so you could see how incredible your son is." Her voice was calm but carried authority. Wendy felt herself drawn in, her eyes glued to the screens. Besides Ashton and Harvey, she didn't know anyone else. But every one of them had a strong presence—faces and styles she'd remember after just one glance. On-screen, Ashton was tucked behind cover, his expression serious and composed in a way she'd never seen before. Soon, his teammates gathered close. He whispered a few commands and flashed some hand signals. Instantly, the group split up, disappearing into cover. They had no hesitation, and their coordination was flawless. Each face was tight with focus and intensity. Ambushes, breakthroughs, gunfire—every moment gripped Wendy's attention, and each narrow escape made her chest tighten. It felt even more thrilling than any stage performance. Even the world's best opera singers, no matter how passionate, couldn't capture this kind of raw reality forged in smoke and fire. That was real combat. Her eyes stayed on Ashton as if she were seeing him for the first time. He was calm, sharp, and alert like a hawk, tracking every subtle move on the field. Only now did she realize her son was truly a soldier—a fighter living on the edge. She'd never seen this side of him. Ashton predicted the enemy's moves perfectly. His team reacted fast and precisely. When the other side shifted strategy, he immediately adjusted his orders.At times, the teams collided directly, fighting in brutal close quarters. Wendy's heartbeat and complexion rose and fell with the action on the screen. Thora glanced sideways, noticing Wendy's fists clenched tight. She smiled faintly before returning her focus to the monitors. The fight had changed. Tristan's team no longer dominated outright. Now it was a tense, back-and-forth battle. Suddenly, the feed switched. Ashton and Tristan were face-to-face. Both teams had set ambushes behind them. Whether by coincidence or planned, the two met in the open. "You do think faster than Harvey," Tristan said plainly, giving credit where it was due. Ashton let out a low chuckle. "Thanks." Tristan already knew Ashton's talent for command under pressure. People like them liked acknowledgment, but Ashton never chased the spotlight, letting his talent stay behind Harvey.Harvey and Ashton often argued and clashed. To Tristan, it was harmless kid stuff. In truth, they were Wolffang's most perfectly synchronized duo. Tristan's lips curled slightly. If it were him, he'd also be willing to hide his edge behind Thora. Before Tristan could provoke him, Ashton acted first. He unstrapped his rifle and dropped it. "Tristan, I was wrong before. Let's fight for real this time. Win or lose, we wipe the slate clean. What do you say?" In an instant, a strong, unmistakably masculine energy radiated from him. Harvey looked a little concerned, but excitement and admiration shone in his eyes. Tristan squinted. He remembered when Ashton first joined Wolffang. That skinny kid looked so fragile that he seemed like a stiff kick could snap him. Whenever trouble came, Ashton panicked and ran straight to Harvey for help. Now, he might still duck sometimes. But when it counted, he was every bit a man. Tristan dropped his gun as well and said just one word, "Deal." Seeing their leaders ready to duel, both teams quietly lowered their weapons and gathered to watch. Thora's expression darkened. Were those punks actually staging a fight during a live drill? Did they think their training load wasn't heavy enough?