Titus’ eyes followed each of the trainees with quick almost fevered speed. The Guardsman’s yelling almost covered up the whistle of the thrown choppa, almost. The Champion ducked under the blade spinning on his heel to drive his foot into the side of the Ork’s jaw, with a running leap he spun past both Eldar delivering crushing blows with his blunted swords to their stomachs, a final spin brought him up close to the Guardsman, with a quick grin he slammed his forehead into the man’s and watched the fighters sink to the ground in broken heaps.
With a quick bow to Regulus, the champion broke off and returned to sparring with his original companions. The Drill-sergeant approached the downed combatants and squatted down with a forearm on each knee, “So any of you lads still think you have what it takes to make it in this league?” he grinned as they mulled on the question, despite its rhetorical nature, “I’m going to make it very clear, I doubt any of you will finish in the top third of the league, if you make it at all, and if any of you wind up in a death match, well let’s just say I think you should set your affairs in order.”