Blake lowered his head, pretending to reach into his pocket.
His lips barely moved.
"Take the gun out."
[Yes, Dear Host.]
A familiar weight settled into his palm.
The nearest soldier had barely recovered from Blake's punch before Blake moved again.
He didn't rush wildly this time.
Instead, he stepped diagonally, forcing two soldiers to block one another's path. One baton came swinging toward him, but Blake slipped just inside its reach.
He caught the attacker's forearm, twisted his wrist outward, and drove a short elbow into the man's jaw.
The soldier stumbled sideways.
Another immediately replaced him, his fist flying toward Blake's face.
He dodged it, although there was admittedly no need to do that, then drove his shoulder into the man's chest, forcing him backward into two others.
'Eh, I don't think I can pull off Myles' teachings if the same exact movements his taught me aren't repeated from both sides...'
