After that eventful night, the sun rises, unwavering, as if nothing had happened.
Noa is alone in the training room.
His blade slices through the air like paper—violent, precise.
Every movement is sharp, fast, surgical.
Dust rises with each motion, carried by a cold, mechanical rhythm… His gaze is as piercing as that of a lone wolf hunting in the dead of night, his style forged in blood.
— Left!
He waits for the voice of the sword in his mind. Yet, as he performs a rapid movement to the right, he suddenly pivots the blade and unleashes a supersonic strike in the indicated direction, scattering dust in its wake.
Noa stops, sweating and out of breath.
— Could you stop giving instructions so suddenly?
But his sword replies that it is testing his reflexes to evaluate his overall level.
Noa lowers the blade in front of his face, watching the edge reflect his eye.
— I've had a question for a while… If you've always been able to talk to me, why never do it before?
The voice explains that it has been trying to speak to him for years, but the voices in his head prevented its own from reaching him.
— If they hadn't quieted down last night… I might never have been able to talk to you.
Noa recalls the aquatic environment in his mind and says that it was precisely in that place that he managed to get rid of those voices.
— You're talking about your energy reservoir?
Noa raises his head; the sword has captured his attention and sparked his curiosity. The blade asks him to visualize that place again with precision.
— That ocean is not water, but a reservoir of chaos so dense it takes liquid form. In short, what you saw… is your infinite chaos energy reserve.
Noa now understands why he didn't feel like he was drowning at that moment.
— Is that really the only thing you took from what I said?! I just told you your reservoir is infinite!
Noa lowers his blade completely, its tip lightly bouncing off the ground.
— I knew I had an incredible energy reserve… but to think it was infinite…
The voice says this is the first time since its creation that it has seen someone possess such a reservoir.
— Your heart is more of a problem than a blessing… As I said, even if it is infinite, your energy is extremely concentrated. It is still in its rawest form. And it is so powerful that every time you release it without using me… it destroys your body.
Noa understands perfectly. But he also understands what the sword means: he is unable to precisely control how much energy he releases.
If he continues to use the indestructible arcane blade without control… he risks destroying everything around him without distinction.
— But how am I supposed to fight without risking destroying everything… This is really annoying. Every time I get an answer, another question appears…
The sword reassures him, saying it agrees, but that for now they must first find a way to better control his energy.
— From what I've seen, your energy control is more stable when you use Cardinal at 50%.
— But if I do that, I risk completely losing control if it suddenly jumps to 100%…
The arcane weapon cuts him off, saying it knows exactly what happens in that case, since it was present in the white room with David.
— Well… if we don't want you killing everyone, kid, we're going to have to find a way to keep you at 50% for as long as possible.
But before they begin, Noa has a question that has been lingering in his mind.
— You are an arcane weapon… and as far as I know, all weapons have a name, a title, like Excalibur for example… but you still haven't told me yours.
The sword searches its memory and recalls its creator calling it Weaver Omega… but it cannot remember its true name.
— Strange… I remember clearly that I did before our first interaction… But instead of asking questions, you should deal with the second problem behind you.
And indeed, when he turns around, he sees another problem: Atela has closed the door behind her and approaches with a cold gaze, her blade already drawn. She looks visibly angry.
— Oh boy… what did you do to her? She's furious, kid!
Weaver says sarcastically. But Noa tells it to stop talking, since she might hear them. Weaver replies that it's impossible.
— Only rare other weapon-bearers and my master can hear my voice. And for the last candidate, it was you. So you're the only one who can hear me here.
Noa sighs, wondering why the world always seems to target him.
Atela stops a short distance away, forcing a cold smile devoid of warmth. Noa immediately understands this is going to go badly.
— Noa, I wanted to ask if you'd train with me.
Noa is surprised; he didn't expect this at all.
— Why so suddenly? Is something wrong?
She tilts her head.
— Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to train with someone strong. After all, we've just met, we've never trained together, right? So why not?
Weaver is suspicious of her intentions.
— What did you do to her to make her like this?
Noa mutters whether that's really a question for him. He sighs and accepts the princess's proposal. She refuses a weapon.
— I'd rather use one of my techniques, if you don't mind.
Noa hesitates but agrees.
He takes a stance.
"Her technique lets her create other techniques… and I have no idea how many she has. The fact I've never seen her use one doesn't help."
Atela takes out a white handkerchief and raises it.
— When it hits the ground, you may attack.
She releases it, raising two fingers: index and middle.
"Only two… what is she planning?"
The handkerchief slowly falls.
The moment it touches the ground—
— BANG!
Noa blocks the impact with his sword, but the force hits like a bullet and sends him crashing into a wall.
— SHE'S COMPLETELY CRAZY! DID SHE TRY TO KILL ME?!
Noa ignores Weaver's panic and notes the attack resembles his "Regens Slash," except hers behaves like a firearm shot rather than blades.
Dust clears as Atela stands in the mist, eyes burning with intensity.
— If you ever plan on dying uselessly again, call me. I'll gladly do it again.
She turns and leaves.
Weaver sighs.
— I'll never understand women…
A few minutes later, the last member of team LK arrives in the new battlefield, deep in a forest.
Sitting on a tree branch at sunrise, Soni watches the horizon impatiently.
— Why did those Othello hypocrites assign me to this stupid selection… Next time I see that bastard at the tower, he's going to hear me out.
A slender figure lands gracefully on the same branch. A girl with black hair and red streaks.
— You said you were bored at the tower… why do you suddenly want to go back?
Soni stands, releasing a red aura around his hand, lost in thought.
— I understand they want the princess Atela back, but I don't understand their sudden obsession with the black-haired boy.
Lifa admits she's curious too.
— It feels like they're bypassing orders from higher authority.
— But from what I heard, it's not just him. The Tower Master also ordered them to bring that boy back. I don't know why.
Soni concludes their target list doesn't matter—they were simply ordered to retrieve both teenagers.
His aura crackles violently.
— Remind me… he didn't specify whether we bring him back alive, did he?