The sky above North Pine Town was washed in pale gold and soft blue, the last traces of night retreating beyond the distant hills. Cool air lingered between the stone paths, carrying the scent of dew and morning smoke. Somewhere deeper in the estate, servants were beginning their work, doors opening, footsteps soft and practiced. Guards at the inner gate rotated shifts, armor clinking quietly as they exchanged brief words and nods.
Jiang adjusted the strap across his shoulder and made his way toward the stables.
There was no crowd today. No music, no banners, no laughter echoing from silk-draped pavilions. Yesterday's banquet felt distant, like a dream already fading with the night.
As he passed the outer training yard, the sound of wood striking wood reached his ears.
He paused.
Rasmus stood alone near the far fence, gripping a wooden sword with both hands. His stance was clumsy, shoulders too tense, feet set just a bit too narrow, but his eyes were sharp with focus. Sweat already darkened the collar of his shirt despite the early hour.
The boy swung again, overextended, missed his imaginary target, and nearly lost his balance. He grimaced, reset his footing, and tried again.
Jiang watched in silence.
He's serious, Jiang thought. Good.
Rasmus noticed him only after the third swing. His eyes widened, and he straightened instantly. "M-My lord!"
Jiang lifted a hand. "Keep going."
Rasmus hesitated, then nodded fiercely and resumed his practice, jaw clenched, movements stiff but determined.
Jiang allowed himself a faint smile before turning away.
The stable hands were already awake. When Jiang approached, one of them hurried forward with his horse, freshly brushed and saddled. The animal snorted softly, stamping once against the stone.
As Jiang mounted, a pair of estate guards at the gate straightened and saluted.
"Safe travels, my lord."
He inclined his head. "Thank you. Have a nice day"
They nodded.
The gates opened, and Jiang rode out into the waking town.
North Pine was alive in a quieter way than it had been the day before. Merchants were setting up their stalls, shutters creaking open as displays were arranged. A baker pulled steaming loaves from an oven, the smell of fresh bread drifting into the street. Children darted between adults, laughter sharp and unrestrained.
Some people recognized him.
Heads turned. Whispers followed.
"That's Lord Jiang…"
"The one who won yesterday…"
"Is he heading out already?"
Jiang did not slow. He did not hurry either. His posture remained relaxed, reins held loosely in one hand, gaze forward. He acknowledged no one directly, but the calm certainty in his bearing spoke louder than any gesture.
Yesterday, he had stood beneath banners and eyes and expectation.
Today, he rode alone.
The road out of North Pine Town stretched wide and clean, flanked by low stone walls and rolling fields. As he passed the final watch post and crossed the boundary marker, the sounds of the town softened behind him, replaced by wind and hoofbeats.
It was then that the familiar cyan light flickered into existence before his eyes.
[System Mission Triggered!]
Mission: Signature Weapon
Difficulty: Medium
Objective: Find and claim a weapon that truly suits your path.
Time Limit: None
Reward: Random Talent Card (x1)
Penalty for failure: None
Jiang blinked once.
A weapon… as a mission.
He studied the words for a moment, then let out a slow breath.
So even this matters to you, he thought, not with irritation, but with quiet understanding. You're saying this choice defines something fundamental.
Without hesitation, Jiang dismissed the screen. The cyan light dissolved into the morning air as if it had never been there.
"Alright," he murmured to himself. "Let's see what you think suits me."
Anthony Olliver's estate lay several hours' ride away, farther north, where the land grew harsher and the hills rose sharper against the sky. By the time Jiang approached its outer perimeter, the sun had climbed higher, burning away the last of the morning chill.
The estate announced itself not with luxury, but with presence.
Stone walls reinforced with iron braces. Watchtowers positioned for clear sightlines rather than ornament. The gates were wide, scarred by use, not decoration. Everything about the place spoke of function and readiness.
Two guards at the gate straightened when they saw him approach.
One of them squinted, then his eyes widened. "It's him."
The other gave a short laugh. "The young lord from yesterday?"
They stepped aside.
"Welcome, Lord Jiang," the first guard said, respectfully. "Sir Anthony is already awake. He instructed us to bring you straight through."
Jiang nodded and rode in.
Inside, the estate was much the same, clean, efficient, built for soldiers rather than nobles. Training yards occupied more space than gardens. Weapon racks lined the walls. There were no fountains, no statues, no excess.
He dismounted near the central grounds and handed the reins to an attendant, who bowed once and led the horse away.
A retainer guided him toward an open training field near the back of the estate.
Before Jiang even saw Anthony, he heard him.
A heavy thud shook the ground, followed by the low scrape of metal against stone.
In the center of the field, Anthony Olliver stood bare-armed, sweat glistening on his skin. He was lifting a massive reinforced weight, one that would have required mana for most Knights to even move comfortably. His breathing was controlled, measured, every muscle in his arms and shoulders defined by strain.
He lifted. Held. Lowered.
No mana.
Just strength.
Jiang stopped several paces away and waited.
Anthony finished his set, rolled his shoulders once, and finally turned. When he saw Jiang, his stern expression softened into a genuine smile.
"Welcome Welcome," Anthony said. "You're right on time."
"I didn't want to keep you waiting," Jiang replied.
Anthony waved a hand dismissively. "You didn't at all."
He wiped his hands with a cloth and nodded toward the far end of the yard. "I had my men bring out everything I own. Rifles, pistols, prototypes. Even a few things I don't use anymore."
Jiang followed his gaze. Rows of covered weapon stands stretched along the edge of the field.
Anthony studied him for a moment, eyes sharp, thoughtful.
"You know," he said, "after our fight yesterday, I kept thinking about how you move."
Jiang remained silent, attentive.
"You used that gunblade better than most veterans I've seen," Anthony continued. "Better than I did at your age. But it's still a compromise."
Jiang's brow lifted slightly.
"A gunblade tries to be two things," Anthony said. "And in doing so, it limits how far you can push either path."
He met Jiang's eyes squarely. "You don't fight with brute force. You calculate. You predict. You stratgize. You have a swordsman's instinct and a marksman's mind. But having both can be a blessing and a curse in some cases."
Jiang considered his words.
"I'm not saying abandon the blade," Anthony added. "There will be times you need it. But if you want to reach your full potential you'll need a weapon that defines you."
A pause.
"Establishing your signature weapon," Anthony said quietly, "is the same as establishing a legacy."
Jiang nodded once.
"I understand," he said.
Anthony smiled, satisfied.
Anthony led him down the line of weapons without another word.
The first was brought forward by two retainers, a long-barreled assault rifle with a reinforced chassis and an extendable stock that unfolded with a solid metallic click. When fully deployed, it was nearly as tall as Jiang himself. The alloy frame was thick, impact-absorbing, clearly designed to endure sustained recoil and brutal field use.
Jiang accepted it, weighed it in his hands, and tested the balance.
He raised it once, sighted down the barrel, then fired.
The shot was clean. Controlled. The recoil settled smoothly into his shoulder, and the stock absorbed the force exactly as designed. He adjusted his stance, fired again, two quick shots, then three.
Anthony watched from a short distance away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Jiang lowered the rifle after a dozen shots.
"It's good," he said honestly. "Stable."
"But?" Anthony asked.
Jiang hesitated for half a breath. "It wants me to stand still."
Anthony's lips twitched faintly.
The next weapon was more compact, a shorter rifle with a lighter frame, designed for rapid movement and close-quarters engagements. Jiang tested it the same way. This time, he moved while firing, shifting angles, rolling his shoulders, letting his feet guide his aim rather than the other way around.
The shots landed. Every one of them.
Still, Jiang frowned.
"It responds quickly," he said, "but it punishes hesitation. If I slow down, it loses its rhythm."
Anthony nodded, filing the observation away.
They went through several more.
A heavy-caliber firearm that thundered with each shot, its recoil demanding respect. Jiang handled it well enough, but after a few rounds, he handed it back without prompting.
"Too loud," he said simply.
A precision rifle followed, long, elegant, devastating at range. Jiang tested it once, then twice, then returned it with a quiet shake of his head.
Anthony said nothing throughout the process. He didn't interrupt. Didn't correct. He simply watched.
By the time the last conventional weapon was returned to its rack, the pattern was obvious.
Jiang never struggled.
But he never lingered either.
Anthony stepped closer, gaze sharp.
"You don't chase fire rate," he said slowly. "You don't care about raw stopping power."
Jiang glanced at him. "They all assume the enemy stays where you aim."
Anthony exhaled through his nose, almost amused. "Exactly."
He turned toward the far end of the training ground. "That's enough."
The retainers paused, surprised, but obeyed when Anthony raised a hand.
"There's one more," he said.
This time, he didn't gesture for them to bring it out.
He walked to a solitary stand set apart from the rest.
The weapon resting there looked… wrong.
Its barrel was unusually smooth, lacking the standard rifling grooves one would expect. The frame was narrow, the weight oddly distributed, the stock plain and almost unfinished. There were no obvious sights, no clear indication of intended firing posture.
Anthony picked it up himself.
"I trained with this when I was young," he said quietly.
Jiang's attention sharpened.
"It was considered revolutionary," Anthony continued. "A weapon designed entirely around ricochet theory. No direct fire. No straight shots. Every round was meant to rebound—walls, ground, obstacles. The idea was to turn the battlefield itself into a weapon."
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "In practice? It was a disaster."
Jiang accepted the weapon when Anthony offered it, feeling its unfamiliar balance settle into his hands.
"Most couldn't even hit a target with it," Anthony said. "The recoil pattern is unpredictable. The barrel doesn't forgive miscalculation. Miss your angle by a hair, and the shot goes nowhere."
He shook his head. "I couldn't master it either. Ended up using it as a blunt instrument until I abandoned it entirely and had my own rifle made."
Anthony looked at Jiang now, expression serious. "But watching you yesterday… and just now… I think you might be different."
The training ground seemed quieter.
Anthony gestured toward a distant target set against a stone wall.
"Here's the condition," he said plainly. "Stand with your back to the target."
Jiang turned his head slightly, acknowledging.
"Do not turn," Anthony continued. "Do not look. Fire once."
A pause.
"If the shot lands," Anthony finished, "I'll know this weapon belongs to you."
Jiang didn't ask questions.
He stepped forward, turned his back to the target, and adjusted his grip on the unfamiliar weapon.
The air stilled.
Even the retainers held their breath.
Jiang raised the weapon, calm and steady, eyes unfocused as he mapped out the field and how he could hit his target.
He exhaled once.
And fired.