The following week passed at a painfully slow crawl.
Every morning—
Rolin stood in front of the weapons table.
Swords.
Spears.
Daggers.
Even wooden practice staves.
And every single time…
It ended badly.
On the first day, he held the sword upside down.
On the second, the spear spun out of alignment and tangled around his own leg, sending him flat to the ground.
On the third, he nearly stabbed himself while attempting a basic flourish.
The result?
A dull thud.
A cloud of dust.
And Kainos' exhausted sigh.
"Azir… the weapon is not your enemy."
"It clearly disagrees," Rolin muttered while pushing himself off the floor.
A cold laugh echoed inside his mind.
I have never seen someone so spectacularly incompetent.
Rolin clenched his jaw.
"Shut up."
Kyle, passing by, slowed to a stop.
"…Who are you talking to?"
"My internal disappointment."
Kyle nodded slowly.
"Your disappointment needs therapy."
In the corner of the training hall, Kainos watched in silence.
Rolin tried again.
This time, he gripped the sword properly.
Feet steady.
Breathing controlled.
Step.
Turn.
Then—
The blade slipped from his hand, spun once in the air in a heart-stopping arc, and embedded itself into a wooden pillar behind him.
Silence.
A few students stared.
Kyle began clapping slowly.
"Impressive long-range accuracy."
I admit… that was entertaining, Likath chuckled.
"I said shut up."
"Kyle blinked. "You really do need help."
"Kyle, focus on your own stance," Kainos said calmly.
Then he turned to Rolin.
"Enough."
He walked forward, pulled the sword from the pillar, and handed it back.
"Why do you fail?"
Rolin blinked.
"Because… I'm not used to it?"
"No."
Kainos stepped closer.
"You fight well with your body. You move, evade, observe. But the moment you hold a weapon… you treat it like something foreign."
Silence.
Likath's voice came softer this time.
He's not wrong.
Rolin closed his eyes briefly.
"I've never relied on anything… before."
Kainos studied him.
"A weapon is not an object. It is an extension. If you do not trust yourself… you will never trust it."
He raised his own blade.
"Attack me. Slowly."
Rolin moved.
A simple forward step.
A straight strike.
Kainos deflected with ease.
"…Better."
Likath hummed quietly.
Perhaps you're not completely hopeless.
The week remained slow.
Full of bruises.
Full of frustration.
But for the first time—
Rolin did not feel like he was falling alone.
---
The Lecture of Survival
Later that week, Rolin attended Geography and Survival Tactics.
As usual, the hall was dim.
He was the only student in the front row.
The old professor entered slowly, his white beard reaching mid-chest, gray robes whispering across the stone floor.
Without looking at Rolin, he waved a hand.
Ancient pages lifted into the air, circling him, glowing faint blue.
"Monsters are divided into ten ranks," he began, voice rough but steady.
"Each rank divided into five tiers."
A page floated before Rolin.
A map of the known world appeared—
Large regions shaded in black and dark crimson.
"Rank One — the Lower Rank. Instinct-driven creatures. Dangerous only to the ignorant."
The page turned.
A massive wolf-like beast appeared.
"Rank Three — tactical behavior emerges. Pack coordination. Ambush patterns."
The professor finally looked at him.
"What determines a monster's rank, Azir?"
Rolin answered calmly.
"The density of energy in its core… and the extent of its cognitive awareness."
A nod.
"Correct."
More pages multiplied, transforming into three-dimensional projections of towering creatures.
"Ranks Four through Six mark the limit of academy squads. First-years are forbidden from approaching them."
The illusions shifted—larger, glowing eyes, thicker armor.
"Rank Seven requires leadership. Not mere fighters."
He paused.
"Ranks Eight through Ten…"
The projections vanished.
Silence fell heavy.
"They are not monsters."
The air felt colder.
"They are mobile catastrophes."
Rolin didn't blink.
"Has a Rank Ten ever been documented?"
A faint smile.
"Documentation requires survivors."
Silence again.
"Next week," the professor continued, "we study Forbidden Zones. Bring your mind. Leave your sword outside. Survival begins before battle."
Inside Rolin's thoughts, Likath whispered:
Rank Ten… interesting.
But Rolin was staring at the blackened region on the map.
And he wasn't thinking only about monsters.
---
Chains
That night, Rolin returned to his room.
Damn it… I want to learn a weapon, but I can't. Do weapons hate me?
No, Likath replied flatly. You are simply incompetent.
"Shut up, you flaming mutt."
A pause.
Then design one yourself.
Rolin froze.
The thought formed slowly.
He stood, walked to the dark wooden desk, pulled out parchment and ink, and began to draw.
"What are you doing?" Likath asked.
"Designing a weapon."
Silence.
…Good.
Hours passed.
Likath complained continuously.
By dawn—
Rolin finished.
He went straight to the combat hall before the others arrived.
Kainos was already there.
He looked up.
"…Azir. Did you sleep?"
"No."
Rolin placed the papers on the table.
Kainos picked them up.
Two reinforced wrist-bracers.
From each bracer extended a chain of calculated length.
At the end of each chain— a double-edged dagger.
Detailed notes filled the margins.
Rotation angles.
Lock mechanisms.
Emergency release trigger.
Weight distribution between wrist and blade.
Safe recoil distance.
"What is this?"
"A weapon I don't have to hold."
Silence.
"It moves with me. I control it through motion. It won't slip… because it's attached."
Kainos studied the sketches.
"Chains and daggers…"
"I can fight close. Or use centrifugal force for mid-range. If balance breaks, it returns."
"And this?" Kainos pointed to a mechanism.
"Quick-release. If someone grabs the chain, I detach instantly."
A raised brow.
"You designed around your weakness."
"Yes."
"Why daggers?"
"Light. Fast. They rely on momentum more than raw strength."
Silence stretched.
"You do not want a weapon that forces you to stand still," Kainos said quietly.
Rolin didn't answer.
"You want one that moves with your chaos."
"…I'm not good at staying in one place."
Kainos set the papers down.
"It will be difficult to control distance."
"I know."
"If you misjudge, you will injure yourself."
"I know."
"It will require double the training."
"That's fine."
A long pause.
Then Kainos stood.
"Come."
They moved to the center of the hall.
"Show me how you imagine it moving."
Rolin lifted his arms as if the bracers were already there.
Step.
Pivot.
A sweeping arc—
As though a chain shot outward.
Then a sharp recoil, drawing it back.
His movements were natural.
Fluid.
More fluid than any time he had held a sword.
Kainos stopped moving.
Watched.
"…This suits you."
Rolin looked up.
"We will shorten the chains slightly. Adjust the angles."
He met his eyes.
"We will build a training prototype."
"We?"
"I will not allow a student to fight with an untested weapon."
Inside Rolin's mind—
Likath spoke quietly.
Hah… perhaps you are not entirely useless.
Rolin exhaled slowly.
He was exhausted.
But for the first time since training began—
He did not feel defeated by a weapon.
Because this time—
He had not tried to adapt to it.
He made it adapt to him.