Sora clarified that he wanted to understand Akira's approach to weapon usage. He brandished a wooden stick and pointed it at Akira, commanding him to attack.
The morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting golden flecks across the forest floor. Birds chirped overhead, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves—an almost serene contrast to the intense training ahead.
Akira and Sora had risen early, venturing deep into the woods for another session. Their bond had grown steadily, a quiet respect forming between teacher and student. Sora, ever calm and composed, resumed his role without ceremony, continuing Akira's lessons on unlocking new skills.
After a few warm-ups and demonstrations, Sora stepped back and said, "Now, try accessing your inventory. Say, 'System: Items.'"
Akira did as told. A familiar glow shimmered in his vision as the system interface appeared—blank.
"Uh... there's nothing here," Akira muttered, blinking.
"What?" Sora leaned in, bewildered. "You've never used your item system? Not even once?"
Akira scratched the back of his head sheepishly, stifling a laugh. "I didn't even know I had one."
Sora exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable. This is basic system usage, Akira."
Akira chuckled. "Guess I've been winging it this whole time."
With a resigned sigh and a soft smack to his own forehead, Sora walked him through the fundamentals of item management. Once that was cleared up, they shifted focus.
"Do you have any elemental magic?" Sora asked, stepping back onto the clearing's center.
Akira shook his head. "No magic. My system only gave me weapon-based skills... and a bunch of strange ones I don't even understand yet."
He tried to keep his voice steady, but a flicker of envy crept into his tone. Magic always seemed more powerful, more elegant. He felt... lacking.
Sora seemed to sense this. "You're a physical type," he said after a pause.
"A what?" Akira tilted his head.
"Physical warrior. System types aren't just random—they lean toward certain builds. You've got physical affinity, which means strength, weapon control, maybe some buffs or passive boosts, and your blood magic can be considered an added bonus. Others might be mages, healers, tanks, damage dealers, summoners... The rarest ones are hyper-hybrids—people with all types in one. But that's once in a hundred million."
Akira nodded, filing the information away. He didn't like feeling behind, but knowledge was power too.
"Each type has its strengths and weaknesses," Sora continued. "A healer can cure poison—but not everything. Tanks can block assassins, but poisonous types slip through their defenses. There's always a counter. That's why strategy matters."
Akira absorbed every word. He was beginning to see how complex combat truly was—far more than just swinging a blade.
Three hours passed in relentless instruction. Then, Sora suddenly stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"Now," he said, "pretend I'm your enemy. Show me how you'd fight me with your weapons."
Akira blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—what?"
"No hesitation," Sora said firmly. "This isn't just about skills. It's about instincts. Let's see how you move when the pressure's real."
"With that wooden stick?" Akira asked, eyeing the object in Sora's hand with open skepticism.
Sora's face twitched. "IT'S NOT A WOODEN STICK! IT'S A WAND!" he barked, clutching it like it were a sacred relic.
Akira blinked, bewildered. "Wait... what?"
In truth, it was a wooden stick—rough, chipped, and very much ordinary. Sora simply couldn't afford a proper wand.
Ignoring the awkward silence that followed, Sora straightened his posture and declared, "Anyway! Before we spar, you need to learn how to enhance your weapon with magic. That comes first."
Akira tilted his head. "How do I even do that?"
"You need to channel your mana into your weapon—coating it with your magic," Sora explained. "Focus, concentrate. You've got blood magic, right? Use that."
"I've never done this before," Akira admitted. "How do I even sense my magic, let alone release it?"
"Start by summoning your weapon," Sora instructed calmly.
Akira nodded, and his dagger materialized with a faint shimmer.
"Now close your eyes," Sora continued. "Visualize a circle. That's your source of magic—your core. Once you see it, straighten it. Let the flow move from that line into your hand, and into the weapon. Don't force it. Just breathe and guide it."
Akira obeyed, drawing a deep breath. Slowly, he closed his eyes. The world dulled around him. His heart beat in rhythm with the wind, slow and steady. He felt a chill—not from outside, but within. A breeze that whispered through his very soul.
Then, in the darkness of his mind, he saw it: a faint red circle, pulsing. He imagined straightening it into a line—directing it outward.
The moment he did, something stirred inside him. His hand tingled.
A soft crimson glow formed along the hilt of his dagger. Then, like blood flowing from a wound, the magic seeped out—coating the blade. It shimmered with a haunting black-red gleam, viscous yet solidifying into a hardened, almost rock-like texture.
A chill ran through Akira's spine as he opened his eyes. The dagger pulsed in his grip, alive with a sinister sheen.
[BLOOD MANIPULATION]
"Woah…" Akira whispered, staring at the transformed weapon in awe. The blood had bonded to the blade, not dripping but locked in place—like a cursed edge forged from his own essence.
Sora grinned, clearly impressed. "Well done! Though, you do know that you don't need to scream out names of your skills, right?"
"I don't know, I just want a dramatic touch to it."
"Guess we're both the same. Now, say: 'System: Weapon Status!'"
_________________________
[Double edge dagger]
Type: Dagger
Level: 7
Rank: E-
strength: 357(+104)
Durability: 68(+32)
_________________________
Akira stood in silent awe, caught off guard by the depth of Sora's explanation. He hadn't realized just how intricate the bond between a warrior and their weapon could be.
"Listen carefully," Sora said, his tone growing more instructive. "A weapon isn't just something you swing around—it's an extension of your power, your endurance, your will. But it has limits."
He knelt and drew a line in the dirt. "Say a weapon has a base strength of 15. If you have 1,000 strength, then in theory, your combined output becomes 1,015. But reality doesn't work that simply."
Akira furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"
"Every weapon has a threshold," Sora explained. "If a blade is built to handle only 500 strength, and you push 1,000 through it, you're going to snap it in two. It's like trying to channel a river through a straw."
Akira nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
"The stronger you are, the easier it is to wield powerful weapons," Sora continued. "But the weapon itself needs to be built for that strength. That's why durability and balance matter. A lighter weapon that fits your strength and style can outperform a heavy one you're not compatible with."
He rose and dusted off his hands. "That's where Signature Weapons come in—personal weapons, forged by your system or your soul. They're rare. Sentient, sometimes. And they choose you."
"Choose me?" Akira echoed, surprised.
Sora nodded. "A true Signature Weapon isn't just wielded—it responds to your strength, mirrors it. If your stats grow, it grows with you. There are no caps, no breaking points. It's a part of you. A replica of you. That's the benefit of having weapon skills, though to be fair, signature weapons don't come to everyone."
He stepped back, his expression turning solemn. "Some Signature Weapons are even classified as Special or Divine types. They come with skills, traits—some can even speak to their wielder. Living relics with minds of their own."
Akira felt a pulse in his chest. Without needing another word, he raised his hand—and with a flicker of dark red light, his weapon materialized.
The Reaper Scythe.
It loomed tall beside him, the massive blade twisted and jagged, its edge rippling like a blade pulled from shadow. It was not the crude tool of a farmer, but something ancient—refined through chaos. Runes glowed faintly along its curve, pulsing with silent menacing red color.
Sora's eyes widened as the weapon settled into Akira's grip. "So that's your signature weapon… I'm impressed kid, you truly are a blessed child to have something that rare."
Akira didn't speak. Instead, he responded the way warriors did—with action.
With a single movement, he swung the scythe in a perfect arc. The blade cut through the air, the weight of it effortlessly balanced, as if molded to his body. A low hum followed the slash, vibrating in the air like a whispered warning.
Sora grinned. "Perfect control... That's a signature weapon for sure."
Sora crossed his arms, eyeing the massive scythe in Akira's grip with visible approval. "Effortless," he said. "You're wielding that thing like it weighs nothing. That's rare."
Then, with a sudden flick of his wrist, Sora revealed his own weapon once again—his so-called wand.
"Now," he said with a grin, "combat training."
Akira blinked. "Wait—right now?"
Sora scoffed. "No, next year. Of course right now! I want to see what you've really got."
Akira sighed, realizing resistance was pointless. "Okay."
The two stepped back, distancing themselves until forty meters separated them—far enough for both range and charge tactics.
Sora raised his wand, his expression sharpening. "Let's dance."
[WIND MAGIC: WIND SWORD]
With a single arc of his wand, the air in front of Sora distorted. Invisible currents surged forward, swirling and coalescing into a sleek, shimmering blade of compressed wind. Though nearly invisible, a faint emerald hue shimmered along its edge—a colorless edge turned spectral green.
It hovered beside him like a summoned knight's weapon, sharp enough to slice a falling leaf in half mid-air, yet gentle enough to leave his wand untouched.
Akira tensed, impressed by the control.
But he didn't hesitate.
[BLOOD MANIPULATION: WEAPON ENHANCEMENT]
Blood surged through his veins, responding to his will. His reaper scythe darkened—its blade throbbing with red-black energy. The blood coating hardened, crystalizing into jagged edges that shimmered with menace.
Without a word, Akira charged forward—eyes narrowed, scythe low. He didn't glance at his footing, didn't hesitate. He moved—like instinct had taken over, body surging forward with raw intent.
Dust rose behind him. Leaves scattered in his wake.
Sora's wind blade darted ahead to intercept.
Their clash had begun.
"We're already in our first combat training, and you're taking it seriously?" Sora called out, shifting into a defensive stance. Despite the humor in his voice, his eyes stayed sharp. He wasn't underestimating Akira—not for a second.
The boy was strong. Too strong for someone his age.
Akira charged again, scythe cleaving through the air with a roar. Their weapons met with a thunderous crash, the impact rippling out in a concussive shockwave that stirred the trees and kicked up dust.
Sora recovered instantly. His speed surged.
He ducked under the next swing, sidestepped the third, and parried the fourth with a sharp snap of his wind blade. His movements were precise, fluid—like water flowing around stone.
Akira, by contrast, fought with raw instinct. His scythe danced, but the swings were wide, telegraphed. Powerful—but unrefined. His inexperience showed in every clash.
Another heavy swing. Miss.
Another. Parried.
Frustrated, Akira went for a desperate overhead strike, roaring with effort.
Sora's eyes flashed.
He pivoted smoothly to the left, letting the blade crash into empty air. "Too slow."
With a flick of his wand, he sliced across Akira's shaft mid-swing. The scythe flew from his grip, spinning through the air before slamming into the ground with a dull, echoing thud.
Before Akira could react, a solid kick slammed into his ribs.
WHUMP.
Air burst from his lungs as he was launched backward, tumbling across the dirt before skidding to a stop.
He lay there, stunned, gasping. Not from pain—but from shock.
He'd lost. Easily. Decisively.
Sora approached, offering a half-smile and shaking his head. "Not bad for a first fight... but you've got a long way to go."
Akira slowly sat up, wiping the dust from his mouth, still wide-eyed. He'd known Sora was strong—but to effortlessly dodge and counter him? It stung. But deep down, he knew Sora was right.
"You've got power," Sora continued, resting his wand against his shoulder. "But power alone means nothing if you don't know how to use it."
He crouched beside Akira, voice firm but calm. "Different enemies require different strategies. That scythe? Great for wide sweeps, heavy strikes. But it's slow. Against a fast opponent—or worse, a ranged one—you'd be torn apart unless you adapt."
Sora stood again, pacing slowly.
"An archer at long range? You'll never reach them if you fight like you did today. But if you read their movements, use terrain, learn to pressure—you'll close that gap. It's not about the weapon. It's about knowing when and how to use it."
Akira listened intently, every word sinking in like a bruise.
Sora turned back, his tone shifting. More serious now.
"And one more thing," he added, tossing his worn wand aside. The wind blade faded into mist.
"There are people out there—chosen ones—who inherit magical gifts through blood. Ancient powers passed down through generations. You may not even know you carry one... until it awakens."
"What do you mean by that?" Akira asked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. He hadn't expected a lecture right after getting kicked across the clearing.
Sora's tone shifted into something calmer—more instructive. "There's more than one way to gain power," he began. "Some people gain their magic through a system altar or shrine, unlocking skills and stats like you've seen. But others… are born with it."
Akira blinked, listening closely.
"When magic is inherited from your bloodline—your parents or ancestors—you don't get a System Board," Sora continued. "Instead, you access something called a Personal System Data—PSD for short. It's like your own private interface. It shows your power level, magical abilities, and overall stats. But it's... different."
"How different?" Akira asked.
Sora folded his arms. "For one, inherited magic isn't bound by the same limits. They don't need to unlock every skill—they're free to develop their powers naturally. No system-imposed restrictions. But the downside is... they can't store regular items, only their signature weapon. And there's no guiding tutorial. They're on their own when it comes to figuring out how their powers work."
Akira nodded slowly. For the first time, he felt like he was actually understanding something. "So it's instinct-based, not system-based... I see."
But even as he said it, the complexity of it all began to pile up. Systems, weapons, elements, lineages—it felt like a storm of information swirling in his mind. His vision swam for a moment.
Sora noticed. "Overwhelmed?"
"A little," Akira admitted with a sheepish chuckle.
"Don't worry," Sora said with a faint smile. "You'll get used to it."
He turned toward the clearing, eyes distant for a moment as if recalling another time, another place.
"As for elemental inheritance... that's where things get even more interesting," he said. "The most common lineages are elemental—Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, and Lightning. But when two bloodlines mix, things get... creative."
Akira raised an eyebrow. "Creative?"
Sora nodded. "You don't just get Fire or Water. You get Scarlet Flame, Magma, Blue Wind, Glass Lightning. Hybrids. Elemental combinations that bend the rules."
Akira looked intrigued. "So it's not just about power—it's about how the power's shaped?"
"Exactly." Sora's tone grew serious now, a weight creeping into his voice. "But you also need to understand how elements counter each other. It's a constant balance—"
"Water douses Fire."
"Wind disrupts Lightning."
"Lightning shatters Earth."
"Earth absorbs Water."
"And so on," he said. "But the matchups don't guarantee victory. It's skill that tips the balance. Even a fire user can defeat water if they know how to fight smart. The stronger mind often wins the weaker element."
Akira nodded again, slower this time. His eyes were serious, but his brows furrowed—he was trying to keep up, trying to connect the dots in his own messy way.
Sora glanced at him, then chuckled softly. "You're eager. But you're not the brightest star in the sky, huh?"
Akira gave a crooked grin. "I get there... eventually."
Sora clapped him on the shoulder. "That's good enough. Just keep learning. Strength without understanding is like a sword with no edge. Looks sharp, but it'll break in a real fight."
Sora's voice took on a weighty, almost reverent tone. "There's one more word I want you to remember, Akira. One we all chase, whether we admit it or not."
He paused.
"Awaken."
The word seemed to hum in the air like a sacred chord.
"It's not just power—it's transcendence," Sora continued. "When a flame mage's fire turns blue, that's not just training. That's Awakening. It's a moment when your very essence evolves—when your magic sheds its limits and becomes something greater."
Akira blinked, intrigued but already feeling the fog of information roll back in.
Sora wasn't finished.
"Then there's 'Evolve.' That's different. For monsters, or warriors with transformation potential, it means a complete change of form—ascending to a higher tier of strength, speed, and magic. A full-body rebirth. Evolution boosts everything at once. But it comes with trials. Sometimes pain. Sometimes blood."
He leaned closer, voice lower. "So train, Akira. Train until you're bone-weary. Bleed, sweat, cry if you must. Because if you're lucky—if you're worthy—you'll either Awaken... or Evolve."
Akira's head tilted slightly, then dropped into his hands. "Enough!"
Sora blinked, momentarily stunned.
Akira groaned. "My head's going to explode. You talk like an encyclopedia on fire."
Sora chuckled. "Too much?"
"Too fast," Akira muttered. "Could you... maybe slow down a little? And simplify?"
Raising an eyebrow, Sora crossed his arms. "This isn't a game, Akira. You don't get to skip the tutorial."
"I know," Akira said quickly. "But if you go that fast again, I'll just end up nodding like I get it, then forget everything five minutes later."
That finally earned a grin from Sora.
"Alright. I'll slow down. And ask questions if anything doesn't make sense. Even if it's something obvious."
Akira exhaled in relief. "Thanks. I mean it."
"We'll revisit everything," Sora promised. "This stuff doesn't sink in all at once."
"Good. Because I think my brain is running away."
With the lecture finally over, the two settled on a thick fallen log nearby, letting the cool shade of the trees calm the intensity of their earlier battle and talk. Before them was a modest lunch: grilled fish, still sizzling faintly.
Akira grinned at the slightly charred orange-scaled catch he had managed to land earlier. His fishing technique had been, in a word, chaotic—more splashing and shouting than skill—but the end result still tasted like victory.
Cleaning the fish was a careful, deliberate process. Akira worked with steady hands, wiping off the slime and dirt from its glimmering scales. He avoided using his weapons to gut it—he knew better than to risk ruining the tender flesh. His fingers did the messy work, digging into the belly to remove the organs. The smell was sharp and unpleasant, but tolerable.
Cold water from a nearby stream rinsed away the blood and lingering bacteria, leaving the fish clean, though still foreign to his eyes. He chose not to remove the head—he wasn't familiar enough with the species to know if it held value or venom.
Once prepared, he laid the fish carefully over the fire, the crackling flames licking upward as smoke curled into the forest canopy. The scent of cooking flesh soon filled the clearing, mingling with the earthy aroma of ash and pine.
It was the perfect punctuation to a long, enlightening day.
They sat quietly at the campfire, the fish between them, the air filled only with the gentle crackle of burning wood and the occasional nightbird's cry. Akira tore into his portion first, savoring the crisp skin and flaky interior. The hard-earned meal tasted even better than expected.
As the moment settled into a peaceful silence, Sora broke it—not abruptly, but with purpose.
"Akira," he said, voice quiet but carrying weight, "Why are you pushing yourself so hard in training? What is it you're after?"
Akira didn't pause to think. "I want to be the strongest. In Celesta... maybe even the world."
Sora chewed in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he set his food down, brushing ashes from his hands.
"The strongest, huh?" he echoed, though his tone carried no admiration—only a quiet sigh. "Sounds like a dull ambition to me."
Akira looked up, confused. "Dull? Why?"
Sora leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes reflecting the firelight. "Because 'strongest' is just a title. Strength by itself doesn't mean anything. It's bravery, sacrifice, responsibility that give it meaning."
He paused, gaze drifting toward the dark trees beyond the firelight.
"True strength means carrying others. Protecting them, even when they don't deserve it. Fighting for people who might never know your name. And knowing—truly knowing—that you can't save everyone. The world's too cruel, too vast. Eventually, you'll lose someone. You'll fail. And it'll break you a little every time."
Akira listened in silence, his food forgotten, the warmth of the fire suddenly seeming smaller.
Sora glanced at him. "But when that moment comes—when you realize you're not invincible—I want you to remember what I'm telling you now. Don't give up. Don't turn cold. Strength is meant to be shared. Otherwise, it becomes something twisted."
Akira blinked, his mind chewing on the words harder than the fish. "You're... quite wise for a mentor," he said eventually. "But isn't that more about being a hero than being strong?"
Sora gave him a crooked smile, both tired and knowing. "You're not wrong. But I see in you something more than muscle and talent. I see someone who wants to protect."
He leaned back, stretching slightly. "Just know this, Akira—strength doesn't shield you from hate. In fact, it draws it. The more powerful you become, the more the world will expect of you. Judge you. Envy you. Even your smallest decisions can fester into someone else's grudge."
Akira looked down at the fire, the glow flickering in his eyes. He said nothing, but the weight of those words anchored deeply in him.
Sora's final words came softly, almost to himself.
"So keep your ego in check. And if you ever stray from the path... I'll drag you back myself."
Akira nodded, the gravity of Sora's words settling in his heart."So, with great powers, comes great responsibilities."
Sora chuckled. "That sounds familiar." He rose, offering a hand to Akira. "Ready for the next round of training?"
Akira accepted the help, pulling himself to his feet. With a determined nod, he prepared to continue his rigorous training and learning regime, a journey that would span the next two years.