Rion groaned as the first rays of sunlight pierced the thin fabric of his tent, irritatingly persistent. He let out a sigh and pulled the tattered curtains closed with a grunt, trying to block out the intrusive light that had decided to make his life difficult.
It wasn't just the light, though. The sounds of Vance shifting restlessly in his sleep a few feet away only added to the clamor. Rion had gotten used to his tentmate's unpredictable sleeping habits, but today the noise grated on him more than usual.
For a moment, he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, a dull ache pulsing through his body. The events of the previous night replayed in his mind—especially the part where he narrowly avoided getting his head handed to him on a silver platter by some kid.
Well, if you ignored the fact that the 'kid' was probably older than him by at least 3 years. But in his defense, anyone with a face that shiny and got excited that quickly immediately qualified for the 'brat' category. Age was just a technicality at this point.
Sitting up, he stretched his arms, wincing as his muscles protested. He glanced down at his chest, eyes narrowing as he examined the shallow cuts he'd earned. What he saw, however, made him pause. The wounds were mostly gone, the bruises reduced to faint shadows. It wasn't perfect healing, but it was quicker than he expected.
Well, would you look at that, he thought, running a hand over his abdomen, feeling the smooth skin where cuts had been. [Resilient Body] coming in clutch... or maybe I've just been drinking enough water. Always wondered why those monks were obsessed with hydration.
Sarcasm aside, it was hard to argue with the results. He knew the technique was designed to enhance his physical endurance, but it was still jarring to see it working this effectively after just a few months of practice. If the Low-grade version of this technique was this good after repeat practice, then he struggled to comprehend how effective the Peak-ranked version would be.
With a roll of his shoulders and a long yawn, Rion began shaking off the last remnants of grogginess. He had work to do—his body wouldn't strengthen itself just by lying in bed. As much as his muscles complained, he forced himself to get up and get started. The routine had to be followed, aches or not.
First up, his usual practice. Moving to the center of the cramped tent, his bare feet pressed into the cold floor as he began to stretch his limbs. The motions were slow and deliberate at first, but gradually his movements became more fluid, his body slipping into the familiar patterns of his morning routine.
After a light workout, he took a meditative pose and began practicing his [Energy Strengthing-Magnetism] technique. He visualized the energy from its gene solution coursing through his limbs, pulling and compacting the internal forces within his body. While the energy circulated around his body, he could feel the invisible push and pull of magnetism, the subtle tension of power gathering in his core, somehow strengthening his Resonance ability.
Seeing that he still had time and energy to spare, [Resilient Body] followed naturally. His breaths became controlled as he focused on hardening his body from the inside out. Each inhale reinforced his muscles, skin, and bones, as though he were fortifying a structure brick by brick.
It was almost mechanical, each breath further tempering the armor that was his body. He wasn't sure how much the technique helped on a day-to-day basis, but it felt like progress. If his body could already shrug off minor injuries overnight, then there had to be more benefits he wasn't even aware of yet.
After finishing his training, Rion grabbed a towel and headed out of the tent into the morning air, cool and crisp against his skin. The Normos Family's base looked as foreboding as ever. The thick concrete walls that surrounded the compound, topped with barbed wire, gave it an air of military precision.
Guards patrolled the perimeter with deadened eyes, more bored than alert. But that was life here. Everything was serious, everything was controlled. It was suffocating at times, but it was safe—for now.
He made his way to the communal showers, a wave of warm, humid air greeting him as he entered. The line of weary mercenaries waiting their turn stretched across the tent, their faces etched with the strain of training. He nodded to a few familiar faces, but mostly kept to himself, waiting for his turn.
When he finally stepped into the cramped shower stall, the hot water was an immediate relief, working wonders on his sore muscles. Steam filled the small space, and for a few minutes, he just stood there, letting the water wash away the fatigue of the night before.
Once clean and a little more relaxed, he dried himself off and returned to his room. He wiped a hand across the fogged-up mirror, his reflection coming into focus. That's when he noticed it—his skin mask had a gash on the cheek. He frowned, leaning closer to inspect it. The damage wasn't terrible, but it was noticeable. Likely from that lovely altercation last night.
Rion's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Well, that's just perfect. A night out with one brat and I'm already shedding layers."
He examined the cut more closely, tracing the jagged edges with his finger. The mask had held up better than he expected, but there was no denying it: wear and tear, plus the occasional wind blade to the face, wasn't doing it any favors.
Luckily, he had prepared for this. Rion pulled out a small stash of the materials he used to craft the mask from his backpack—specially treated synthetic skin that looked realistic enough to pass at a glance. It wasn't exactly high-grade, but it got the job done. With a bit of fabric glue, he patched up the gashes, smoothing the edges until it looked as good as new. Well, as good as a fake face could look.
As he worked, he couldn't ignore the fact that its durability was becoming an issue. The mask wasn't going to cut it for much longer. If the punk kid from last night could do this much damage to it, what would happen when the real threats showed up? It wouldn't be long before someone ripped the whole thing clean off his face. That thought lingered in his mind like a bad taste.
He needed better materials—something more durable, something that could take a hit without looking like it had been through a blender.
"Stronger materials," he mused, stepping back to admire his patchwork. The mask was good as new. For now. "Maybe I should just start wearing armor on my face. That wouldn't be suspicious at all."
Satisfied with the quick fix, Rion stashed away the rest of the materials and got dressed. His newly acquired body suit lay draped over a chair in the corner.
Hehehe....
He was sure he wouldn't get any trouble from the Pegasus Academy and by extension, the Pegasus Guild for his little stunt. After all, he didn't cause any harm to the students and let them go with only a slap to the wrist. Besides, Young Master #1 probably had an entire wardrobe of academy-issued body suits and wouldn't miss this one.
He loaded his cart with his gear and the weapons his teammates had dropped off for repairs the day before. With his preparations finished and everything packed, Rion headed toward the door.
His destination: the repair bay.
* * *
The repair bay was tucked away in a quieter corner of the compound, a nondescript building that most people didn't pay much attention to. It was where the real magic happened, at least for Rion. Here, surrounded by piles of metal scraps, old weapons, and half-assembled machinery, he felt at home. The soft hum of equipment and the occasional clang of metal were almost soothing.
Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of oil and the sight of mechanics at workbenches cluttered with tools and unfinished projects. The bay wasn't exactly state-of-the-art, but it had what he needed.
Rion slid his cart to the side of an empty workbench, letting out a small sigh as he scanned the pile of weapons his teammates had so generously dropped off for repair. "At least I'm getting a bit of cash out of this," he muttered, rolling his eyes. In truth, the repairs wouldn't take long. Most of them just needed minor tweaks—blade sharpening, lubricating internal rails, the usual.
First up was Vance's rifle. Rion picked it up, the weight familiar in his hands. The weapon was solid, but it had seen better days. Vance wasn't exactly gentle with his gear, and it showed. A quick field strip revealed the source of the problem: a dirty firing pin and a gas tube clogged with debris. "Seriously, man? Do you ever clean this thing?" Rion shook his head, grabbing a brush and cleaning solution.
Working methodically, he scrubbed the carbon buildup from the gas tube and wiped down the firing pin. The rifle wasn't complicated, but it needed care like anything else. Once he was done, he reassembled the weapon and tested the slide, satisfied with the smooth action. "There. You'll be shooting straight again."
He continued to his other teammates weapons, the repetitive manual work helping him clear his head.
With his commissions dealt with, Rion finally turned his attention to the real project of the day: his electromagnetic rifle. It was surely in desperate need of some attention after the extended abuuse during the battle against the Blackblood Swarm. The last thing he wanted was for his weapon jam on him in the middle of a firefight.
He pulled out the already disassembled parts from the large case and laid it out on the bench, before beginning his usual routine of cleaning and maintenance.
"Let's see… worn-out coils, a few chips on the exterior plating, and—" He frowned, turning the rifle to examine its underside. "Ah, there it is. The power coupling's half-shot."
That explained why it had been acting sluggish towards the end of the battle. The coupling was vital for stabilizing the magnetic fields that propelled the ferromagnetic projectiles. Without it functioning properly, the rifle's power would be inconsistent, and Rion couldn't afford that.
He grabbed a set of tools and got to work, removing the damaged parts and setting them aside. Fortunately, he'd made enough replacement components in preparation for the mission, just in case. The replacement power coupling clicked into place with a satisfying snap, and he proceeded to reinforce the weapon's frame, hammering out the dents and reinforcing the weak spots.
Rion's hands moved with practiced precision as he finished tuning the rifle's internal magnetic fields, ensuring that everything was aligned correctly. He tested the weapon, watching as the power indicators flickered to life. A soft hum emanated from the gun, a sign that it was back in working order.
Satisfied with the electromagnetic rifle's repairs, Rion turned his attention to his pair of electro-magnetic handguns. Unlike the rifle, these were less flashy but just as lethal in close combat. Compact, efficient, and deadly accurate. Each was fitted with a custom magnetic core that allowed for rapid fire without sacrificing accuracy.
He took them apart, checking the coils, re-calibrating the magnetic generators, and ensuring the projectile channels were clear of any obstructions. While they were in much better shape than the rifle, they still needed a tune-up. After a few minutes of tweaking the output settings, he gave both guns a quick test fire into the designated practice target at the far end of the room.
With the bulk of his repairs completed, Rion began cleaning up his workstation, stowing away his tools and wiping down the surface. After which he made his way out of the repair bay.