The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of parchment and ozone as Arin stepped out of the library. The stars above shimmered like scattered diamonds, and for the first time in weeks, he felt something beyond hope—a quiet certainty that his path was unfolding just as it should.
As he made his way toward the dormitories, his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden collision.
"Watch it!" a familiar voice exclaimed.
Arin looked up to see Kaela, her fiery red hair tied back in a practical braid, smirking at him. Beside her stood Rei, his ever-present grin making him look like he was perpetually up to something.
"Kaela, Rei," Arin greeted, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. "Fancy bumping into you two at this hour."
Kaela raised an eyebrow. "We could say the same. What brings the 'Silent Scholar' out of his cave?"
"Just communing with the stars," Arin replied with a wink. "They told me to get some fresh air."
Rei chuckled. "Well, while you're communing, perhaps you'd like to join us at the training-ground tomorrow. First and second years train there when not on missions. It's a good place to test your skills."
Arin tilted his head. "Training-ground? Sounds... intense."
Kaela nodded. "It is. But it's also where you learn the most. Real combat, real stakes. Better than any classroom."
Arin considered this. "Alright, I'll check it out. But only if Rei promises not to trip over his own feet again."
Rei feigned offense. "That was one time! And the floor was uneven."
They all laughed, the camaraderie easing the tension that had been building in Arin's chest for weeks.
As they parted ways, Arin called out, "May your mana be ever plentiful and your enemies' aim ever poor!"
Kaela shook her head, smiling. "You're such a dork.
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The sun hadn't even crested over the eastern cliff yet, but Ark's Academy training-grounds were already alive with motion and swirls of mana.
It wasn't a formal arena. It looked more like a wide-open valley carved into the back of the campus grounds, framed by ancient, rune-inscribed trees and an arcane barrier that shimmered faintly under sunlight. Students from both the first and second years filled the area, their silhouettes darting and clashing like warriors from a war opera.
Arin stood at the edge, sipping from a steaming cup of instant mana tea that tasted suspiciously like overcooked cabbage.
"Huh," he muttered. "So this is where the prodigies play."
And play they did.
A second-year assassin flickered into sight a few feet from a tree trunk, launching into a triple-strike shadow step with dual daggers. He cut clean through a wooden dummy before melting back into the shadows with a cheeky grin, earning an approving nod from a stoic instructor leaning against a polearm twice his height.
Not far from him, a thief-class student zipped between pressure plates with unnaturally flexible movements. She twisted through narrow columns using silver-threaded gloves that magnetised momentarily to metal surfaces, essentially dancing on walls. Her fingers flicked, yanked, and pilfered coloured orbs from moving targets, each motion followed by a soft chime.
To Arin's left, a broad-shouldered knight let out a guttural roar, swinging a massive two-and-a-half-metre greatsword with enough force to split the dummy—and the ground beneath it. Dust clouds rose, mana rippled, and the poor trainee sparring with him took an involuntary flying lesson.
Further ahead, mages in tailored uniforms launched bolts of elemental force using intricately crafted staves. Fire arcs. Ice needles. One particularly peppy second-year even summoned a rotating disc of wind blades that circled her like a personal blender.
"Show off," someone muttered nearby.
Another cluster practiced summoning. Some used grimoires, others grasped darkwood staffs or glimmering daggers, chanting low as they pulled feline beasts from tear-like portals in space. One summoner, maybe too enthusiastic, summoned what looked like a flaming rooster the size of a cow—before promptly screaming and diving for cover.
Then came the weird ones.
A whip-user cracked sonic waves with precision, each lash splitting dummies apart at range. A girl with chakrams skated through defensive drills on glowing mana skates. A boy wielding a meteor hammer slung the weighted end into the air before yanking it back with enough force to dent an arcane shield.
"Damn," Arin whispered, eyes wide. "It's like a fantasy arms expo out here."
He stood rooted to the spot for several long seconds, absorbing every motion, every clash, every technique. His mana senses—sharpened ever since Arcane Frame activated—tingled with the sheer amount of elemental and kinetic energy in the air.
He couldn't keep up with everything. Not visually. But mentally?
Ah, that was different.
The moment a sequence repeated twice, he stored it. When a student invoked a particular combo—say, a three-step wind affinity slash followed by an evasive burst—he locked it in.
Mind Vault kicked in like a second brain. Every parry, stance, pivot, feint, dodge, spin—it wasn't just watched.
It was catalogued.
Muscle memory simulations ran in the back of his head like an operating system optimising a new program.
But with all that said, the question remained: what should he use?
He wasn't just here to gawk.
He needed to fight. To grow. And that meant choosing a weapon that made sense for his build, his skillset, and his extremely cheat-code-esque brain.
"Let's see…" he murmured.
"I'm not a flashy spellslinger," he thought, watching a mage girl conjure frost lances that arced like comet trails. "But range matters, especially solo."
After watching a dozen archer-types with different bows—from short recurves to mana-condensed stringbows—Arin found himself drawn to the sheer precision. Silent, efficient, deadly from a distance. The ones using elemental arrowheads or mana-charged volleys made it clear how versatile bows could be.
Long-range decision? A strong and heave Bow is good enough.
Sword was the obvious option. Everyone and their dragon's grandma used a sword. But therein lay the problem—too common. Too readable. Arin wanted reach, control, and versatility.
That's when his eyes locked on a student sparring with a heavy-bladed spear. Not a lance. Not a pike. A proper spear with a tapering tip and a weighted butt. The student twisted, swept low, flipped the weapon in his grip and knocked his opponent's legs out in a single fluid motion.
Elegant.
Spear gave him zoning, counter options, momentum. With Arcane Frame boosting his balance and physical reflexes, the footwork could be mastered quickly.
Mid-range combat? Spear.
Daggers? Brutal. Personal. Precise. The assassin-types moved like wind and shadows—stab, vanish, repeat. A few even infused them with elemental properties, creating an almost elemental boxing style.
And with Arin's body naturally adapting to environments—and Mind Vault mapping out the muscle patterns—it made sense. Dual daggers were small enough to hide, fast enough to overwhelm, and deadly enough to end a fight before it started.
Close-combat decision? Dual daggers.
The best part? He could master all three.
Because learning wasn't a matter of trial and error for him. It was input and output. Study the form, simulate the motion, etch it into muscle memory.
Like learning to juggle with your nervous system on cheat mode.
Still holding his now-empty cup, Arin finally exhaled.
"This might actually be fun."
A rock hit his foot.
He blinked, turning to see a first-year girl scowling at him. "You gonna train or just monologue dramatically while we do all the work?"
He bowed mockingly. "Forgive me, O Spirit of Harsh Scheduling. I am waiting for my friends."
Another rock came flying. He dodged with minimal effort.
"You're weird," she muttered before jogging off toward a group of sparring mages.
Arin smiled and turned back to the battleground.
Tomorrow, he'd borrow a bow.
The next day, a spear.
And after that, two daggers.
Step by step, layer by layer, he'd become an arsenal no one saw coming.
Because while others mastered a class…
Arin would master the battlefield.
And the battlefield?
It didn't forgive. It didn't forget.
It favoured those who adapted first and struck last.
And Arin? He was built for both.