(First Half of Day One – Weakness Training)
The first thing I felt was the suppression band clamp around my wrist.
Cold. Not just in temperature, but in presence — like something ancient and metallic had closed around my mana and locked it away.
I couldn't shape steel. Couldn't pull fire or slip through wind.
Just me. Just my body.
"Annabel," said one of the field instructors. He wasn't one of the Rank 1 Magisters, but his mana was dense, steady. His outline cut clean through the haze. "You'll start on the strength track. suppression is on, only focus on physical strength."
No protests. No excuses. Just a nod from me.
They led me to the conditioning section — thick ropes, heavy weights, uneven ground. Half a dozen other students were already here. I could feel them struggling even before I joined. Mana outlines pulsing erratically with every movement. Too much effort in the wrong places.
I gripped the rope, shoulders already sore from the morning drills.
Then began.
⸻
It burned — deep in the muscles I rarely used without magic. Each climb, each lift, each sprint pulled at me with unfamiliar weight.
But I didn't falter.
Even without mana, my instincts carried me. My sense of balance was sharp, my body trained in ways I barely noticed before. I moved smoother than the rest. Faster.
Around me, the other students in the strength module gasped and stumbled. I recognized their manas — two nobles, one of them sobbing under her breath. Another boy collapsed on the fourth circuit and was quietly removed.
By the fifth, only two of us were still moving.
By the tenth, only me.
When the instructor finally pulled the suppression band off, he stared at me — something unreadable in his tone.
"No magic. No complaints. And you still outran class."
I couldn't reply. My legs were shaking too hard. But inside, I held it like steel.
Let them whisper about my magic. My bond. My bloodline.
Without any of it — I still stood.
⸻
Around the field, others trained through their weaknesses.
Rōko, on the far end, balanced her immense earth mana through a brutal high-output spell test — forcing her to shape huge, unstable mass spells without letting them collapse. Her breath was ragged, but she didn't waver. This wasn't outside her life. Samurai were forged in repetition.
Lycian worked alone in a weapon rotation. One minute with a blade. Next with an axe. Then a war spear, then a longbow. His mana shifted with each grip — adjusted constantly, like he was teaching his body how to adapt mid-combat. Not as confident as he usually looked. But focused. Calculating.
A few students were already gone. Seven, I'd heard. Nobles. Couldn't take the shift. Couldn't take being treated like normal people.
I didn't miss them.
Because I could feel the ones who remained.
Leondias — his aura flickered with nerves, but he moved with clean, practical intent. No wasted motion. No mana thrown for flair. He might not be strong now, but he wasn't stupid. And I knew what that kind of thinking could become.
Fay — her mana shimmered with a cold clarity I hadn't sensed before. Rank 2, like me. She worked alone, refining ice into sharp tools mid-motion. Her aura was impossibly precise. I remembered hearing she had the highest refinement score in the year. She moved like she understood the rules better than everyone else. And she never once acted like it made her better.
And then—
William.
I'd almost missed him.
His outline wasn't loud or bright. It was focused. Composed.
It took me a full minute to recognize him — the William, son of King Beren. The same boy who, years ago, looked me up and down and called me a "fine little child bearer."
I hadn't felt his presence since that day.
Now, he didn't speak. Didn't even look at me. His mana was calm, honed. Not sharp, not soft — just steady. Either he felt shame… or he'd grown up.
I wasn't sure which yet.
But I'd find out.
⸻
This was only the first half of the day.
The real grind hadn't even begun.
And already, the cracks were starting to show — not in the weak, but in the ones too proud to sweat.
The cafeteria buzzed with low voices and clinking metal. Warm food, hotter tempers. Everyone had just survived the morning. Barely.
I sat alone at the corner of one of the long stone tables — back aching, arms sore, shirt damp with sweat that clung to my spine. The tray in front of me was full, but I picked at it slowly. My hands still shook slightly from the suppression training.
Salem's presence slid into the haze a second before her body did — a bold flare of mana laced with the strange, volatile signature that only demons carried. She plopped down beside me and dropped a plate loaded with meat.
"I'm starting to think the teachers are scared of me," she muttered, biting into her food without even looking at it.
I tilted my head toward her. "Upper class students?"
"Decent," she said, through a full mouth. "But I ended up training them more than they trained me."
"Figured." I let a small breath escape, not quite a laugh.
She glanced sideways at me — I couldn't see the look, but I felt the heat of her stare. "You're drenched."
"I earned it."
"Didn't doubt it."
We sat like that for a moment — chewing, breathing, the comfortable kind of silence. I let my mana brush against hers, grounding me. The pressure of the morning slipped away, if only for a second.
Then footsteps. Quick ones.
A sharper outline entered the haze around me — clean, well-trained mana, sharper than the newer students but not overwhelming. A voice followed.
"Annabel."
I turned toward it.
"I'm Iren. Student Council. Second half is starting."
I set my tray aside.
"Magister Rhane has asked for you specifically," he added. "Weapon training."
I gave a nod, standing slowly. Salem didn't rise, but I felt her lean in.
"I'll be nearby."
Of course she would.
The school grounds where loud, voices shouting over clashing steel, boots pounding into dirt. But none of it mattered.
I couldn't see the weapons or the dust swirling through the air.
Only mana.
Blurred forms and shimmering auras.
I followed the most familiar one — Rhane's. A heavy, grounded mana. Firm. Controlled like a river behind stone.
He didn't speak as I approached — just threw something at me.
The blur was fast, but I was faster.
I caught it with both hands — wood cold and curved, string taut beneath my fingers. A bow.
"Bo staff," he grunted. "Weapon made to not kill. Noble idea."
His boots scraped the dirt as he stepped a few paces away. I could hear his weight shifting into a wider stance.
"But noble doesn't stop a devil from slicing you in half."
Before I could ask, he tossed something else — the sharp flicker of six arrowheads clattering to the ground near my feet.
I frowned.
"A bow?" I asked. "Wouldn't a sharp sword be a better alternative to a bo staff?"
Rhane's outline shifted. His mana tensed like a drawn line, then relaxed into his usual steel-like patience.
"Picking your weapon won't always be a privilege," he said. "If all you have is a bow, you won't have time to look for a sword. If all you have is a knife, you better make it count."
He stepped backward — the blur of his outline growing smaller, then still.
"You'll master many weapons by the time I'm done with you. But I gave you the bow because it suits you."
"Why?"
"You've got too many affinities not to use them. A bow lets you turn every arrow into something worse. Flame, frost, force. You can bend trajectory with wind. Even make the shots vanish and reappear with space. You're a problem-solver, not a brute. So—" I could feel the smirk in his voice, "—solve the problem."
It's the same thing that thieve did… to Johan, infuse the arrow with magic to create fatal injuries.
I haven't thought about him in forever. My first teacher, a big reason on why i'm here today, i won't let any of it go to waste.
I took a slow breath and reached out with my mana — felt for the exact thread of space between my hand and the arrows.
The distortion opened with a soft snap.
One arrow blinked into my palm.
Rhane gave a short laugh. "Not bad."
I nocked the arrow.
Everything went quiet in my head.
No voices. No weight of fear or pressure. Just the curve of the wood against my palm, the strain of the string as I drew it back.
His outline pulsed — a steady heartbeat of heat and mass.
I listened.
Not for movement — but for intent. The pause between his breaths. The shifting in his stance. The change in pressure as his core tilted just slightly to the left.
I released.
The arrow cracked the air — then thwacked against a barrier of dense mana just shy of his chest. Close.
Not enough.
Rhane didn't move. "Again."
I reached with space magic — blinked another arrow into my hand.
The wood was warmer this time — heat from the field clinging to it like memory.
I nocked, drew, fired.
It missed — barely — and splintered into the ground beside his foot.
Rhane grunted.
"Again."
There was no encouragement in his tone. No disappointment either.
Just instruction. Expectation.
I pulled another arrow to me — faster this time.
Again. And again.
The blur of his mana danced just outside my best predictions — like he knew exactly where my next shot would go and adjusted before I even fired.
By the fifth arrow, sweat beaded on my forehead.
"Why the chest?" I asked, breathing hard. "You could've picked anything."
"Because it's the part that matters," he replied flatly. "A hit to the arm won't stop a devil. A miss won't buy you time. Center mass or nothing."
I blinked another arrow into my hand.
This time, I wrapped it in a thin filament of fire mana — just enough to heat the tip.
Rhane's mana tensed again.
I fired.
The arrow hummed through the air like a struck string — faster than the last, curved midflight, the flame guiding it.
Clang.
It struck against his bracer again, but this time I heard him take a step back.
A half-step.
Progress.
He chuckled. "You're learning."
I exhaled slowly, shaking the tension from my fingers.
"You're not going to get praise from me for hitting metal," he said. "You'll get praise when the person behind it falls."
He walked closer, his steps crunching dry grass.
"You've got everything else — power, instincts, awareness. But this… this is refinement on the next level."
I felt his mana lean in, close enough to press against mine.
"You master this," he said, "and no one will call you just a blind girl again. They'll call you a weapon."
Then he turned.
Rhane didn't say anything for a long moment. Just stood beside me, silent. Then—
"You want to be useful in what's coming?" His voice was low now, no sharp edges — just cold iron. "Then shoot."
I tilted my head. "Shoot… what?"
He gestured across the field. I felt the movement more than saw it — a blur, a ripple of mana waves flaring like sparks across the grass.
"Bullseyes," he said. "Dozens of them. I had them infused with mana just for you. I don't know if you can see them, or feel them — doesn't matter."
He took a step back. "You're going to shoot them."
"How many?" I asked, already pulling another arrow through the air with space magic.
His aura pulsed — unwavering.
"For the next eight hours."
My fingers tightened on the string.
He continued. "I don't care how painful your hands get. I don't care if your focus bleeds thin, or your arms stop lifting. This isn't about precision anymore — this is about sharpening your resolve."
I nocked the arrow.
"The kind of resolve," he said, stepping away, "that doesn't waver when you're standing in front of a devil who wants your bones for a necklace."
The wind tugged gently at my hair. The bullseyes pulsed faintly across the field — little beacons of mana, soft and warm, like floating targets in a sea of dark.
I inhaled. Pulled the string tight.
Let go.
Thunk.
The arrow struck.
And I reached for the next one.
Because he was right.
Resolve wasn't built in silence. It was carved — one shot at a time.
Training Grounds – Eastern Ring
Rōko stood barefoot in the grass, her hair tied back in a tight knot. No armor. No blade. Only her uniform and the unwavering composure of someone born for war.
Five students stood opposite her — two noble boys, one commoner girl, and two wide-eyed twins from the Eastern Territories. Their hands trembled around the hilts of sharp, steel-forged swords.
Rōko rolled her shoulders. "If you can cut me, even once, you win."
They hesitated.
"You've all written your strengths as 'combat'," she continued, calm but cold. "Let's find out what that means."
The first charge was clumsy — a heavy swing with no balance. Rōko slipped under it, caught the attacker's arm, and twisted him onto the ground with a thud. She didn't strike. Just stepped over him like flowing water.
Two came at once next — one from the side, one from the rear.
Rōko pivoted on her heel. Elbow. Knee. Flat palm to the chest. Their weapons went flying. One of them fell with a gasp, the other stumbled and hit the dirt.
"You rely on steel too much," she said. "If I had a blade, you'd be bleeding."
The last two hung back. The girl gritted her teeth and came in low. Smart — she went for Rōko's legs. But Rōko jumped the sweep, landed beside her, and touched her shoulder gently.
"Good instinct. But too slow."
The final boy dropped his sword before charging. Just fists.
Rōko smiled. "Not smart."
She ducked, blocked, spun, and swept him clean onto his back — but helped him up with a nod.
"You'll last the longest if you keep holding a weapon."
The five gathered in a loose circle again, winded and bruised but learning.
Rōko folded her arms. "I don't expect perfection. Only progress."
Western Field – Archery Range
The air tasted like copper.
Sweat stung my lips, ran down the side of my neck. My shirt clung to me like it was stitched from heat and effort. My fingers were slick with blood — raw from where the bowstring had bitten deeper each time I drew.
I stood alone.
The world was still nothing but shifting shadows and glowing outlines — the bullseyes ahead of me humming with mana like faint, distant bells.
They were the only things I could see clearly. Bright circles hanging in the dark.
I breathed. Pulled.
The string trembled against my fingertips.
I didn't need arrows from the table. My metal magic twisted around me, shaped another shaft of metal into my palm. I gripped it tight, even as my arm trembled from the weight.
Thunk.
Another hit.
I didn't smile. I didn't speak. I just reached for the next one.
Time had stopped making sense hours ago.
All I knew was pain. And the sound of mana. And the silence of being the only one left.
Until I wasn't.
Salem arrived without words — I felt her presence like warmth in the cold. Her outline was familiar, soft edges crackling gently with restrained power. She stood beside me, quiet, unmoving.
"You're shaking," she said softly.
"I haven't missed," I murmured.
"I know."
I turned my head slightly toward her blur. My lips were cracked, my throat dry. "I can't stop. The bell hasn't rung."
"I'm not asking you to."
I nodded once. Then turned back to the field. My next arrow appeared in my hand. I could barely feel it.
My mana pulsed like a flickering candle. My vision — what little there was — frayed at the edges.
Still, I drew.
Still, I fired.
Every shot was a promise:
I don't quit.
Not when it hurts.
Not when I'm tired.
Not even when no one's watching.
Because this… this is how you sharpen resolve.
I'll do it for everyone i care about.
And I still had time left
After a while
The bell rang.
It wasn't loud. Just a single, clear chime that rippled across the field like a blade across still water.
My fingers unclenched before I told them to. The next arrow never formed. My arms dropped to my sides, too heavy to lift again.
I didn't feel victory. I didn't even feel relief. Just pain. Just stillness.
Salem stepped closer. I felt her hands take mine — bloodied, swollen, trembling wrecks. She didn't speak. Just held them, her mana brushing mine in soft waves like warm breath in winter.
I leaned slightly into her outline.
It was over. For today.
The rest of the students drifted toward the cafeteria. Their outlines were dim, slow, slumped — even the ones who'd started strong were dragging their feet now. There was no cheering. No joking. No leftover pride.
Just silence.
And exhaustion.
Even Lycian's usual snake-stitched mana felt subdued — not gone, but quieter. Distant. Like even his sharp edges had dulled.
We entered the cafeteria.
The space buzzed with the same tired mana — it was like a shared weight pressing down on the room. I sat at one of the long benches.
Food was placed in front of us. I didn't ask what it was. I just started eating.
Everything hurt.
Except Rōko.
Her aura moved with the same calm strength it always had. Focused, centered. I could feel it — no hesitation, no fatigue thickening her form. If anything, she burned brighter than this morning.
Word spread that she'd already finished her own training and then been asked to train others in close combat.
Of course she had.
Some people were born to the sword. Rōko was raised by it.
Across the room, I caught a flicker of Leondias — quiet and steady, despite everything. Fay, too. Still reading, even while eating, her fingers brushing over pages as if her book could explain the pain in her limbs.
A voice cut through the quiet:
"You have twenty minutes to eat. Twenty to clean yourselves."
Magister Rhane.
His aura was hard as steel, even in weariness.
"Then sleep. Eight hours. No more, no less."
A pause.
"There will be days when your training is followed by theory. When your body is broken, we will teach your mind — tactics, strategy, magic history. And chemistry."
A ripple of groans. Weak, half-hearted.
"We're not trying to break you," he said flatly. "We're sharpening you. If you dull… you die."
The silence swallowed his words.
No one argued.
I pushed away my plate with my shaking hand. Salem helped me up. Her grip around my wrist was careful, cradling the damage like glass.
I didn't say a word as we left.
Not because I didn't have anything to say.
But because I knew — tomorrow, this would begin again.
And again.
And again.
Until I became the weapon they needed.
Or I shattered trying.