The first light of dawn crept across the treetops, washing the camp in pale gold.
Elric and the others moved with quiet efficiency, checking packs, tightening straps, stoking the last embers of the fire before stamping them out. They were preparing to move toward the pit.
Ethan stood off to the side, hands idle, feeling oddly out of place. Everyone else seemed to know their role; he had none.
A sudden weight hit his chest. Instinct took over—his hand shot up, catching the object before it could fall.
He looked toward the thrower.
Clyde stood a few paces away, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Wear those," he said, voice casual. "At least you'll stop looking like a homeless man among us."
Ethan glanced down at the bundle in his hands. Clothes—plain, practical, and in decent shape. Not fancy, but far from the ragged scraps he'd been wearing since he woke in this world.
Without a word, he turned and changed behind a nearby tree. The fabric was rough but clean, the stitching intact.
When he stepped back into the camp, the fit surprised him—almost as if the clothes had been made for him.
Then his gaze drifted to the others as they made their final preparations.
Clyde stood with his sword sheathed at his side, the gleam of a well-used blade visible in the morning light. And the small knife hung from his belt, the hilt worn smooth from use.
Elric carried far more—an enormous claymore strapped across his back, its dark steel catching faint glimmers of dawn. The weapon looked like it could split a man in half with a single swing.
Grace, by contrast, bore only a short sword at her hip. The simplicity of her armament struck him as strange—until his eyes caught on the black, net-like gloves that clung to her hands. They weren't ordinary.
Ethan glanced down at himself. No weapons. No gear. Just the clothes Clyde had given him. Not that it mattered anyways.
Just as he was sinking deeper into self-pity, Grace stepped toward him.
A small leather pouch was tied at her side, the kind a traveler might use for herbs or coin. Without a word, she slipped her hand inside and began feeling around, as if searching for something.
"What kind of weapon do you use?" she asked, her tone even.
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. "I… don't really use any weapon."
He can't say he that his curse dosn't allow him to use wappens, from what he heard last night, no one should know about it, that will make him the easiest target for any one.
Grace glanced up at him, one eyebrow lifting. Then, as if to test him, she pulled something from the pouch.
A short sword—its blade gleaming—slid free from the tiny bag. It was obvious it had no way of fitting in there.
"Here. Use this, in case you need to," she said, tossing it toward him with casual precision. "It's dangerous out there in these woods."
Ethan moved on instinct—sidestepping so quickly the sword struck the dirt with a muted thud.He wasn't about to touch it. Not after what had happened yesterday with the knife. One brief contact and he might be unconscious before he even knew what hit him.
Grace stared at him, a faint crease forming between her brows."I threw it for you to hold," she said slowly. "Why'd you dodge it? Did you think I was attacking you or something?"
Ethan hesitated, unable to think of a response that wouldn't raise more questions.
A voice cut in before he could speak."Just leave the kid. He probably doesn't even know how to use it."
It was Clyde—grinning faintly as he adjusted the sword at his side, clearly amused.
"These kids from the big families—grew up with a silver spoon in their mouths—are useless when it comes to the real world."
The contempt was obvious. He didn't like nobles, not even a little.
Before Ethan could reply, heavy footsteps approached. Elric stepped into view, calm but with an edge of authority. He bent, picked up the short sword from the ground, and—before Ethan could even flinch—placed it firmly into his hand.
"Stop wasting time," Elric said, turning toward the treeline. "Let's get moving."
Ethan froze. Panic coiled in his chest. He braced himself for that sickening, hollow weakness—the same one that had slammed into him when he'd touched the knife yesterday.
But… nothing happened.
He stared at the weapon, confused. It felt like an ordinary sword. Solid. Real. No draining cold, no pulse of rejection from the curse.
"What?" he muttered under his breath. Then louder, glancing at Grace, who was already walking ahead, "Is this… not a magic weapon?"
Grace stopped, turning to look at him with a puzzled expression. "Magic weapon? You mean like a relic?"
Clyde burst into laughter. "Hah… relic? You think we'd give you a relic?" He shook his head, chuckling. "You fancy people make me laugh."
He drew his own knife and twirled it lazily in his fingers. "This is the only relic I own. You think they grow on trees?"
Ethan glanced between the knife in Clyde's hand and the plain sword in his own. Slowly, it clicked—not all weapons are magic weapons, that his curse dosn't react to.
A long breath escaped him—half relief, half disbelief.
At least he wouldn't be completely defenseless.
He started seeing a chance of him surviving.
A few minutes later, everyone was ready. Ethan gripped the short sword as best he could, the weight still unfamiliar in his hands, and followed as the group began their march.
They moved deeper into the forest, boots crunching over fallen leaves and damp earth. The cold morning air clung to them, carrying the distant calls of unseen creatures.
Ethan had already made one long journey through these woods, so the dark trunks and tangled branches were not new to him. Still, the silence pressed heavier than before.
His gaze drifted to Grace—more specifically, to the small pouch at her side.'I wonder if that's a relic too?'
The thought lingered. How could something so small hold a sword… and perhaps more swords? Maybe not just swords. but she more then one sword, and if she gave him one she might really have more.
This wired idea crossed his mind.
'whay am I caring too much about how many swords she have? but whay would she have a lot of swords?'
This idea stayed at his mind for a while.
The answer would come soon enough.
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