The Grand Cathedral's guest quarters were more luxurious than any place Kura had ever stayed.
Each student had been given their own room in the eastern wing of the cathedral complex—spacious chambers with high ceilings, ornate furniture, and windows that overlooked the sprawling city below. The beds were massive four-poster affairs with silk sheets, the wardrobes were filled with clothes that seemed to automatically fit whoever wore them (magic, apparently), and each room even had its own private bathroom with running water that was somehow heated without electricity.
It should have been amazing. A fantasy come to life.
Instead, Kura lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the crushing weight of disappointment.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting golden light across the room. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the city—Veilstead, the capital of the Kingdom of Heiligh. Merchants calling out their wares, the clatter of cart wheels on cobblestone, the distant ring of a church bell marking the hour. It was like stepping into a medieval fantasy, exactly the kind of world Kura had dreamed about while reading his light novels.
But in those stories, the protagonist was always special. Always important. Always destined for greatness, even if they started from nothing.
Kura had started from nothing and apparently was going to stay there.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding.
"Tomohiro? You in there?"
Nakamura's voice. Kura considered pretending to be asleep, but that seemed cowardly even by his standards.
"Yeah, come in."
The door opened and Nakamura entered, looking uncomfortable in the formal clothes they'd all been given—white shirts with elaborate embroidery, dark pants that were somehow both comfortable and dignified, leather boots that were far nicer than anything Kura had owned back home. Nakamura pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit Kura had noticed years ago.
"Hey," Nakamura said. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"Liar." Nakamura sat down in one of the ornate chairs near the window. "I saw your stats. That was rough."
Kura let out a bitter laugh. "That's one way to put it."
"For what it's worth, mine weren't much better." Nakamura pulled out a small piece of parchment—apparently the Archbishop had given everyone a written copy of their status. "Alchemist class. My stats are all around twenty to thirty. Better than yours, but not by much."
"At least Alchemist sounds useful. You can make potions, right? Health potions, mana potions, all that stuff. People will need those." Kura sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Synergist though? I looked at the skill descriptions. Transmutation lets me change the properties of materials. Material Analysis tells me what things are made of. Ore Appraisal helps me identify valuable minerals. And Precision Crafting makes me better at... crafting."
"That could be—"
"Useless in combat," Kura finished. "That's what it is. Everyone else got combat classes, magic classes, support classes that can actually help in battle. I got a blacksmith class. In a world where we're supposed to fight demons."
Nakamura was quiet for a moment. "What are you going to do?"
"What can I do?" Kura fell back onto the bed. "I guess I'll try to make weapons and armor for everyone else. Stay in the back. Try not to die."
"They're starting training tomorrow," Nakamura said. "The Archbishop said they're going to teach us how to use our abilities, how to fight. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."
Kura doubted that, but he didn't say so. There was no point in dragging Nakamura down with him.
After Nakamura left, Kura spent the rest of the afternoon exploring his room and testing his skills. Transmutation was the most interesting—when he focused on an object and activated the skill, he could sense its fundamental properties and alter them slightly. He spent an hour turning a wooden chair leg slightly harder, then softer, then back again. It was fascinating from an intellectual standpoint, but he couldn't see how it would help against a demon trying to rip his head off.
Material Analysis was exactly what it sounded like. When he focused on something, information appeared in his mind—what it was made of, its structural integrity, any magical properties it might have. Useful for a craftsman, useless for a warrior.
Ore Appraisal and Precision Crafting were similar—tools for someone who worked with materials, not someone who fought battles.
Dinner was held in the cathedral's grand dining hall, a cavernous space with long tables and more food than Kura had ever seen in one place. Roasted meats, fresh bread, exotic fruits, rich soups, delicate pastries—the kingdom was clearly sparing no expense for their "heroes."
The seating arrangement had formed naturally, as these things always did. At the head of the main table sat Sakurai, Fujimoto, and Shirayuki—the top-tier students who had received the most powerful classes. Around them clustered the other combat classes, the people who would form the core of whatever heroic party they eventually formed.
Further down the table sat the mid-tier students—those with useful but less impressive classes, support roles that were valued but not celebrated.
And at the very end, almost in a separate section, sat Kura and Nakamura, along with a few others whose classes had been deemed less important. The rejects' table, even in another world.
"This food is incredible," Nakamura said, trying to lighten the mood as he bit into a piece of roasted chicken. "Whatever else happens, at least we're eating well."
Kura picked at his own plate. The food was good—amazing, actually—but he didn't have much appetite.
From the head of the table, he could hear Sakurai's loud voice carrying over the general conversation. "—can't wait to see what these demons actually look like. I bet they're not as tough as everyone says. With these stats and abilities, we'll probably wreck them."
"Don't get overconfident, Sakurai-kun," Fujimoto said, though her tone suggested she agreed with the sentiment. "We should approach this strategically. Learn our abilities thoroughly before engaging in actual combat."
"Fujimoto-san is right," Shirayuki added gently. "We should be careful. These are people's lives we're talking about."
"That's why we're going to win," Sakurai said confidently. "Because we actually care, unlike those demon bastards. Right, everyone?"
A chorus of agreement rose from the gathered students. Kura noticed how Tanaka-sensei, seated near the middle of the table, looked uncomfortable with the whole situation but didn't say anything to contradict his students' enthusiasm.
After dinner, Kura returned to his room and tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn't stop racing. Tomorrow they would begin training. Tomorrow he would have to face the reality of his uselessness while watching everyone else grow stronger.
He finally drifted off sometime after midnight, his dreams filled with golden light and falling through endless voids.
Morning came too quickly.
A servant—an actual servant, a young woman in a neat uniform who seemed far too deferential—knocked on his door at dawn to wake him and inform him that breakfast would be served in an hour, followed by the beginning of their training regimen.
Kura dressed in the training clothes that had been laid out for him—simple but well-made garments that allowed for easy movement. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he almost looked like he could be a hero. Almost.
Breakfast was a quieter affair than dinner had been. Many students looked nervous now that training was actually beginning. The reality of their situation was sinking in—they were in another world, expected to fight in a war, with no way home that anyone had mentioned yet.
After breakfast, they were led by cathedral guards to the training grounds—a massive complex attached to the cathedral that included outdoor arenas, indoor practice halls, an armory filled with weapons, and even what looked like magical testing chambers with reinforced walls.
Archbishop Eldrin was waiting for them, along with a stern-looking woman in armor who was introduced as Commander Melia, head of the kingdom's military training programs.
"Good morning, heroes," the Archbishop said. "Today begins your journey to becoming the champions humanity needs. Commander Melia will oversee your combat training, while our court mages will assist those of you with magical abilities. We will start with basic assessments to understand your current capabilities, then develop individualized training programs."
Commander Melia stepped forward. She was tall and muscular, with scars visible on her arms and a no-nonsense expression that suggested she'd seen real combat. "Listen up. I don't care what your status screens say or what classes you've been assigned. Right now, you're all weak. Soft. You've never held a real weapon, never faced a real enemy, never had to fight for your lives. That changes today."
She gestured to the armory. "We'll start with weapons assessment. Those of you with combat classes, select a weapon that feels comfortable. Those with magic classes, you'll work with the mages. Support classes, you'll... figure something out."
That last part was said while looking directly at Kura.
The next few hours were humiliating in ways Kura hadn't even imagined possible.
While Sakurai took to swordplay like he'd been born with a blade in his hand—his Holy Knight class apparently included innate weapons knowledge—and other students discovered they had natural aptitudes for their assigned weapons, Kura stood in the armory feeling completely lost.
He tried a sword. Too heavy, too awkward, and he had no idea what to do with it.
He tried a spear. Slightly better, but he nearly dropped it twice.
He tried a bow. His first arrow flew approximately three feet before clattering to the ground.
"Tomohiro!" Commander Melia's voice cut across the training ground. "What exactly are you doing?"
"I'm... trying to find a weapon I can use?"
"Why? Your class is Synergist. You're not a combat class."
"I know, but I thought maybe I should learn to defend myself—"
"That's what the actual warriors are for." Her tone wasn't cruel, just matter-of-fact, which somehow made it worse. "Your job is crafting. Making things. Enhancing equipment. Not flailing around with weapons you'll never be competent with."
Kura felt heat rise to his face as other students turned to look. Sakurai was smirking. Even some of the support classes looked sympathetic, which just emphasized how pathetic the situation was.
"Go to Workshop Three," Commander Melia continued. "There's a master smith there who can teach you the basics of your class. Make yourself useful that way."
Dismissed like a child. Sent away from the real training.
Kura walked across the training grounds toward the workshops, feeling eyes on his back. He could imagine what they were thinking. What they were saying once he was out of earshot.
Poor guy. Useless class. Dead weight. Why did he even get summoned?
Workshop Three turned out to be a large building filled with forges, anvils, workbenches, and tools Kura didn't recognize. The heat from the fires was intense, and the air smelled of hot metal and coal.
An older man with arms like tree trunks and a beard that reached his chest looked up from where he was hammering at a piece of glowing metal. "You the Synergist?"
"Yes. Kura Tomohiro."
"Hm. Name's Galhard. Master Smith. Archbishop said you'd be coming." He set down his hammer and wiped his hands on his apron. "Synergist, eh? Haven't seen one of those in... must be thirty years. Rare class."
"So I've heard."
"Rare doesn't mean useless, boy. Means special." Galhard gestured for Kura to follow him deeper into the workshop. "Synergists can do things regular smiths can't. Transmutation—that's powerful. Real powerful, if you know how to use it."
He led Kura to a workbench covered with various pieces of metal, ore samples, and tools. "Show me. Use your Material Analysis on this." He held up a chunk of dark ore.
Kura focused, activating the skill. Information flooded his mind: Iron ore, 73% purity, contains trace amounts of carbon and sulfur, structural integrity moderate, no magical properties.
He relayed the information to Galhard, who nodded approvingly. "Good. Accurate. Now try this one."
They spent the next hour going through different materials. Galhard tested Kura's Ore Appraisal on various minerals, his Material Analysis on finished products, and finally his Transmutation on a simple iron bar.
"Make it harder," Galhard instructed. "Just the surface. Like you're trying to create a harder edge for a blade."
Kura held the bar and focused. He could feel the iron's structure in his mind, could sense how the atoms were arranged. With careful concentration, he willed the surface layer to reorganize, to become denser, harder. The metal grew warm in his hands, and when he was done, Galhard tested it with a file.
"Not bad. Not great, but not bad for a first try." The smith looked at Kura with something that might have been respect. "You've got potential, boy. Synergist might not be a combat class, but it's valuable. Could make weapons and armor better than anything regular smiths produce. Could create items that give your warrior friends an edge in battle."
"But I can't fight," Kura said quietly. "When it comes down to it, I'll just be hiding in the back while everyone else risks their lives."
Galhard was quiet for a moment, the only sound the distant ring of hammers from other parts of the workshop. "You know what the problem with you young folk is? You think the only way to be a hero is to swing a sword. But wars aren't won just by warriors, boy. They're won by the people who make the weapons, who craft the armor, who create the tools that keep an army alive."
He picked up a sword from a nearby rack, a beautiful blade that gleamed in the firelight. "This sword was made by a Synergist, back before they got so rare. See how it never dulls? How it's perfectly balanced? How it seems to cut through anything? That's Transmutation. That's what your class can do. The hero who wielded this sword killed three demon generals. But he couldn't have done it without the craftsman who made the blade."
Kura looked at the sword, at the perfect edge, the flawless construction. "I'm supposed to be satisfied being someone's support? Making things for the real heroes?"
"I'm saying there's more than one way to save the world." Galhard set the sword down. "You can either feel sorry for yourself about what you're not, or you can become the best damned Synergist in history. Your choice."
The master smith walked away, leaving Kura alone with the tools and materials.
For a long moment, Kura just stood there, staring at the forge fires. Part of him wanted to be inspired by Galhard's words, to embrace his role as a craftsman and support member. But a larger part of him was still angry, still bitter, still feeling cheated by whatever cosmic force had given him this useless class while everyone else got to be real heroes.
He spent the rest of the morning practicing basic smithing techniques under Galhard's instruction. How to heat metal properly, how to hammer it into shape, how to use his Transmutation to enhance the process. It was hard, physical work that left him sweaty and tired, but there was something almost meditative about it.
By the time lunch arrived, Kura had managed to create a simple knife—nothing special, but functional and reasonably sharp. Galhard had grunted in approval, which seemed to be the highest praise the man gave.
Lunch was back in the dining hall. Kura arrived late, still covered in soot from the forge. The other students were already eating, their conversation loud and excited.
"—managed to create a fireball the size of my head!" one of the magic users was saying.
"My Divine Blade Art lets me channel holy energy into my weapon," Sakurai added. "I cut through a training dummy like it was made of paper."
"The court mages say my healing abilities are exceptionally strong," Shirayuki said modestly. "I was able to completely heal a sparring injury."
Kura got his food and sat at his usual spot at the end of the table. Nakamura joined him shortly after, looking excited.
"Kura! You should see what I can make now. I managed to brew my first actual healing potion. It's not very strong, but the alchemist instructor said I have real talent for it."
"That's great," Kura said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"How was your training? With the smithing?"
Kura shrugged. "I made a knife. It's... fine."
"That's awesome though! That means you're learning to use your abilities."
"Yeah. Learning to make things for everyone else to use while they go off and have adventures."
Nakamura's excitement dimmed. "Kura, come on. You know it's not—"
"It's exactly that. Don't pretend it's not." Kura pushed his food around his plate. "Everyone else is learning to fight, learning to use magic, becoming heroes. I'm learning to be a blacksmith. There's a difference."
They ate in silence for a while. Kura could hear the conversation from the head of the table continuing, full of excitement and potential. Meanwhile, he sat at the rejects' table, contemplating a future of making weapons he'd never wield.
The days began to blur together.
Each morning started with weapons training for the combat classes, magic practice for the mages, and workshop time for Kura. He spent hours in Workshop Three with Galhard, learning the intricacies of smithing and how to apply his Synergist abilities to the craft.
His Transmutation skill was improving. He could now alter the properties of metals with relative ease, making them harder or more flexible, changing their melting points, even adding minor magical conductivity. His Precision Crafting skill made his hands steadier, his measurements more exact, his finished products more refined.
He learned to create basic weapons—swords, spears, daggers, arrowheads. Nothing fancy, but functional. Galhard taught him about alloys, about tempering, about the difference between a weapon that looked good and a weapon that would save your life in combat.
Meanwhile, the other students grew stronger at an alarming rate.
Sakurai was now level 5, his stats having nearly doubled from where they started. He could channel holy energy through his blade, creating attacks that left scorch marks on the reinforced training dummies. Other combat classes were progressing similarly, their levels rising as they trained against summoned monsters in controlled environments.
The magic users were learning devastating spells. Fujimoto could now cast multiple elements simultaneously, creating combination attacks that the instructors praised as genius-level tactical thinking.
Even the support classes were proving their worth. The healers kept everyone in top condition. The buffer classes could enhance the combat units' abilities significantly. The scout classes were learning to detect enemies from incredible distances.
And then there was Kura, still level 1, still with base stats of 10 across the board, making slightly better swords than he had the week before.
The social hierarchy that had existed at Nagasaki High had not only persisted but intensified. Sakurai's group—the top-tier combat classes—had become the clear leaders of their summoned class. They sat at the head of the table, they spoke to the Archbishop and Commander Melia as near-equals, they were the ones everyone looked to for direction.
Fujimoto had established herself as the strategic mind of the group, creating training schedules and tactical plans. Shirayuki, with her incredible healing abilities and kind personality, had become the heart of the class, the one who made sure everyone was okay, the one who mediated disputes.
The mid-tier students had found their places as valuable support members of the emerging hero party. They weren't the stars, but they were needed, respected, given important roles.
And Kura... Kura was the craftsman. The one who stayed behind. The one who made things.
Two weeks after the summoning, Commander Melia announced that the top combat students would be taking their first real mission—a patrol of the nearby countryside to clear out some low-level monsters that had been harassing a village.
"This will be your first real combat experience," she told the assembled students. "Not training dummies, not summoned creatures in a controlled environment, but actual monsters that want to kill you. You'll be accompanied by veteran knights, but you'll be expected to do the fighting yourselves."
The selected students—Sakurai's group, naturally—looked excited and nervous. This was it. Their first step toward becoming real heroes.
"The rest of you will continue training here," Commander Melia continued. "We'll rotate groups as people gain experience and levels."
Kura knew he wouldn't be in any of those rotations. Synergists didn't go on combat missions.
The morning of the patrol, Kura stood in the courtyard watching as the combat group prepared to leave. They looked impressive in their armor—not the heavy plate armor of the kingdom knights, but lighter equipment designed for mobility and enhanced by the court mages with protective enchantments.
Sakurai's sword gleamed at his hip. Fujimoto had a staff that crackled with latent magical energy. The others carried weapons suited to their classes, all of them looking far more heroic than they had just two weeks ago.
"Tomohiro-kun."
Kura turned to find Shirayuki approaching. She wore white and gold robes befitting her Saintess class, and she looked almost ethereal in the morning light.
"Yes?"
"I wanted to thank you," she said, smiling gently. "For the knife you made. It's really well-crafted."
Kura blinked. "The knife?"
"Yes. Commander Melia distributed some of the equipment you've been making. I requested one for utility purposes." She showed him a small dagger at her belt—one Kura had made last week, a simple but sturdy blade with good balance. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"I... you're welcome."
"Your work is important," Shirayuki continued. "Even if you're not on the front lines, you're helping all of us. Please don't forget that."
Before Kura could respond, Sakurai called out. "Ayame! We're heading out!"
"Coming!" She gave Kura another smile, then hurried to join the others.
Kura watched them leave, a column of new heroes riding out with veteran knights to face their first real battle. The gates of the cathedral complex closed behind them, and the courtyard felt suddenly empty.
"Impressive, aren't they?"
Nakamura had appeared beside him, also watching the gates. The alchemist had been allowed to go on the mission—his potions were considered essential support items. But he'd chosen to stay behind and continue his studies instead.
"Yeah," Kura said quietly. "They look like real heroes."
"We'll get there too," Nakamura said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Just... takes time, right?"
"Right."
But Kura wasn't sure he believed it anymore.
The patrol group returned three days later, triumphant and energized.
They'd encountered a nest of goblins—low-level monsters, but dangerous in numbers—and had successfully eliminated the threat. Sakurai had landed the killing blow on the goblin chief, earning himself enough experience to reach level 7. The others had similarly gained levels and practical combat experience.
That evening's dinner was a celebration. The Archbishop himself attended, praising the students for their bravery and skill. A feast was laid out—even more elaborate than usual—and the successful warriors were seated at a place of honor.
"To our heroes!" the Archbishop declared, raising his glass. "May this be the first of many victories!"
The hall erupted in cheers.
Kura applauded politely from his seat at the end of the table, trying to feel happy for his classmates' success and failing miserably. They deserved the praise—they'd actually done something, actually fought and won. But watching them bask in glory while he sat in the shadows was like having salt rubbed in a wound.
After dinner, unable to stand the celebration any longer, Kura slipped away to Workshop Three. Galhard had given him a key, allowing him to practice at any hour. The old smith wasn't there at night—he had a family in the city, a life beyond the workshop—leaving Kura alone with the forges and tools.
He lit one of the forges and pulled out a piece of steel he'd been working on. A sword blade, meant to be slightly better than the basic weapons he'd been making. He heated the metal, hammered it, used his Transmutation to alter its structure, to make it stronger, sharper.
Hours passed. The rhythmic sound of hammer on metal was meditative, calming. Out here, alone with the work, Kura could almost forget about levels and stats and heroic destinies.
He was so focused on his work that he didn't hear the workshop door open.
"Burning the midnight oil?"
Kura spun around to find Commander Melia standing in the doorway, her armor exchanged for simpler clothes. She walked over to his workbench, examining the blade he'd been working on.
"Can't sleep?" she asked.
"Something like that."
She picked up the unfinished sword, testing its weight and balance. "This is good work. Better than good, actually. You're improving quickly."
"Thanks."
"But you're not happy."
Kura set down his hammer. "Does it matter if I'm happy?"
"Maybe not to the war effort," Commander Melia said bluntly. "But it matters if you're going to survive this." She set the blade down and looked at him directly. "I've seen that look before. Seen it on soldiers who think they're not good enough, not strong enough, not important enough. It's dangerous."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid."
"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried you're going to give up." She leaned against the workbench. "You want to know something? I'm not from this kingdom. I was born in a small village on the frontier, one of the first places the demons hit when this war started. My entire family... they didn't make it."
Kura looked at her, seeing the pain behind the professional mask for the first time.
"I wasn't strong enough to save them," she continued. "Wasn't a great warrior, wasn't blessed by the gods, wasn't special. Just a girl who'd learned to swing a sword from her father. But you know what I had? I had determination. I had the will to become stronger, to learn, to train until my hands bled and my muscles screamed. And now I'm Commander of the training division, and I've killed more demons than most of your classmates will ever see."
She straightened up. "Your class isn't what defines you, Tomohiro. Your determination is. Your willingness to improve, to adapt, to find your own path. Synergist might not be a combat class, but it's not a worthless class. It's what you make of it."
Before Kura could respond, she headed for the door. "Don't stay up too late. Galhard wants you working on armor pieces tomorrow."
She left, and Kura was alone again with his thoughts and his half-finished sword.
It's what you make of it.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to stop comparing himself to Sakurai and the others, stop measuring his worth by combat stats and levels. Maybe there was a path forward for a Synergist, even if he couldn't see it yet.
Or maybe he was just deluding himself to make the disappointment easier to bear.
Kura returned to his work, hammer ringing against steel, sparks flying into the night air. He worked until his arms ached and his eyes burned from the forge light, and when he finally returned to his room in the early morning hours, he collapsed into bed without bothering to clean the soot from his face.
Tomorrow he would wake up and do it all again. Make more weapons, watch the others grow stronger, exist on the periphery of a grand adventure he'd never truly be part of.
That was his life now. That was all it would ever be.
At least, that's what he thought.
He had no idea that in just two weeks, everything would change.
He had no idea that his first mission would come sooner than anyone expected.
And he had no idea that the person who would betray him was already planning it.