The next day arrived with a strange calm in the air, as if the Training Center itself was holding its breath. The morning drills went on as usual—shouts echoed across the field, the clashing of wooden weapons rang out, and the air was thick with sweat and Ether. But Keith felt different. The encounter with the dagger from the armory hadn't left his mind. The way it resonated with him, the warmth it gave, and the strange sense of familiarity… it clung to him like a whisper he couldn't shake.
As he trained with the others in weapon basics, Ethan noticed the way Keith moved. He was still clumsy compared to others, but there was a visible shift—an undercurrent of focus in his stance, a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"You look like you've been possessed by a blade spirit," Ethan joked as he blocked Keith's strike with ease.
Keith grinned slightly, catching his breath. "I just... feel different."
"Well, don't go turning into a blade maniac. We don't need another weirdo who sleeps with his sword," Ethan laughed.
Their sparring continued, but Ethan's words stuck with Keith more than he expected. Was there something about that dagger? He hadn't told anyone how it made him feel, and part of him didn't want to. It was as if that secret connection gave him something to hold on to in a world he still didn't fully understand.
Later that evening, after drills and lectures on demon biology and battlefield formations, Mistress Yurei summoned a few students to the central hall for a special lecture. Keith, to his surprise, was among them.
The central hall was unlike the other buildings in the center—this one was a tall dome-like structure, built from reinforced stone and carved with glyphs older than any language Keith had seen. The inside was dimly lit with floating crystal orbs, casting soft blue light over everything. The mood was solemn.
Mistress Yurei stood at the front, accompanied by a tall, bald man with dark skin and a thick scar across his left cheek. He wore no armor, but the weight of his presence was enough to hush the room. His eyes scanned each student, sharp as daggers.
"This," Yurei began, "is Commander Halem of the Eastern Division of the Demon Hunter Association."
Murmurs rippled through the small crowd. The Eastern Division? That was one of the core branches—only high-ranking members operated there.
Commander Halem stepped forward. "I'm here for two reasons. First, to observe the next generation of recruits. Second, to educate you on what lies ahead, should you survive long enough."
His voice was deep and steady, like a hammer striking an anvil. "There's more to being a Demon Hunter than slaying beasts. You must understand the world you're about to enter. So today, we speak of power."
He walked to the center of the room. "You've all heard of the nine ranks of awakeners—Novice to Primordial. Most of you will never surpass Adept. Fewer still will reach Elite. It's not because you lack potential… but because the journey will test every part of you—body, mind, and soul."
The orbs above flared brighter as he raised a hand. "But we don't walk that path empty-handed. Our weapons evolve with us."
He gestured, and a long spear appeared in his hand, glowing faintly with a golden hue. "This is a Spirit-Forged weapon. At my level, it is barely sufficient. Those of you lucky enough to awaken may one day wield such a weapon. But there are others—Cursed Relics, Mythic Arms, even weapons that alter reality itself. These tools are rare, often bonded to the wielder, and only grant their true power under the right conditions."
Keith's eyes widened. It was just like he'd felt with the dagger…
Commander Halem turned to them again. "The stronger your weapon, the more you must give of yourself. It is not a tool—it is a pact."
Mistress Yurei spoke next. "You've all come from different places. Some of you are here because you have nowhere else to go. Some of you have dreams of glory. But remember this—every rank gained, every demon slain, comes at a price."
There was silence for a moment. Then Halem asked, "Who among you has touched a weapon and felt… something more?"
A few students raised their hands hesitantly. Keith raised his too, though slower than the rest.
Halem's eyes lingered on Keith longer than necessary. He gave a slight nod. "Some weapons choose their wielders. If such a bond exists, nurture it. That connection may one day save your life."
The lecture ended not long after, but Keith couldn't shake the feeling that Halem's gaze had pierced deeper than it should have. As the students dispersed, Ethan whispered to Keith, "What did you feel?"
Keith hesitated. "Like it knew me… like it was waiting for me."
Ethan gave him a look, half joking, half serious. "That's either really cool or really cursed."
That night, Keith couldn't sleep. He slipped out of the hostel and walked to the small cliff overlooking the training center. The moon hung high, casting silver light across the stone paths and buildings below. He looked at his hand, clenched it into a fist.
If that dagger really had chosen him, what did it mean? Was it fate? Or just another test in a life full of trials?
As the wind rustled the trees below, Keith felt something stir deep within him—not power yet, but the sense that something was coming. Something that would change everything.
And in that moment, beneath the moonlight, he whispered to himself, "I'll be ready."
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