The Power of Celestial Weapons

"Another summoned one?" Daion repeated in disbelief, staring at the man before him. The hooded figure's metal gauntlet looked far more imposing than the one Daion had been given. For a brief moment, he couldn't shake the feeling that the so-called god who summoned him had handed him the most basic model—like something pulled from a bargain bin in some celestial warehouse.

"You were just summoned, weren't you?" the hooded man asked in a calm, measured tone. Though his face was hidden beneath his hood, Daion could feel his gaze, studying him, evaluating him. There was something in his voice—almost pity—that irritated him.

"Eat it, or you'll lose too much blood," the man added, gesturing toward the small white orb still in Daion's hand. "Trust me, bleeding out is not the best way to die in a place crawling with beasts."

Daion hesitated. He wasn't sure how trustworthy this guy was, but there was no hostility in his demeanor. Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him. With a weary sigh, he let his sword slip from his fingers, the weight of it embedding into the wooden floor with a dull thud. His whole body trembled from exertion, and the memory of the monster's gaping maw was still fresh in his mind.

His eyes fell to the strange white orb in his palm. The idea of eating something so alien disgusted him, but the pain in his wounded arm was unbearable. With a deep breath, he threw caution aside and popped the orb into his mouth.

"How is it?" the hooded man asked as he moved silently across the ruined build. His footsteps made almost no sound—like a shadow gliding over the wreckage.

At first, Daion was surprised. The orb had a mildly sweet taste, almost pleasant. "Not bad, actually—"

Then he bit down.

A vile, putrid taste exploded in his mouth, like a mix of rotting meat and chemical waste. His entire body recoiled, and he barely managed to swallow it without gagging.

"That was disgusting!" he gasped, fighting back nausea.

The hooded man didn't even glance his way. "I warned you." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but his overall demeanor remained eerily detached.

Suddenly, a cold sensation surged through Daion's wounded arm. His eyes widened as he watched the gashes rapidly close, his skin knitting back together in mere seconds. Even the cuts that should've left scars disappeared completely. His arm was as good as new.

"Unbelievable..." he breathed. A strange rush of energy coursed through him, making him feel almost… reborn. The lingering foul taste in his mouth, however, dulled his excitement.

Meanwhile, the hooded man had begun rifling through the belongings of the fallen villagers. Daion watched warily as he searched the body of a recently deceased man, extracting a silver watch, a small dagger etched with golden inscriptions, and a pouch that jingled with coins.

The hooded man turned, his gaze hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. He said nothing. Daion, unsure of what to say, decided against questioning him. The dead wouldn't be needing their belongings anymore.

A heavy silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional sound of shifting debris. Standing there, Daion felt like an outsider—like a clueless fool in a world that made no sense.

"That thing... does it cure infections?" he finally asked, desperate to break the silence.

"No idea." The hooded man's indifference sent a chill down Daion's spine.

"What?!" Daion's voice shot up in alarm.

"Worried about rabies or something?" The man chuckled dryly. "Relax. The gem neutralizes any environmental damage this world throws at you."

Daion thought back to earlier—when the thick, choking air had nearly crushed his lungs.

"So that means... no diseases, no infections..." The realization hit him like a hammer. "No aging?"

The hooded man gave him a knowing look.

Daion's mind raced. If healing was this easily accessible, how were they still losing the war in this world? Something didn't add up.

"However," the hooded man continued, breaking Daion's train of thought, "it doesn't protect you from the wilds."

With a slow, deliberate movement, he kicked the decapitated head of the monster Daion had killed.

"We don't die unless we're killed. This world has only one fate for us—live and die by the sword."

Daion studied him carefully, trying to grasp the weight of those words. The hooded man met his gaze and added:

"And just so you know, those orbs only heal superficial wounds. If that beast had shattered your bones, you'd still be screwed."

As the man resumed looting the corpses, Daion couldn't shake the feeling that he was more scavenger than soldier—someone who took whatever he needed, morality be damned.

There were too many questions swirling in Daion's head, and this guy clearly knew far more than that so-called god had bothered to explain.

"What happened to the villagers?" he finally asked. "There aren't any bodies."

The hooded man froze mid-motion, as if the question had struck a nerve. He flexed his fingers, thinking for a moment before replying.

"You've noticed that some monsters like human flesh, right?" he said casually, kneeling beside the criature that he kill.

"Yeah, but—"

"They prefer to enjoy their meals at home," he added with a twisted smirk. "Nothing like a warm meal in the comfort of their den."

A sickening dread twisted in Daion's gut. "And the women...?" The words barely left his lips. He almost didn't want to know the answer.

The hooded man let out a slow sigh and cast him a sidelong glance. "They take them too. But I doubt I need to explain why."

A wave of nausea hit Daion. His stomach churned, and cold sweat trickled down his back. "That's... horrible."

"Welcome to your fantasy world," the hooded man said, his voice laced with grim amusement. Then, as if the conversation had never happened, he motioned toward the dead monster at Daion's feet. "So, what are you gonna do with it?"

Daion blinked. "What am I supposed to do? Roast it?" he asked, half-joking, half-serius.

The hooded man scoffed. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you." He paused, as if considering. "Besides, nocturnal beasts don't taste great."

Daion raised an eyebrow. Was this guy serious? But before he could comment, the hooded man raised his hand over the corpse.

A blinding light erupted from his palm.

Daion instinctively stepped back as the air thickened, charged with energy. His clothes and hair lifted slightly, caught in an invisible force. Before his eyes, the monster's body began to break down—not in a natural way, but as if something were consuming it.

The energy released from the corpse surged into the hooded man, flowing into his gauntlet. The metallic surface pulsed, glowing with newfound strength. His rifle, slung over his back, also reacted—the barrel lengthened, the stock reshaped itself into a more ergonomic form, and small, jagged spikes emerged from the gauntlet.

The transformation stopped, and the hooded man flexed his fingers, inspecting his weapon.

"Good," he muttered, completely unfazed. "Leveled up."

What was that? And what the hell am I wearing?" Daion asked, staring at his gauntlet with a mix of amazement and confusion.

The hooded figure raised an eyebrow and turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"How did you do that?" Daion pressed, his tone impatient.

The hooded man remained silent for a moment, as if trying to decipher the question. Finally, he sighed and replied calmly, "Ah, I see. I just absorbed it."

Daion stared at him in disbelief. "No kidding…" he said with heavy sarcasm. "Of course, I saw you absorbed it! But how did you do it?"

The hooded figure shook his head, visibly irritated, like he was explaining something to a clueless child. "It's simple. The gauntlets we wear are organically connected to our bodies, like an additional organ. When we kill a creature, its Omega energy—or what you might call its life force—doesn't disappear completely. The gem in the gauntlet absorbs that energy. That same energy strengthens the wearer and their equipment."

Daion's jaw dropped. "It strengthens everything? Just like that?"

"Exactly." The hooded figure lifted his rifle, admiring it for a moment before pointing it lazily at Daion. "That's why my weapon can take down these creatures so easily. And why you…" he gestured at Daion with his chin, "…are still so weak."

The comment stung, but it also got Daion thinking. "So… the gauntlet improves with every creature you kill?"

"Yes, but it depends on what you kill. Stronger beasts give more energy. And if you take on something truly dangerous, you might get significant upgrades. These things?" He motioned to the creature on the ground. "Barely count as pets."

Daion looked down at his hand, where the gauntlet rested, inert, like it was asleep. "And how… how do I do it? How do I absorb the energy?"

The hooded man let out an annoyed huff. "What kind of summoned fool doesn't know that? I doubt your god didn't explain it. Are you an idiot?"

Rage and frustration surged through Daion, but he bit his tongue. Maybe my god's just a damn bastard, he thought, but he knew better than to say it aloud.

The hooded figure scrutinized him, as if trying to read his mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue disdainfully and shook his head. "It's instinctive. Your gauntlet should activate automatically when you touch a body. Maybe yours is… defective."

"Defective?" Daion muttered through clenched teeth. His thoughts swirled in frustration. "The damn god didn't even bother to explain anything! He just dumped me here with this useless thing."

"Welcome to the club, rookie," the hooded man said, clearly hearing him. "We're all broken toys of the gods here. But if you want to survive, you'd better learn fast."

Daion stared at him, surprised that he'd overheard. Great. Looks like this thing improves your damn hearing too, he thought bitterly.

The hooded man continued in a nonchalant tone, "At least my goddess bothered to explain how it worked." Then, without much care, he turned toward the door. "Try it. Since you killed it, you get to keep its body."

And with that, he left the chapel, leaving Daion alone with his thoughts—and the creature's corpse.

Daion knelt beside the beast, staring at it with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. For a moment, he just looked at it, unsure of what to do. Finally, he raised his hand and placed it on the corpse. At first, nothing happened. He tapped it a few times, as if testing a malfunctioning device.

"Really? Is this it?" he muttered in frustration. He was starting to believe his god had really sent him here with broken equipment.

This time, he decided to focus, willing something to happen. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the creature's body. Then he saw it: spectral channels of energy running through the monster, like the circuits of a complex machine. The faint glow was fading quickly, as if it were a dying ember.

The hooded man was sitting on the steps, eating a ration wrapped in crumpled paper. He looked completely unbothered.

"Hey," Daion called out, trying to keep his voice steady.

The hooded man glanced at him, noticing the sweat on his face and his trembling hands, but said nothing. After a few seconds, he replied with dry sarcasm, "Sorry, I'm not looking for an apprentice." He stood up, dusting off his clothes. "I can't babysit anyone. Survive with the tips I gave you."

Daion's frustration boiled over. He clenched his fists, not just from the rejection, but from the fact that he hadn't even been given a chance to speak. "At least…" he tried to say, but the man was already walking away. "At least tell me where to go! I have no idea what to do!"

The hooded man stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Daion's desperation was clear in his voice as he shouted, "I don't want to die, dammit!"

For a moment, the hooded man seemed to hesitate. His eyes studied Daion, seeing the fear in him. It reminded him of his own first days. Nobody had helped him back then. No one had handed him a map or offered advice. And yet, here he was.

He sighed and tossed a small pouch to Daion, who caught it midair. Inside, Daion found silver and gold coins.

"That should keep you alive for a few days," the man said.

"What good is gold in the forest? Should I throw it at the monsters?" Daion replied sarcastically.

The hooded man clicked his tongue in irritation and pointed toward the horizon, where two mountains loomed in the distance. "There's a small village in that direction. You should reach it before nightfall if you hurry. You can stay there for the night. And if you're lucky, you might run into a summoned team working in the area. Maybe they'll help you."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking into the woods.

"Thanks," Daion called out, raising his voice. "My name's Daion."

The hooded man didn't reply or turn back. He disappeared into the shadows of the forest, as if he'd never been there.

"He could've at least told me his name, couldn't he?" Daion muttered as he turned toward the direction he'd been given.

Looking at the horizon, he estimated he had about four hours of daylight left. But in a binary star system, it was hard to say for sure. The only thing he knew was that nights here couldn't be pleasant.

As he moved forward, a strange sensation crept over him. He wasn't sure if it was the energy he had absorbed or if the gauntlet had more to show him. But one thing was clear: his struggle was just beginning.