Weapon Library

Immediately after those words, cadets shuffled up from their seats, some quietly, others chatting already like they'd known each other for months. A handful darted for the door like they were afraid they'd miss on their weapon of choice. But I walked slower.

The corridor outside buzzed with voices, the kind of surface-level conversation that tried to hide the tension behind casual words.

"I'm thinking dual daggers," one girl whispered behind me. "You think they've got some combat daggers?"

"Maybe a staff," said a boy beside her. "I heard there's an instructor named Cain who used to fight entire demon platoons solo. He teaches staff combat now."

Another chimed in, "Do we even get to meet instructors for weapon classes this early?"

I rolled my eyes as I walked.

'Noobs.'

After we chose our weapons, we would then enrol for the Weapon Mastery curriculum. The system here was simple; pick a weapon, register for its combat class, attend your sessions, and level up your mastery rank.

Swordsmanship, archery, polearms, unarmed, whips; even obscure ones like chain-scythe combat had their own instructors. Forge didn't limit choices, it just made you live with them.

As for me, my mind was already made up.

I would go for a Sword. It was versatile, balanced and adaptable.

A blade had reach, precision, and fluid motion. Good at both offence and defence. 

It was the king of weapons, and for someone like me trying to survive in a world where death came with dialogue and a dramatic cutscene, I needed versatility. 

There was just one issue.

Dorian used a sword too.

He was a prodigy with it, even before he got 'that' sword manual. His technique was instinctive, honed through survival. The sword bent to him like he was born holding it. Me? I was just playing catch-up with bonus loot.

Still, those extra items I got after transmigration; the cultivation and sword manuals; were things Dorian was supposed to find later in the story. 

If I had to share a class with the guy to keep them… well, that was the price of cheating fate.

Instructor Duskbane led us in silence through a long corridor that twisted deeper into the mountain's interior. The temperature dropped slightly. The air was cleaner here and less processed. 

Then we arrived.

The Armoury, or, as I liked to call it, the Weapon Library.

Massive double doors opened with a hiss of steam, beyond them lay a chamber that looked like the result of a Victorian noble getting drunk with a cybernetic engineer.

Polished wooden beams lined the arched ceiling, but integrated between them were strip lights made of glowing crystals. Antique weapon racks stood side by side with energy-sealed vault pods. 

Long glass cases displayed rarities like crystalline bows, chained scythes, and curved sabres with shifting runes across their blades.

Everything was categorized.

Swords had their corner; short, long, curved, twin, heavy, rapier.

Spears and polearms stretched across another section.

A wall was dedicated entirely to throwing weapons.

And in the far back, exotic weapons blinked under containment fields, pulsing with unstable energy.

'Yeah,' I thought. 

'No way Forge would let us near the real armoury. This was the training wheels version.'

Instructor Duskbane turned to face us. 

"You will be called according to your ranking. When called, step forward and select your weapon of choice. Your selection will bind to your NexBand and determine your Weapon Class assignment."

He paused. Eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk.

Then he looked at his scroll.

"Rank 1; Dorian."

No surprise there.

The crowd shifted slightly as Dorian stepped forward calm and silent. His presence was annoyingly centred, like gravity bent around him.

He walked straight to the sword section and picked a mid-length blade. 

He held it like he was greeting an old friend.

As expected.

Besides his curse, Dorian was a natural with the blade. The novel never made it a huge point, but it was there ever since he fought Ronan. The sword chose him.

"Rank 2; Quetsiyah Pallavacini."

The Princess walked with a dancer's grace. She barely glanced at the standard sword rack. Instead, she veered toward the rapiers.

They were thin, elegant and deadly.

She picked one with a twisted hilt and a faint sapphire glint running along the edge.

Also expected. The royal style was all about grace and speed, after all.

"Rank 3; Harry Montclair."

He stomped up, grabbed a heavy sword off the wall, and hoisted it onto his shoulder like a hammer.

Another expected pick. Dorian's rival and the brute with something to prove.

The next few names were called out in order:

"Rank 60; Justin Case."

He chose a spear.

"Rank 270; Mo Lester."

I cringed. 

'Seriously?' 

I forgot how cursed some of the naming decisions in this book were.

He picked dual axes.

"Rank 411 – Mike Rotch."

A whip. Not bad... but wouldn't that hurt?

"Rank 517; Ben Dover."

A chain-sickle.

Then—

"Rank 666; Varek Aligheri."

I stepped forward and walked to the sword rack. Not the fancy stuff, or the shining blades. Just a solid, forged-steel longsword with a simple hilt and a slightly curved edge.

I took it in my hand and gave it a light swing. It felt right like I'd wielded it before.

When I turned to leave, I caught a few students looking at me like they expected me to burst into flames or sprout wings or something. One even whispered something to the person beside them.

'Keep whispering,' I thought. 

'The quieter I stay, the better I move.'

More names were called with more weapons chosen.

And then—

"Rank 999; Ronan Fitzroy."

I turned immediately. The book said he chose the spear. A precise weapon, which was quite hard to master.

But Ronan didn't move to the spears. He walked past them, past the staves and stopped at the glaives.

And chose one.

My mouth went dry.

'What the hell?'

That was not supposed to happen. Ronan had changed his weapon.

Shit.