The Weapon You Choose, The Path You Walk

As he came out of his stupor, he found himself face-to-face with Sabrina, looking as prim and proper as ever. She regarded him with a faint smile.

"Good work, Mr. Hart. It seems you were able to use all your allotted time."

A sense of déjà vu washed over him. Ashen gave an embarrassed smile.

"...Thank you, Miss Sabrina. By the way, I'm not the last one here, right?"

Her smile turned a shade more amused. "Indeed. Judging by your expression, I take it this isn't your first time in such a situation?"

"...Haha, you caught me. Anyway, thanks for waiting for me, ma'am."

Sabrina gave a faint shake of her head, indicating she didn't mind. "Mr. Hart, you only used your allotted time. There's no need to feel embarrassed."

"Still, I appreciate your work ethic and dedication, so a thank-you is never misplaced."

"...Mister Hart, it seems that apart from your dedication to training, you possess quite the silver tongue."

Her expression remained neutral, but the slight twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.

"Well, my sweet tongue isn't for just anyone, so you can rest assured, Miss Sabrina."

With that, Ashen headed for the exit, throwing a casual wave behind him.

"Anyway, I'd better get going. Don't wanna keep the coach waiting, or else…"

"A wise choice. Goodbye, Mister Hart."

As Ashen headed to the training grounds, his mind drifted toward his next lesson: weapon handling.

He figured the coach would either have them pick a weapon and stick with it or, knowing his personality, already have a list of "compatible" weapons prepared for each of them. 

The thought made Ashen chuckle.

'With that guy's personality, he might actually do it.'

Despite being here against his will, the coach was one of the few people Ashen genuinely respected. 

His relentless work ethic and serious approach, where others might slack off, had won him over.

Or maybe Ashen was just drawn to something he lacked.

As his thoughts veered toward darker territory, he quickly shook his head.

He reminded himself why he was here, why he pushed himself so hard despite being forced into this situation.

'Snap out of it, man. This time, it's not just about you. Everyone back home could be wiped.'

Taking a deep breath, he recalled Cornelia's speech about the monsters awaiting them all.

'Alright… Am I not supposed to be the genius who can accomplish anything effortlessly?'

Hardening his resolve, Ashen decided to put to use the very thing responsible for turning him into that sloth back in Esperra. 

He couldn't help but smirk sarcastically, recalling how he had quit every challenge he conquered too easily, no matter how much others praised his talent.

'...Well, saving the world from overpowered beings won't be that easy, right?'

*

Ashen pushed aside any lingering thoughts as he arrived at the training field. 

He was among the last to show up, trailing right behind the coach.

As always, the coach stopped at his usual spot—the one reserved for either an announcement or an inspirational speech. 

His posture was as rigid and serious as ever.

After a sweeping glance across the field, he naturally commanded everyone's attention.

With a slight nod, he began, "After two weeks of physical conditioning, you have officially earned the minimum qualification to hold a weapon and not look like a clown in the process. Congratulations."

His deadpan tone made it clear he wasn't actually impressed.

Ashen understood. Given the coach's perfectionist personality, he would've preferred to push their bodies to their absolute peak before moving on. 

After all, he constantly emphasized that the body is the foundation of everything. 

But with only six months to prepare, delaying combat training any further simply wasn't an option.

Masking whatever frustration he felt, the coach continued. "We'll start by choosing the weapon best suited for you."

With his arms still crossed, he gestured toward an impressive display of weapons hanging to his right.

Every cold weapon imaginable was lined up there… swords, spears, axes, and more. 

Even firearms of various types sat among them. 

The sight made some trainees' eyes light up, their gazes locking onto specific weapons they had likely already chosen in their minds.

"Now, I know how eager you all are to start swinging those toys around, but I'm not done talking. So listen until the end."

Letting out a light sigh, the coach closed his eyes for a second, collecting his thoughts before continuing.

"First, you all know that in most cases, specialization is better than being a jack of all trades but a master of none, right?" 

He didn't wait for a response to his rhetorical question,

"Well, the same principle applies to wielding weapons. So don't expect me to tolerate anyone switching their weapon choice every week."

His tone turned slightly exasperated toward the end as if he had already anticipated the headache.

Raising two fingers, he continued, "Second, I strongly discourage anyone from choosing a gun unless you absolutely know what you're doing." 

"They might look useful and safe to use from a distance, but against anything even slightly stronger than what you've already faced. They're worthless."

The trainees who had their eyes on the guns visibly deflated.

Some frowning in frustration, others dipping their heads awkwardly as their plans to sit in the backline and rain bullets were instantly shattered.

"...Of course, unless the gun is built to handle mana." He shrugged. "But those are so rare and expensive that most factions don't even have them. So yeah… moving on."

With that, he flipped up three fingers. "And third, well, more of an advice than a rule."

With a sharp snap of his fingers, countless papers materialized in midair, much like the bracelets had before. 

The trainees didn't even flinch this time. They had long since been desensitized to the coach's antics.

"As you'll see, these papers contain my personal recommendation for which weapon suits you best and why."

Pausing slightly, with a careless gesture, he ruffled his sun-bleached brown hair, sending a few stray strands tumbling across his forehead.. 

"This time, I won't interfere too much in your weapon choice." 

"Your weapon will shape your combat style and, in turn, your future. In the end, it's best if you make that choice yourself. That way, you'll have fewer regrets."

The weight of his words settled over the group. Even the most arrogant trainees couldn't deny the genuine care behind them. 

Whether physical or mental, the coach was always pushing them forward.

*

The coach ended his speech and positioned himself beside the weapons, not rushing anyone but standing ready to receive those who had already made their choice.

Ashen unfolded the note in his hands, half-expecting a sword recommendation… but the word printed at the top made him pause.