Chapter 93: The Bow is... Beautiful
For the first time in his life, Silas wished to have Mr. Fatars as his teacher rather than Sir Wesley.
’This man is a monster!’
[You look like a monster yourself.]
’Piss off!’
Forty minutes later...
The gym resembled a battlefield. Students were scattered all over the polished floor, lying face-first, face-up, sideways, or curled into balls. Christian had somehow managed to fall asleep while hugging one of his weighted ankles. Peter stared blankly at the ceiling, questioning every life decision that had led him to Valecrest.
Victor was breathing so heavily that one would think he had run across the entire continent. Even Alicia, the Amazonian descendant with frightening stamina, was on one knee, sweat dripping from her chin. Emma remained standing... barely. Her legs trembled so violently that everyone was waiting for gravity to finish the job. Alpha had somehow ended up folded into a position that looked physically impossible.
"Is he alive?" Peter asked weakly.
"I... think so..." Emma answered between breaths.
Alpha slowly raised a thumb. "I’m... existing..."
Everyone sighed in relief. At least he wasn’t dead. Meanwhile, Silas remained standing. He wasn’t exactly energetic, as his entire tracksuit was soaked through. Sweat dripped continuously from his chin, and his breathing was noticeably heavier than normal. One hundred and fifty kilograms attached to each wrist and ankle wasn’t something even his current physique could ignore. Yet he was still standing.
Sir Wesley’s gaze lingered on him for a second before moving away. Not bad, he thought. At least his ability and rank weren’t wasted. Same for Chloe. In fact, she wasn’t even sweating, probably an active-passive effect of her ability. She radiated that cold and chilling aura that, somehow, only Silas could withstand. Any other person would feel like they were sleeping in snow on a cold night.
The instructor finally spoke.
"You have all disappointed me."
A collective despair filled the room at his statement, as they expected some encouragement, but his next words made them confused.
"I expected worse."
No one knew whether to feel insulted or relieved. Sir Wesley walked calmly toward the center of the hall.
"Mana is unreliable. It runs out. It can be disrupted. It can be sealed. And... It can fail." His cold eyes swept across every student.
"But your body..." He clenched his fist. "...is always yours."
Several students subconsciously straightened despite their exhaustion.
"You will all have to choose a weapon. That is the next thing you are going to do. Until all of you choose a weapon, we won’t continue this class. It is a must. Most of you might not know, but my ability is a B-Rank healing ability. What do you would happen to someone like me, who is a healer, with no offensive power, when my mana runs out?"
Everyone turned silent at that, thinking about it very much. Silas especially understood it. He had almost experienced it, and his daggers and gauntlets were what saved him. Marcus also clenched his hands at that. He remembered how David’s mana had run out at the last second. Perhaps a weapon might’ve prevented his death. Before anyone could answer, Sir Wesley continued.
"You are not choosing a weapon because your ability demands it. No. You are choosing it because someday, your weapon may be the only thing keeping you alive."
He pressed a button on a small control panel attached to his wrist. The walls of the training hall vibrated. The large metallic sections slowly slid apart, causing everyone to turn in surprise. Hidden behind them were weapons, hundreds of them. The room transformed into something closer to an ancient armory. Spears lined one section, longswords, katanas, axes, war hammers, maces, scythes, halberds, whips, daggers, short swords, twin blades, chains, shields, and even strange weapons most students couldn’t recognize.
The atmosphere changed instantly, as even the exhausted students found themselves slowly getting to their feet. Sir Wesley folded his arms.
"The remaining class period is yours. Walk, observe, touch, and listen. Sometimes..." He glanced toward the enormous collection. "...the weapon chooses the wielder."
Silence followed. Then, everyone dispersed. Christian immediately waddled toward the oversized hammers. He had always loved them. Peter wandered over to the spears.
Emma’s eyes settled almost instantly on a pair of combat knives, while Victor gravitated toward heavy swords. Alicia examined battle axes. Alpha stopped before several elegant rapiers, his curious expression making it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Chloe walked without purpose, merely observing. Nothing called to her yet, though in her mind, her ability was speaking to her. She would be choosing the weapon that the ice empress she inherited her power, used, but not now, since she didn’t understand it yet.
Silas also wandered. He passed swords, axes, and polearms, but none of them interested him. He wasn’t searching consciously anymore. He just walked, something guiding him, until his footsteps stopped. An entire section occupied one side of the room, showing rows upon rows of bows. He noticed simple wooden longbows, elegant recurves, composite bows, horse bows, war bows taller than a man, and even modern compound bows reinforced with monster materials. And for some reason unknown, he could identify every single one of the bows as though he had made them.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, reflecting softly across polished limbs and taut strings. For a brief moment, everything else disappeared. Silas slowly approached, his fingers hovering over one of the bows. Without realizing it, a smile appeared on his face.
"The bow is beautiful."
His voice was barely above a whisper, but the words echoed strangely within him. The moment his fingertips brushed the smooth wooden grip, his Heartweaver Fae bloodline stirred. A faint pink glow flashed deep within his eyes, almost imperceptibly...
One of the bowstrings vibrated on its own. The sound it made was soft, gentle, and almost affectionate.
Silas froze. He hadn’t touched the string, but it had responded. Behind him, Sir Wesley quietly narrowed his eyes. For the first time since class had begun, the stoic instructor showed the faintest hint of intrigue.