A dull haze hung over Avi Eques as he wandered through the transformed gymnasium, now a makeshift fortress. The remnants of sleep clung to him stubbornly, dragging at his every step. Luxurious beauty sleep wasn't exactly on the table—not with only 17 hours left until the next wave—but survival left little room for complaints.
Avi's destination was clear: Caleb. The guy was likely up to something that teetered between genius and lunacy, as always. Caleb's passion for tinkering had always been borderline mad scientist material, even before the System decided to turn their world upside down.
Passing through the encampment, Avi noticed clusters of tents and improvised shelters, their occupants ranging from teens to younger kids clutching rudimentary weapons like lifelines. He paused when his gaze fell on Ken Magnum, his towering frame unmistakable even seated. Ken was surrounded by a circle of wide-eyed elementary students, their small faces painted with a mix of fear and tentative hope.
Ken's grin was infectious, as though he were a storybook hero about to burst into song. "Alright, who's ready for an adventure?" he asked, his voice warm and uplifting.
The kids hesitated until a boy with a mop of unruly hair tentatively raised a hand. "I am! I wanna be like you, Mr. Ken!"
Ken chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "Mr. Ken? You're making me sound ancient. Just call me Ken. And don't worry—you'll be stronger than me in no time."
The boy's smile broke through his earlier nervousness, and Avi found himself momentarily transfixed by the scene. Ken had always been like this—a natural protector, effortlessly building trust and inspiring courage. Even before their lives were rewritten by the System, Ken had been the guy who stood up for others, dragging Avi out of a few tight spots back in the day.
With a faint smile tugging at his lips, Avi turned away. The kids didn't need his sarcasm or cynicism now. Ken had this under control.
The forge was at the far end of the gym, repurposed into an industrial zone. Stepping inside, Avi's breath caught as the scene unfolded before him. The air shimmered with heat, thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and the occasional whiff of burnt rubber. Makeshift workstations were scattered around the space, glowing forges dominating the room. Students worked tirelessly, hammering metal into crude weapons and armor. Sparks flew with every strike, casting erratic light across their determined faces.
A grimy student paused his work to notice Avi's astonished expression. "Pretty awesome, huh?" he said, grinning. "We built this place ourselves—scrap metal, debris, anything we could scavenge."
Avi raised an eyebrow. "Out of what? Cafeteria trays and gym equipment?"
"Basically," the boy replied with a shrug. "Survival brings out the creativity, doesn't it? A week ago, we were studying for finals. Now, we're blacksmiths."
Avi smirked. "Impressive. Where's Caleb?"
"In the back, muttering to himself. As usual," the student replied, jerking his thumb toward the corner.
Avi weaved through the organized chaos, nodding appreciatively at the students reinforcing barricades and crafting tools with precision. He eventually found Caleb sprawled on the ground, cradling a cloth-wrapped bundle like a prized possession.
"Caleb," Avi called, prodding him lightly with his foot. No response. "Caleb!" he tried again, this time delivering a small kick.
With a startled yelp, Caleb jolted upright, eyes wide. "I wasn't sleeping! I was—uh—testing the floor's durability."
"Sure you were," Avi deadpanned. "You done, or should I come back later?"
Caleb blinked, then broke into a grin. "Perfect timing, Avi!" He jumped to his feet and thrust the bundle into Avi's hands. "Here. It's ready."
Unwrapping the cloth, Avi revealed a pair of sleek daggers. Their dark violet blades shimmered faintly in the dim light, the intricate patterns etched into the metal radiating a quiet menace. The craftsmanship was leagues above the rudimentary weapons scattered across the forge.
A soft light shimmered in Avi's view:
[Shadowfang]
Forged with Arkanite as its core, this dagger boasts exceptional sharpness and durability. A simple yet promising weapon, its true potential is unlocked through the wielder's proficiency in dagger arts.
"These are forged with Arkanite," Caleb explained eagerly. "It's ridiculously strong, but I stabilized it with earthly metals. The result is what you're holding—light, sharp, and nearly indestructible."
Avi turned the dagger over in his hand, appreciating the way the hilt's leather grip molded perfectly to his fingers. The swirling pattern on the blade caught the light, reminding him of ripples on a still pond.
"This is incredible," Avi said, genuinely impressed. "Thanks, Caleb."
Avi stepped out of the forge, the daggers safely tucked away in his inventory. The crisp evening air was a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat he had just left behind. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the faint ache from the effort of forging the weapons.
It was time to train.
He made his way to a secluded spot at the edge of the school grounds. The area was quiet, bordered by trees that swayed gently in the breeze. Drawing the daggers, Avi held them up, their edges glinting faintly in the fading light.
The memory of the young knight's dagger arts surfaced in his mind. Avi could almost see the figure again, moving with fluid precision—a deadly dance so refined that it felt impossible to replicate.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Let's see if I can do this without looking like a complete idiot."
Spoiler alert: He couldn't.
His first attempts were clumsy at best. The daggers felt awkward in his hands, their balance foreign to his grip. Each slash was too slow, each stab misaligned. He winced as a sharp edge nicked his palm, a faint line of red welling up as a stinging reminder of his ineptitude. Frustration bubbled over until he threw himself onto the ground with a groan.
"This is hopeless," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Closing his eyes, Avi tried to center himself. He visualized the young knight again, standing in a training ground with stone floors and walls that seemed to stretch into infinity. But instead of offering clarity, the vision weighed on him. The moment he imagined himself stepping into that space, his body felt twice as heavy. His legs dragged, his arms stiffened, and even in the safety of his own mind, he stumbled clumsily forward.
"Seriously?" he muttered to himself, grimacing. "I can't even look cool in my own head?"
The young knight continued to practice, his movements unbroken by Avi's floundering presence. Each step, each spin of the daggers, was a masterclass in precision. The weapons seemed like extensions of his arms, carving arcs through the air in perfect rhythm. Meanwhile, Avi's efforts resembled a chicken attempting a moonwalk.
The knight offered no words of advice, nor did he acknowledge Avi's presence. He simply moved with relentless focus, a quiet determination that was as inspiring as it was infuriating. Avi scowled. This was supposed to be his training montage. Wasn't the imaginary mentor supposed to be more… helpful?
Realizing the futility of sulking, Avi forced himself to observe. He narrowed his focus, watching the knight's footwork. The subtle shifts of weight, the press of his toes against the ground before each motion, the way his balance never faltered—these were things Avi could emulate. He tried to mimic the steps, one by one. His legs burned with the effort, but he pushed himself to keep going.
Next came the daggers. The knight's grip was fluid, adjusting seamlessly with every movement. Avi tightened his hold and tried to follow, only to fumble as one of his blades slipped from his grasp. The sound of it clattering on the stone floor echoed in his mind, a mocking reminder of his failure. He sighed, kneeling to retrieve it.
It was then, as he rose, that he thought he saw the knight glance his way. Just for a moment—a flicker of acknowledgment. Perhaps it was imagined, or perhaps it was his mind throwing him a much-needed shred of encouragement. Either way, it ignited a spark within him.
This time, Avi didn't merely copy. He studied. Every strike, every pivot, every parry the knight performed was dissected in his mind. Piece by piece, he worked to imitate them, adjusting with each failure. His frustration didn't dissipate; it fueled him.
After what felt like hours, Avi managed to string together a short series of attacks. A stab. A slash. A parry. A spin. It wasn't perfect, but it was closer. As he completed the sequence, the knight turned his back and walked toward the edge of the training ground, vanishing into the distance without a word.
Avi opened his eyes, breathing heavily. Something within him had shifted.
His body ached, his mind reeled, but there was a newfound clarity. Rising slowly, he gripped the daggers again. This time, they felt different—lighter, sharper, almost as if they were a part of him.
"Alright," he muttered, "third time's the charm, right? Unless you're me, in which case it's probably the seventeenth."
Planting his feet, Avi began the sequence he had practiced in his mind. A stab. A slash. A parry. His arms moved with surprising fluidity, his steps falling into an instinctive rhythm. It wasn't flawless, but it was leagues ahead of where he'd started.
When he finished, he exhaled deeply, a grin breaking across his face. His heart pounded, his muscles burned, but for the first time, he felt like he was beginning to understand—not just the movements, but the discipline and focus required to improve.
"Guess this is what they call a breakthrough," he said, tossing one of the daggers into the air. He fumbled the catch, nearly dropping it again. "Okay, maybe less 'breakthrough' and more 'progress,' but I'll take it."
Opening his status screen, he scanned the updated information:
Avi Eques (Level 3)
Strength: 17.104
Defense: 11.130
Stamina: 9.143
Agility: 14.110
Intelligence: 8.090
Skills:
|Clairvoyance|
|?a??k??| (Synchronization: 1%)
|Battle Instinct| Predict certain enemy moves. Fighting proficiency enhanced based on stats.
|Novice Dagger Arts| Incomplete dagger arts.
Synchronization: 1%. A new skill added. Progress.
Turning toward a nearby tree, Avi tested his skill. This time, his strike was deliberate, controlled. The bark splintered under the impact, sending small fragments scattering.
"If I don't survive the next wave," he said, wiping sweat from his brow, "at least I'll look cool trying." He gave one dagger a dramatic twirl—and promptly almost dropped it. "Or, you know, at least slightly less like an idiot."
He chuckled softly, the weight of the day lifting just slightly. Progress, however small, was still progress.