The training ground was bigger than he remembered. Way bigger.
It had everything. Six one-on-one combat rings. Weights lined up along the far wall. And standing in the corner like a row of silent, soulless soldiers—mechanical dummies.
Almost human. Same height. Same build. But no eyes. No expression. Just blank metal staring at nothing.
'Still creepy.'
He got closer. His hand brushed against one of their metal plates.
Cold. Still.
Nora tossed him a shard from behind. He caught it without looking.
"You think you can take one on?"
He rolled it between his fingers. Small. Faintly glowing.
He knew what these were worth. Shards weren't training tools—they were power. Raw, condensed power. Consume enough and your body evolves. Gets stronger.
Which is why nobody in their right mind wastes one on a practice dummy.
He'd seen the seniors do it a few times when he was young. But only when they were stuck—not enough shards to rank up, too restless to wait. So they'd burn one on fifteen minutes of sparring just to feel like they were doing something.
To feel strong against something that couldn't judge them for losing.
After he placed the shard into the hole in its chest, the thing woke up. It started moving.
What made it useful was the same thing that made it pointless.
The moment its dull eyes locked onto an opponent, it began copying. Every stance. Every strike. Every subtle shift in weight. Within minutes, it could counter anything thrown at it.
Sounds impressive—until you realize the thing has no style of its own.
And that was also its biggest flaw.
You weren't fighting an opponent. You were fighting yourself.
He dismissed his bow and put distance between himself and the dummy.
Its eyes flickered to life—dull, cold, emotionless.
From the side, Nora leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Silent. Studying him. Trying to pick apart his style before the fight even started.
In a blink, Shiro shot forward. He swung his fist—fast, direct, no hesitation.
The dummy tilted its head to the side. Read it perfectly. Its hand clamped around his wrist and yanked, pulling him overhead, attempting to slam him into the ground.
He tightened his core midair. And as his body swung over the dummy's head—upside down, weightless for half a second—the bow materialized in the hand the dummy was still gripping.
It couldn't let go. And it wouldn't matter if it did.
Because he'd already drawn the string with his free hand. Aimed straight down at the top of its skull.
Point blank.
And let go.
The arrow didn't just hit. It tore through metal, through gears, through whatever passed for a spine, and kept going—straight into the ground beneath it.
The dummy's head exploded.
He turned to Nora. "I'm ready."
She stared at him. Wide-eyed. The kind of look someone gives when their brain is still catching up to what their eyes just saw.
But she caught herself. Blinked it away. Straightened up. Pushed off the wall like nothing had happened.
She wasn't about to let him think she was impressed.
'Same as always.'
He closed his eyes. The wind picked up—harder, sharper, almost aggressive, like the air itself knew what was coming.
He took a deep breath. Cleared his mind. Let everything fall away.
Then opened his eyes.
Nora stood before him. The wind around her had changed. It wasn't blowing anymore. It was obeying. Circling her. Bending to her will. Her hair danced in it, wild and untamed, and her rapier sang—a thin, sharp hiss as the wind wrapped itself around the blade like a second edge.
The moment he pulled the string, she shot forward—a jab so fast it blurred.
He leaned back with the same momentum, and his foot snapped up into her chin, lifting her clean off the ground.
He followed the opening. Drew the string. Aimed at her while she hung in the air.
But she recovered fast. Too fast.
Her rapier flicked out and caught the arrow midflight, the tip shattering it before it could touch her.
In the same motion—she dove down, the wind screaming around her.
Shiro leapt back, four fingers hooked on the string, and let them fly.
Four arrows. All at once.
The ground erupted beneath her. Dust. Stone. Debris.
A heartbeat later, a violent gust of wind tore through the cloud and scattered it all.
And there was Nora—on one knee, gasping, one of the arrows buried in her left shoulder.
She gripped her rapier. Used it like a crutch. Pushed herself up. Slow. Steady.
Then she closed her eyes. Took a breath. Long and deep—like she was pulling something from the air itself.
When she opened them, they were blue.
Not normal blue. Not the kind you'd see on a person. The kind you'd see when you looked straight up on a cloudless day.
Endless. Bottomless.
Like the sky had crawled inside her and made itself at home.
She took a step forward.
And the air left his lungs.
Definitely not gently.
It was yanked out, like an invisible hand had reached into his chest and squeezed.
He instantly leapt back, putting distance between them while pulling the string four times in rapid succession. Four arrows screamed toward her.
Every single one curved away. The wind peeled them off course like they were nothing—sliding them harmlessly past her without her even moving.
"That's kind of cheating."
She just smiled.
Then out of nowhere, a heavy gust slammed into his back. Hard.
His feet left the ground, and he was launched forward—straight toward her.
And she came charging to meet him.
'Not this stupid thing again.'
He slammed the bow into the ground and managed to root himself.
She came in with a fury of jabs—fast, precise, relentless. A hundred strikes in a second, maybe more. Each one a needle of wind aimed to kill.
He could barely see them.
Dodging was almost impossible. Every time he slid right, one grazed his ribs. Every time he shifted left, another kissed his arm. The tip of her rapier didn't need to land clean—it just needed to touch, and it found him everywhere.
He blocked what he could with the bow, deflecting strikes while his other hand quietly drew the string back. Charging. Waiting.
And a moment later—he aimed and fired at the ground.
The floor exploded beneath him, stone and dust erupting, and the force launched him skyward. Up and over her head, where her wind couldn't redirect his arrows.
Midair, he let loose. No full draws. Just quick, rapid tugs of the string, firing arrow after arrow. They rained down on her from above.
But she moved fast. Weaving through each one with an ease that was almost insulting. Her body flowed between the arrows like water finding gaps in stone.
The moment his feet touched the ground, he was already drawing again. Full pull this time. The string screamed. The arrow grew dense—heavy—charged with everything the bow could give.
He let it rip.
Nora didn't move. Didn't dodge. Didn't flinch.
She pulled her rapier back. Charged forward to meet it.
And the tip of her blade split the arrow in two perfectly.
His eyes widened as she closed in—rapier aimed straight at his chest.
He blocked the tip with the bow, but the force pushed him back, feet skidding across the stone.
He planted himself. Drew the string at close range—too close for her wind to interfere.
But she expected that.
The swirl of wind that had been shielding her climbed through the bow, into his arms, into his body—and before he knew it, he was spinning. Launched skyward by a tornado that had no business being that precise.
Shiro spun midair. Tumbled.
He managed to straighten out—barely—but he was still plummeting. Fifty feet up. Maybe more.
Below him, Nora rose. Riding the wind like a staircase built just for her.
She rode the wind up to meet him.
He unleashed a barrage. Arrow after arrow after arrow.
She countered most—her rapier a blur—and the rest the wind swatted aside like insects.
So he changed tactics. Dove straight down. Met her jab with a swing of the bow, using it like a blade.
And here was the thing—he'd missed a lot of shots.
The bow remembered every single one.
Accumulated Burden had turned it from a weapon into an anchor. Heavy. Brutally heavy. The kind of heavy that made the air groan as it swung.
And with gravity on his side, she didn't stand a chance.
The bow cut clean through her wind defense and slammed into her shoulder with a crack that echoed across the training ground.
His body slammed on the ground while he sent the ebony knight to catch Nora.
He lay there. Broken. Everything hurt.
He'd taken her jab straight to the shoulder—on purpose. Let the blade sink in just so he could land the final blow. A stupid trade. The kind only an idiot would make.
His body was already healing. Bones shifting. Muscles knitting themselves back together.
And just then his favorite chime rang out.
[Passive Skill: Limitless — Activated]
[You have sustained damage.]
[Your body grew stronger.]
'Hell yeah.'
Worth it. Every time.
Nora appeared above him. Hair a mess. Gripping her broken shoulder with one hand.
It was healing slowly, but she didn't seem bothered by it.
She offered him her good hand.
He looked at it. Then at the blue sky. Then back at her hand.
"Let me lay here for a bit."
She looked at him. Something in her expression loosened. The scary blonde with the wind and the rapier and the death stare. All of it—gone.
What was left was just Nora.
She smiled. Soft. Barely there. The same smile she gave him when they were kids.
She lay down next to him. Back against the cold ground. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"Good fight," she said. Almost a whisper. Like saying it any louder would ruin it.