The moment Garrick's command settled into the air, the hall erupted into movement as the students scattered across the vast space, their earlier restraint giving way to open curiosity and excitement, their footsteps echoing lightly against the polished floor as they moved between rows of weapons, each display illuminated by soft, controlled light that highlighted the craftsmanship and form of the armaments laid before them.
The atmosphere shifted quickly.
What had begun as a quiet awe turned into a restless exploration, students spreading out in clusters or moving alone, drawn instinctively toward the types of weapons that resonated with them, their eyes scanning the displays, their hands hovering just above the racks before finally reaching out.
"This one… what weapon type is this?" one student muttered, leaning closer to a curved blade mounted on a suspended frame, his eyes narrowing as he read the glowing description panel beside it, which detailed its classification, weight distribution, balance requirements, and the recommended resonance compatibility for effective usage.
Another student stood before a long polearm, gripping it tentatively before testing its weight, his stance adjusting unconsciously as he read through the notes, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding as he murmured, "Requires strong lower-body stability… and rotational control…"
Nearby, a pair of students debated over a set of dual daggers, one of them flipping the blades lightly in his hand while the other read the requirements aloud, listing agility thresholds and reaction speed benchmarks, their voices overlapping as they tried to determine whether the weapon suited their style or not.
Not everyone experimented.
Some simply observed.
A few students walked through the rows with surprising certainty, their eyes scanning briefly before settling on a particular weapon as if they had already made their decision long before stepping into the hall, their hands moving without hesitation as they selected what they believed aligned with them best, ignoring the rest entirely.
Others took their time.
Testing.
Comparing.
Reading every detail displayed before them, from weight and balance to compatibility with different resonance types, trying to piece together not just what they could use, but what would enhance them the most.
Fragments of conversation floated through the air.
"This one's too heavy… I won't be able to maintain speed…"
"A ranged weapon might be better for my resonance…"
"No… this fits better… it feels natural…"
"I don't need anything complex… something straightforward is enough…"
The hall had become a space of decision.
Of alignment.
Of realization.
Every student, in their own way, searching for something that would not just fit in their hands—
But extend what they already were.
Damon moved through the hall at an unhurried pace, his gaze passing over one weapon after another without lingering too long, his approach far more analytical than the others as he stopped occasionally to pick one up, test its weight, and read through the descriptions that hovered beside each display, his fingers adjusting around grips, blades, and handles as if searching not for something impressive, but for something that felt… right.
A long sword.
Balanced and clean, too predictable.
He placed it back.
A pair of daggers.
Light and fast, but they are limited in reach, not ideal.
A spear.
Good range and strong control, but restrictive in close combat unless mastered properly.
He exhaled faintly.
No…
Some weapons did not suit him.
Some he simply did not like.
And in some cases, there was no clear reason at all—his mind rejecting them instinctively before he could even articulate why.
As he moved past another row, his hand brushing briefly against the hilt of a curved blade before he let it go, a loud, familiar voice broke through his thoughts.
"Boss! Boss!"
Damon closed his eyes for half a second.
Then turned.
Eric came hopping toward him with uncontained excitement, his movements almost bouncing with energy, and the moment Damon's eyes landed on him, his brows furrowed immediately.
"…Just what are you wearing?"
Eric stood there proudly.
Dressed in what could only be described as an over-the-top, bulky body armor that seemed to exaggerate every curve and plate unnecessarily, the design awkward in both proportion and presence, as though someone had tried too hard to make it look powerful and ended up with something almost comical.
Eric, however, looked thrilled.
"Hahahah… look at my weapon!" he said, spreading his arms slightly as if presenting something magnificent.
Damon's gaze narrowed.
"…This armor?"
Eric nodded enthusiastically.
Damon stared at it for a second longer before speaking again.
"Do you think that's a weapon… and is it even allowed?"
Eric puffed his chest out immediately, his confidence swelling to the point where Damon could almost see his nose metaphorically growing longer.
"Hahahaha, boss! Haven't you heard? Defense is the best attack!" he declared proudly, "and if it wasn't allowed, why would it even be placed here? It was the only one of its kind too… I guess the fools here just can't comprehend something this simple… hahahahaha!"
Damon looked at him in silence.
Then at the armor.
Then back at him.
…Although it's a bit ugly…
His gaze sharpened slightly.
…he's not wrong.
In a place where everyone focused on offense, survivability could easily become an advantage.
And appearance—
Was irrelevant.
"Show it to me for a moment," Damon said.
Eric didn't hesitate for even a second, quickly removing the armor piece by piece and handing it over, his grin widening as he spoke.
"Hehe… even you admit my genius, right boss?"
Damon ignored the comment.
He tapped his knuckles lightly against the surface.
Thud.
Thud.
A solid sound.
Dense and reinforced.
"…Hmm," he muttered, examining it briefly, "it's sturdy…"
Then he looked up at Eric.
"Go look for something else."
And without another word—he turned and walked away.
Behind him, Eric froze completely.
His hands still raised slightly in front of him, as if waiting for the armor to be returned, his expression slowly hollowing as realization sank in.
A moment passed.
Then—
"Heh…?"
Damon continued walking through the hall at a measured pace, his gaze drifting across the scattered students as they examined, tested, and claimed their weapons, a faint smile gradually forming on his face.
Then—He stopped.
"Miss Mira?"
Both Mira and Serena turned toward him at the same time, though the contrast in their reactions was immediate, Serena's expression turning cold almost instantly while Mira flinched slightly, her posture tightening as his presence settled over them.
Damon, however, paid Serena no attention.
His focus remained entirely on Mira.
"Have you picked a weapon yet?" he asked, his tone calm and almost gentle.
Mira lowered her gaze.
"N-no…"
Damon's smile deepened, his eyes curving slightly as though he had been waiting for exactly that answer.
"Oh… perfect," he said, his voice carrying a hint of warmth, "I was looking around, and I found the perfect thing for you."
Mira looked up, her ears turning faintly red as he stepped closer and presented what he had been carrying.
The armor.
He held it out toward her.
"There is nothing more important to me than your safety," he said, his tone steady, "this will be perfect for you."
Mira's eyes dropped to the armor, her expression uncertain yet drawn, while beside her Serena's gaze sharpened immediately, her voice cutting in with restrained irritation.
"Are you trying to get her punished?" she said, her eyes narrowing, "weapons are meant for attacking… is that even allowed?"
Damon turned his head slightly toward her, though his smile did not falter in the slightest.
"Hmm… haven't you heard?" he replied lightly, "defense is the best attack… and if it was placed here, that means it's allowed."
Then, without waiting for her response, he looked back at Mira, his expression softening further as he continued.
"It's also the only one of its kind," he added, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity, "I secured it with great effort… for you, Miss Mira."
Mira's breath caught slightly as she looked at him, her thoughts wavering, while Damon let his gaze shift briefly toward Serena before returning to Mira again, his tone lowering just enough to carry weight.
"But if you don't want it… I understand," he said, "it's just that I cannot even imagine you getting hurt… or forcing yourself into situations where you have to harm someone with your own hands."
His voice softened further.
"All the difficult and dirty work… I will handle it for you."
Mira's eyes trembled.
A faint sheen of tears forming as her emotions began to tip.
Damon watched.
…Now the final nail.
"Still… if you don't trust me—"
"I-I do!" Mira blurted out immediately, her voice trembling yet firm as she looked at him, "I-I will gratefully accept it… s-sir Damon…"
Damon's smile remained unchanged.
Perfect.
"I'm glad," he said gently, "why don't you try it on?"
Mira nodded quickly, taking the armor from him with both hands before stepping aside slightly to wear it, and as she adjusted the pieces, fastening them carefully, the earlier awkward bulk that had looked so out of place on Eric now seemed… different.
On her—
The structure appeared more refined, the contours aligning naturally with her figure, giving it a far more elegant and balanced presence than before.
Damon watched and almost unconsciously, he muttered under his breath, "The beauty does make even ugly things look good…"
Mira turned slightly, startled.
"D-did you say something?"
Damon's expression shifted instantly, that same composed smile returning as if nothing had happened.
"You simply look too beautiful," he said smoothly, "I couldn't help but praise you… even in my thoughts."
Mira's face turned deep red, her gaze dropping immediately as her thoughts spiraled once again.
From the side, a cold and disgusted voice cut through.
"Don't you get tired maintaining that fake smile of yours for so long?"
Damon turned his head toward Serena, the same smile still resting on his face as if untouched by her words.
"Do you want me to pick something for you as well, young duchess?" he asked casually.
Serena's response was immediate.
Whip!
A whip unfurled from behind her, its sleek form snapping lightly through the air as she held it with practiced ease.
"I already have what I want," she said, her tone edged, "would you like to try it out?"
Damon glanced at it briefly then back at her.
"I'll pass this time."
Without lingering any further, he turned back toward Mira, giving her a small nod.
"See you."
And just like that—he walked away.
Damon continued moving through the hall, his pace steady but his mind growing increasingly selective as weapon after weapon failed to hold his interest, some lacking balance, others feeling too restrictive, and a few simply failing to resonate with him at all, leaving him with a faint sense of irritation as he passed them by.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Lucian, who stood confidently with a long sword in hand, testing its weight with practiced ease, prompting Damon to mutter under his breath, almost amused, "Main protagonists and their love for swords…"
He moved on.
Then stopped in front of a pair of dual sabers.
One black.
One white.
Both visibly worn, their surfaces marked with fine cracks that ran along the blades like scars, giving them a strangely incomplete yet deliberate appearance.
Damon's brows furrowed slightly as he leaned in just enough to observe them more closely.
"Huh… why are there damaged weapons here?" he muttered.
An annoyed voice answered from his side almost immediately.
"What are you looking at? You want those as your weapon?"
Damon turned his head.
"Professor Garrick."