[Ding!]
[Beast Bond Reward Box (LV.1) opened!]
[Experience +2 received. Current EXP: 9]
[Acquired: Beast Half-Price Voucher ×1]
[New Talent unlocked for purchase: Limb Coordination. Price: 10 EXP. Description: Significantly enhances foot dexterity and limb coordination. Effective for stealth, footwork control, and close-quarters combat.]
Veyric filed the new talent away and scrolled through the full list, line by line. He went through it once. Then again. Checked every discount coupon's applicable range, built a mental spreadsheet, added numbers, subtracted them, added them back.
Five full minutes of deliberation. He weighed everything against the upcoming fight with the Defenders before locking in his build.
Seven points spent. Two held in reserve.
"System. Purchase Iron Skin, LV.1."
[Ding!]
[Iron Skin (LV.1) purchased]
[Effect: Upon use, temporarily converts the user's skin to metal, dramatically increasing durability without sacrificing mobility. Duration: one minute.]
[Current EXP: 8]
A lifeline for emergencies. One minute of Colossus-grade physical resistance was enough to tank most attacks that came his way.
Next.
"System. Apply Blade Half-Price Voucher. Purchase Weapon Mastery, LV.1."
[Ding!]
[Blade Half-Price Voucher applied]
[Weapon Mastery (LV.1) activated (Original: 8 EXP → Discounted: 4 EXP)]
[Current EXP: 4]
[Effect: Significantly improves handling and combat instinct with melee weapons and ranged firearms.]
Last, a stat boost.
Upgrading from LV.2 to LV.3 cost 2 experience points per attribute.
"System. Purchase Durability LV.3."
[Ding!]
[Durability LV.2 (Built to Last) → LV.3 (Human Limit)]
[Current EXP: 2]
This time felt nothing like the last upgrade.
Before, it had been warm and comfortable, like sinking into bathwater at the perfect temperature.
Now Veyric exhaled slowly and felt his lung capacity expand, each breath drawing deeper, releasing with an ease he couldn't quite name. Something settled in his chest. A calm that hadn't been there before.
He leaned against the wall, let the breath come all the way back in, and nodded.
Solid.
Getting killed in New York just got a whole lot harder.
Seven points gone in one go. He pulled the system interface back to the top of the talent panel and scanned his three current talents:
Blood of Light. Spider-Sense (LV.1). Weapon Mastery (LV.1).
"Things are looking up," he murmured. "Not exactly the helpless nobody running for his life anymore. At least now I can hold my own."
With the build finalized, Veyric headed back to his room and treated himself to a proper afternoon nap. Around two o'clock, he dragged himself up and made his way to the training room. Natasha's next lesson was waiting.
He pushed the door open. She was already there, standing with Hawkeye, the two of them chatting.
Natasha had her back to the entrance, head down, checking a pistol's magazine.
She didn't turn at the sound of his footsteps. "Firearms today."
Veyric stopped in the doorway, glanced at the gun, then at her. "No hand-to-hand?"
Last session had been all grappling and strikes.
She slapped the magazine home with practiced precision and looked up.
"The opponents you're about to face are the Defenders. Daredevil, bare-knuckle specialist. Jessica Jones, raw superhuman strength. Luke Cage, near-indestructible. Iron Fist has the real martial arts pedigree, and the Punisher's close-quarters work is plain brutal..."
She laid out all five names, picking them apart one by one.
"So if you walk up and try to trade blows with any of them, that's the dumbest move you could make."
From beside her, Hawkeye's voice drifted over, light and amused. "Why do I get the feeling you're going out of your way to protect our dear captain here?"
He arched an eyebrow, gaze bouncing between Veyric and Natasha with a half-smile that said he had more to add.
Natasha lifted her eyes just enough to pin him with a look. "It's your old bones I'm protecting. I'm having Veyric cover you from range so nobody sneaks up on you while your eyes are giving out."
Hawkeye shrugged and pulled a face so exaggerated it belonged in a cartoon.
"Clint. Go where you need to be. We're starting."
"Fine, fine. I'm going." He slung the bow over his shoulder, raised his free hand in mock surrender, and backed toward the door.
At the threshold he paused, turned his head toward Veyric, and crooked a finger. "When you get bored of guns, bows are an option. Door's always open."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Veyric turned back. Natasha was already in position behind the firing lane, waiting, her expression as no-nonsense as ever.
He walked over and picked up the pistol.
Glock 17. Magazine loaded. Safety off.
He wrapped his hand around the grip and felt the weight settle in.
The angle of the backstrap, the trigger's position, the texture of the stippling under his palm, the way his index finger naturally rested along the trigger guard...
Details about the weapon flooded his mind, unbidden and crystal clear, as though he'd stripped and reassembled this model a hundred times. Except he'd never held a real gun in his life.
Back in days, the closest he'd ever come to firearms was an arcade light gun.
So this is what Weapon Mastery feels like. Like sealed-away muscle memory cracking open all at once.
Natasha stood half a step to his right, eyes fixed on the paper target downrange.
"For a beginner, the recoil is going to be stronger than you expect." Her voice was calm, clinical. "Don't rush the trigger. Breathe first. Feet shoulder-width apart. Feel your center of gravity drop..."
Veyric didn't answer.
He stared down at the Glock in his hands. The strange instinct from Weapon Mastery kept spreading through him, threading along his veins, all the way to his fingertips.
It felt like he'd been carrying this gun for three years.
"Your first shot will probably miss the target entirely. That's normal. What you need to do is get used to the muzzle climb, and then..."
Before she could finish, Veyric's right hand came up.
He didn't squint to aim. Didn't fuss with his stance.
He simply followed the instinct, let his index finger find the trigger, and squeezed.
Bang!
The gunshot split the silence of the underground range, sharp and sudden. A faint haze of smoke drifted through the air.
Recoil kicked his wrist up a fraction, but he pressed the muzzle back down almost instantly. The recovery was smooth, practiced, nothing a beginner should have been capable of.
The electronic scoring display at the far end flickered.
Red digits appeared: eight ring.
Natasha's lips, mid-sentence, stopped moving. The training room went quiet.
Her gaze lingered on the distant target for two seconds, then drifted back, settling on the hand wrapped around the pistol.
"You..." She stared at him, disbelief plain in her voice. "When did you learn to shoot?"
"Uh..."
The composure on Veyric's face seized up. Explaining that a system had gifted him the skill wasn't exactly an option.
"If I told you I used to play a lot of light-gun shooters at the arcade... would you buy that?" He scratched the back of his head.
Natasha regarded him without a flicker of expression, the kind of look usually reserved for someone who'd just said something profoundly stupid.
But she didn't press. Superheroes kept secrets. That was the most normal thing in the world.
"Then keep going. Show me more." She stepped back half a pace, arms folded across her chest. "Let's see exactly how good this arcade champion really is."