Etzel discovered two things the next morning.
First, healing did not respect ambition.
Second, ribs apparently remembered everything.
He opened his eyes. That part went well. He tried to sit up. That part did not. Pain wrapped around his side with the enthusiasm of an old friend who had been waiting all night to greet him.
Etzel froze halfway upright. “No.”
His ribs disagreed. He lowered himself back onto the bed. “Traitors.”
From outside the room came Ismera’s voice. “Are you trying to get up?”
Etzel stared at the ceiling. “No.”
Silence. Then: “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m injured. My performance is suffering.”
“Stay in bed.”
Etzel considered arguing. His ribs offered their opinion. He stayed in bed. For several hours.
It was horrible. Not because of the pain. Because he had time to think.
The Hollowroot Custodian. The collapsed Core. A single attacker. The second influence moving north. And the System message that had followed:
SYSTEM NOTIFICATIONEventInfluence Relationship DetectedStatusSource Hierarchy: ???DataKnown Influence: Derived
Derived. Not the source. Etzel had spent enough time staring at the word to develop several theories. Witness had approved none of them. That was becoming a theme.
Eventually, he dismissed the problem. Not permanently. Just honestly. He couldn’t solve it. Not yet.
But there was another problem he could solve.
Etzel looked toward the broken remains of his hatchet. He needed a weapon.
Maerin sent him an address that afternoon. Then a warning.
Maerin: Licensed weaponsmith. Not Hunter-exclusive. Etzel read the next message. Maerin: Conventional reinforced weapons only without Registry access. Etzel: You really know how to make shopping exciting. Maerin: Try not to get thrown out.
Etzel stared.
Etzel: Why would I get thrown out? The reply arrived immediately. Maerin: I know you.
Etzel put the communicator away. “Rude.”
He waited until Ismera was satisfied that he was capable of walking without immediately collapsing. That took longer than Etzel considered reasonable. Then he left. Alone.
At least visibly. DK remained inside the Soul Space. Etzel could feel the knight through their bond. Quiet. Present. Judgmental, probably. Etzel had no evidence for the last part. He considered it statistically likely.
The weaponsmith’s shop stood on the edge of a commercial district. No glowing signs. No enormous sword hanging over the entrance. No dramatic name involving blood, dragons, death, or eternal flames.
Etzel was mildly disappointed.
Inside, weapons covered two walls. Swords. Spears. Axes. Hammers. Knives. Several things Etzel couldn’t immediately identify. Behind a heavy wooden counter stood a broad-shouldered man with gray beginning to creep through his dark hair.
He looked at Etzel. Then at Etzel’s bandaged side. Then at the Veinbound Ring.
“What do you need?”
Etzel stepped forward. “A weapon.”
The man looked around his own shop. “Everyone who enters here does.”
Etzel paused. “I was hoping that sounded more dramatic.”
“It didn’t.”
Etzel smiled. He liked him already. The man did not appear to share the feeling.
“Registered?”
“No.”
“Hunter?”
Etzel hesitated. “Complicated.”
The man’s expression remained flat. “Then conventional inventory.”
“That works.”
“No Core weapons.”
“I know.”
“No ability-bound equipment.”
“I know.”
“No restricted materials.”
Etzel stopped. “I actually didn’t know that one.”
The weaponsmith pointed toward the walls. “Those.”
Etzel followed the gesture. Then immediately saw the axes. Familiar. Comfortable. Reliable. He walked toward them.
The weaponsmith noticed. “You know how to use one?”
Etzel picked up a one-handed axe. Good balance. Better than his old hatchet by an embarrassing margin. “One died in my hands yesterday.”
The weaponsmith stopped. “That was not my question.”
Etzel tested the weight. “Then moderately.”
The shop had a small practice yard behind it. Etzel discovered this after the weaponsmith watched him swing the axe twice and apparently decided words were insufficient.
Three training weapons were placed in front of him: a one-handed axe, a short sword, and a spear.
Etzel looked at them. “Only three?”
“You need a weapon, not a personality crisis.”
Etzel nodded slowly. “Fair.”
He started with the axe. It felt natural. That was the problem. He knew how to use one. Knew roughly how much space he needed. Knew how to shift his weight into a strike.
But against the practice target, he noticed something he hadn’t cared about before. Distance. He had to get close. Very close. Close enough that if the target had claws—or teeth—or a Regent-sized root blade—he would already be in its reach.
Etzel stepped back. The weaponsmith said nothing. Etzel put the axe down.
Next came the short sword. Faster. Lighter. Balanced. He slashed. Thrust. Changed direction. Better defensive recovery. Less commitment.
It should have felt good. It didn’t. Not bad. Just—wrong. Every movement seemed to invite another. Strike. Recover. Strike again. Close distance. Stay inside. Pressure.
Etzel lowered the sword. “Hmm.”
The weaponsmith looked at him. “Problem?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s why you’re testing them.”
Etzel placed it down. Then picked up the spear.
He immediately disliked it. Too long. The rear of the shaft almost struck a rack behind him when he turned. He adjusted. The tip dipped. He corrected. His ribs hurt.
He frowned at the weapon. “This is a stick with ambition.”
The weaponsmith stared at him. “It’s a spear.”
“That’s what I said.”
He thrust at the target. The point landed off-center. Etzel frowned. Tried again. Better. Then he attempted to change angle quickly. The shaft became awkward in his hands. Etzel nearly hit himself.
He stopped. “No.”
The weaponsmith raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“I hate this one.”
“Then don’t buy it.”
Etzel looked at the spear. That answer should have satisfied him. It didn’t.
He left without buying anything. The weaponsmith seemed entirely unsurprised. Etzel borrowed three cheap training equivalents instead.
That required money. More money than Etzel thought pieces of wood and blunted metal deserved. But apparently civilization disagreed.
He carried them outside the city limits to an isolated stretch of ground. Then summoned DK.
The knight appeared. His eyes moved immediately to the weapons. “Axe.”
“Yes.”
“Sword.”
“Yes.”
“Spear.”
Etzel pointed. “That one is currently losing.”
DK looked at him. “You are ranking them?”
“Of course.”
“Based on what?”
Etzel opened his mouth. Then stopped. “Feeling?”
DK’s expression did not change. “That sounded worse after I said it.”
“Yes.”
Etzel picked up the training axe. “Fine. Teach me.”
DK drew his sword. Etzel attacked. DK blocked. Etzel changed angle. DK blocked. Etzel stepped inside and swung toward DK’s side.
DK moved half a step. The axe passed through empty air. Something touched Etzel’s shoulder—DK’s blade.
Etzel stopped. “That was fast.”
“You were slow.”
“That felt unnecessarily personal.”
“Again.”
Etzel attacked. Block. Shift. Miss. Blade against his ribs. Very lightly. Still unpleasant.
Etzel backed away. “Are you going to teach me something?”
“I am.”
“When?”
“When you stop repeating the same mistake.”
Etzel stared at him. “I liked you more when you had no memories.”
DK’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That was cruel.”
Etzel blinked. Then smiled. “Oh, that was definitely humor.”
“Again.”
“Changing the subject doesn’t erase it.”
“Again.”
The short sword went better. Which meant Etzel lost more efficiently. He could recover faster. Change direction. Protect himself after failed attacks. But DK kept controlling the distance. Whenever Etzel wanted to stay outside, DK forced him in. Whenever Etzel wanted to attack, DK was already standing where the attack became awkward.
After the sixth exchange, Etzel lowered the sword. “You’re doing that deliberately.”
“Yes.”
“I’m beginning to dislike training.”
“You dislike losing.”
“That too.”
DK gestured toward the spear. Etzel looked at it. “No.”
DK waited.
Etzel sighed. “I hate that you can win arguments by standing still.”
He picked it up.
The first exchange lasted approximately two seconds. Etzel thrust. DK knocked the spear aside. The shaft twisted. Etzel tried to recover. DK stepped inside. Etzel nearly fell while retreating. The sword stopped against his chest.
Etzel looked down. Then up. “I hate this one.”
“Good.”
“That was not an invitation for encouragement.”
“Again.”
The second attempt lasted longer. Three seconds. The third—maybe four. After the fifth, Etzel threw the spear onto the ground. Not hard. His ribs would have objected.
“There is something fundamentally wrong with that weapon.”
DK looked at the spear. “No.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
Etzel stared. “Your bedside manner needs work.”
“You are not in bed.”
“That is not what—”
Etzel stopped. DK knew. The knight’s expression remained perfectly serious. Etzel pointed at him. “You’re getting dangerous.”
Etzel picked up the axe again. DK watched him. “What?”
“You prefer it.”
“I know it.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Etzel looked at the weapon. DK continued. “You keep thinking a weapon is for hitting the enemy.”
Etzel raised an eyebrow. “That is generally considered one of its better features.”
DK held out his hand. “The spear.”
Etzel gave it to him. DK didn’t attack. He simply lowered the tip toward Etzel. “Move.”
Etzel stepped right. The spear moved right. He stepped left. The point followed. Etzel tried to circle. DK adjusted his feet. The distance remained.
Etzel stepped forward. The spear tip occupied the space his chest needed to enter. He stopped. Tried another angle. Same result. DK still had not attacked. Not once.
Etzel’s expression slowly changed.
DK spoke. “A weapon decides where the enemy is allowed to stand.”
Etzel looked at the spear tip. Then at DK.
He moved right again. The spear followed. Left. Followed. Forward. Denied.
DK said: “I have not struck you.”
“No.”
“And you have gone nowhere I did not allow.”
Etzel went still. There it was.
He had been thinking about weapons as damage. Reach. Speed. Weight. But Witness needed something else. Time. Observation. Behavior.
Etzel needed enemies to reveal themselves. How they moved. How they defended. What they preferred. What they avoided.
A short weapon forced him into their danger. A spear—
Etzel looked at it differently. “If I control where it moves…”
DK nodded. “You control what it can show you.”
Etzel smiled. “That.”
DK waited.
“That I like.”
The next hour hurt. Everywhere.
Etzel learned that understanding why a spear suited him did absolutely nothing to make him competent with one. His grip was wrong. Then too tight. His rear hand moved too much. His front hand tried to control everything. His feet crossed when pressured. His thrusts overextended. His recovery was slow.
DK corrected all of it. Repeatedly. Without mercy.
“You could let me enjoy the revelation for five minutes.”
“No.”
“Three?”
“No.”
“One?”
“Grip.”
Etzel adjusted. “Heartless.”
“Rear foot.”
Etzel moved it. “Cruel.”
“Again.”
Etzel attacked. DK redirected. Etzel recovered. Better. Again. Better. Again. Worse. Much worse.
DK stopped the training blade beside Etzel’s neck. Etzel sighed. “Progress is nonlinear.”
“That sounded like an excuse.”
“It can be two things.”
Eventually, Etzel tried something else. He stopped focusing on winning. Instead—he watched.
DK’s feet. Shoulders. Sword. Damaged shield.
Etzel thrust. DK deflected. Etzel shifted. Another thrust. Deflection.
He thought he saw an opening on DK’s left. “There.” Etzel attacked.
DK stepped aside and tapped him on the head with the flat of the training sword. Etzel froze.
DK lowered the weapon. “No.”
“I saw it.”
“You guessed.”
“Educated guessing.”
“Still guessing.”
Etzel rubbed his head. “Again.”
This time he watched longer. Another opening. Etzel tested it. Wrong. Again. Wrong.
The System remained silent. Good. Annoying. But good.
Etzel kept moving. Thrust. Recover. Watch.
DK’s shield was damaged. That mattered. Not because the System told him. Because DK was compensating.
Etzel began noticing it. Whenever DK turned the damaged shield toward a heavier line of attack, his stance changed slightly. Not always. Only when he expected impact near the cracked section. His weight shifted. Toward the opposite leg.
Etzel tested it. A high thrust. DK adjusted. Weight shifted. Etzel withdrew instead of committing.
Again. Different angle. Same response.
There. But why?
Etzel watched the shield. DK wasn’t protecting himself. Not exactly. He was protecting the damaged structure from absorbing force at the wrong angle. That forced his body to compensate.
And the compensation—created something else. A brief limitation in his next step.
Etzel understood.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATIONEventFlaw WitnessedStatusRecognition ConfirmedDataStructural Compensation (Shield Limit)
Etzel smiled. DK immediately stopped. “What?”
“Found one.”
DK’s expression hardened. “Mine?”
Etzel pointed at the shield. “Technically your shield’s.”
DK looked down. A tiny fragment broke from the edge and fell. Etzel watched it hit the ground. “Mostly.”
DK slowly looked back at him.
Etzel raised the spear. “What?”
“Exploit it.”
Etzel’s smile widened. “With pleasure.”
He attacked. High. Exactly where DK would compensate. DK shifted. Etzel saw the weight transfer. Saw the restricted step. Etzel changed direction. Perfect.
He knew where to go. He knew why. He understood the flaw.
DK hit him anyway.
Etzel found himself on the ground. He stared at the sky. A cloud moved overhead. Slowly. Peacefully.
Etzel considered staying there forever. DK appeared above him.
Etzel pointed upward. “I understood it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why am I on the ground?”
“Understanding is not skill.”
Etzel lowered his hand. “That feels like something the System should have mentioned.”
DK extended a hand. Etzel took it. DK pulled him up. “Again.”
Etzel looked at the spear. Then at DK. Then smiled. “Again.”
He returned to the weaponsmith before evening.
The man looked up from his work. Etzel placed the training spear on the counter. “This one.”
The weaponsmith looked at him. “The one you hated.”
“I’ve grown.”
“It has been three hours.”
“Rapid personal development.”
The man stared. Etzel smiled. Nothing. Tough audience.
The weaponsmith brought out three actual spears. Etzel ignored the most expensive one immediately. It had a Core socket. Restricted. The second was lighter. The third—simple. Good steel head. Reinforced shaft. No Core. No enchantment. No System bonus. No glowing lines. Just a well-made weapon.
Etzel picked it up. The balance felt different from the training spear. Better. Still unfamiliar. But now he understood what unfamiliar could become.
“How much?”
The weaponsmith told him. Etzel stared. “Does it come with a house?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“No.”
“Emotional support?”
“Leave.”
Etzel looked at the spear. Then at the money he had available. It hurt almost as much as his ribs. Almost.
He paid. The weaponsmith handed him the spear.
Etzel held it carefully. His first proper weapon. Not borrowed. Not found. Not chosen because it happened to be nearby when something tried to kill him.
His.
Etzel looked at it. “I should name you.”
From somewhere inside the Soul Space came DK’s voice: No.
Etzel froze. Then narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even know what I was going to call it.”
No.
Etzel looked toward the ceiling. “This bond is becoming invasive.”
The weaponsmith stared at him. Etzel realized he had spoken aloud. He cleared his throat. “Emotional support.”
The weaponsmith pointed toward the door. Etzel left.
Outside, he rested the spear across his shoulder. Then immediately moved it because his ribs complained.
He opened his status. Level Five. Still. That didn’t bother him. Not today. Level Ten waited ahead. Another Limited Necromancer chest. Another choice. Another opportunity to get something right—or wrong.
But first: Level Six.
Etzel looked at the spear. He needed to learn it. He needed positioning. Footwork. Distance. He needed to understand Witness beyond broken tools and one damaged shield. He needed better coordination with DK.
And he needed his body to stop hurting every time he breathed too enthusiastically.
“One thing at a time.”
From the Soul Space: Recover first.
Etzel frowned. “I dislike how responsible you’ve become.”
His communicator vibrated. Maerin.
Etzel opened the message.
Maerin: Found something suitable for your Level. Etzel stared. Then typed. Etzel: That sentence is never comforting. The response came: Maerin: E-Rank hunting zone. Low population density. Confirmed creatures.
That sounded—reasonable. Almost suspiciously reasonable. Etzel waited.
The next message arrived: Maerin: One problem.
Etzel closed his eyes. Of course.
Etzel: Of course. A file appeared. He opened it.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [TARGET FILE: ASSIGNMENT] │
│ Target: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Estimated Level: 6–8 │
│ Observed Behavior: Paired Hunting │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Etzel looked at the new spear in his hand. Then at the message.
He typed: Etzel: Two?
Maerin’s reply appeared: Maerin: Always two.
Etzel stared at it.
From inside the Soul Space, DK spoke: Good.
Etzel sighed. “Why does everyone say that when something gets worse?”
[END OF CHAPTER 18]