Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Finding Your Weapon

Chapter 14: Finding Your Weapon

The sun was setting behind the Gate's low archway as Lev approached, his arms aching from carrying the mismatched collection of equipment he'd spent the day gathering. The leather armor felt heavy and unfamiliar against his skin—black leather on the torso, brown on the arms, everything clearly second-hand and patched in multiple places. The boots were a size too large, stuffed with extra cloth to keep them from slipping off his feet. Even the protective bracers were mismatched, one dark brown and the other a lighter tan.

But it was armor. Real armor. The kind that might actually protect him in a fight.

"Two silvers," he muttered to himself, adjusting the straps that kept the ill-fitting pieces in place. "My budget is shrinking very fast. Only six silvers left.

Caleb had been with him throughout the equipment shopping, helping him find the best deals and making sure he got functional gear within his budget. Now they arrived together at the training area, where the equipment was already laid out in the center of the sandy practice area. Wooden weapons of various types were arranged against the wall of the old building—swords, spears, axes, even a few exotic weapons Lev couldn't identify.

"You look like a proper adventurer," Caleb observed, though his tone suggested the mismatched armor was more amusing than impressive. "Functional, if not fashionable. The important thing is that it'll keep you alive."

Caleb stepped forward, his expression serious. "You've got the basics covered. Now you need a weapon. Have you ever used one?"

"Just wooden practice swords," Lev admitted. "Nothing concrete. I've read about different fighting styles, but..."

"Reading and doing are different things," Caleb said, moving toward the weapon rack. "Let's see what you've got."

He selected two wooden practice swords, tossing one to Lev and keeping the other for himself. The weapon felt awkward in Lev's hands—too heavy, too long, the balance completely wrong for his build and experience level.

"Basic stance," Caleb instructed, settling into a ready position. "Feet shoulder-width apart, dominant foot forward, sword up and ready."

Lev tried to mimic the posture, but even standing still felt unnatural. The sword seemed to have a mind of its own, pulling his arm down and throwing off his balance.

"Now, when I attack, you parry and counter. Ready?"

Before Lev could respond, Caleb was moving. The wooden blade came at him in a controlled arc, and Lev's attempt to block was clumsy and slow. The impact sent his own sword flying from his grasp, and he stumbled backward, nearly falling.

"Again," Caleb said, retrieving Lev's weapon and handing it back.

The next attempt was no better. Lev's timing was off, his footwork nonexistent, his grip too tight and then too loose. Every movement felt forced and unnatural, like trying to dance with two left feet.

"Your coordination is terrible," Caleb observed after the fifth failed attempt. "You're thinking too much, trying to remember what you've read instead of feeling the weapon."

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for swords," Lev said, his face burning with embarrassment.

"Let's try something else," Caleb said, setting aside the wooden swords and moving to the weapon rack. "Spear?"

The spear was even worse. Lev couldn't manage the length, couldn't coordinate the thrusting motions, couldn't maintain proper distance from his opponent. Every attack left him off-balance, every defensive move exposed him to counterattacks.

"Axe?"

The axe was a disaster. The weight was wrong, the balance completely off, and Lev nearly took off his own foot on the first swing.

"Staff?"

The staff required too much dexterity, too much coordination between hands and body movement.

"Knife?"

Too short, too fast, requiring reflexes Lev simply didn't possess.

After an hour of trying different weapons, Lev was drenched in sweat, his arms trembling with exhaustion, and his face flushed with frustration and embarrassment. The sun had set completely, and the training ground was lit only by the faint glow of distant street lamps.

"Can we rest a bit?" he gasped, dropping the latest weapon—a short sword that had proven no better than the others—and collapsing onto a nearby bench.

Caleb studied him for a long moment, his expression thoughtful rather than disappointed. "I didn't think it would be this hard to find you a weapon," he admitted. "But maybe we're thinking about this wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Your goal isn't to be a warrior," Caleb said, settling onto the bench beside him. "Your goal is to survive while your summon does the job. Maybe we need to focus on defense rather than offense."

He stood and moved back to the weapon rack, returning with a wooden shield—round, sturdy, and much simpler in concept than the weapons they'd been trying.

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"Shield work is different," Caleb explained. "Less about coordination, more about positioning and timing. You don't need to attack—you just need to not die."

Lev took the shield, and immediately it felt different. The weight was manageable, the grip natural, the concept straightforward. Instead of trying to coordinate complex movements, he just needed to put the shield between himself and danger.

"Basic defensive stance," Caleb instructed, picking up a wooden sword. "Shield up, body behind it, ready to absorb impact."

When Caleb attacked, Lev raised the shield instinctively. The wooden blade struck the surface with a solid thunk, and while the impact sent a jolt through his arm, the shield held. More importantly, Lev remained standing.

"Better," Caleb said, attacking again. "Now try to angle it slightly—deflect the blow rather than just absorbing it."

The next few strikes were still jarring, but Lev could feel himself improving. The shield was doing what it was supposed to do—protecting him while he figured out how to use it effectively.

"Good," Caleb said after several minutes of practice. "This works. Shield seems to suit you—less dexterous movement, even though it hurts your arms from the impacts."

"Cool!" Caleb's voice carried genuine enthusiasm. "Seems to work. Now we can start to train properly!"

The next two hours were spent on proper shield techniques. Caleb taught him how to hold the shield at different angles, how to move with it, how to use it to create openings for his summon to exploit. The movements were simpler than swordplay, more about positioning and timing than complex coordination.

"Your job is to stay alive and give Zelem opportunities to attack," Caleb explained as they practiced. "The shield creates space, deflects attacks, and keeps you in the fight long enough for your summon to do the real work."

As the night wore on, Caleb lit several candles around the training area, their flickering light creating dancing shadows that made the practice feel almost mystical. Lev's arms ached from the repeated impacts, but he could feel himself getting better. The shield was becoming an extension of his body, a tool he could use rather than a burden he had to carry.

"Remember," Caleb said during a brief rest, "you're not trying to be a warrior. You're trying to be a summoner who can survive long enough to let his creatures fight. The shield is perfect for that."

By the time they finished, Lev's arms were bruised and his body exhausted, but he felt more confident than he had in weeks. He had found his weapon—not something to attack with, but something to defend with. Something that would keep him alive while Zelem did the fighting.

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The next morning, Lev approached the Adventurer Guild's main branch with a mixture of determination and nervousness. The building was larger than he'd expected—a solid stone structure with the guild's emblem carved above the entrance: a crossed sword and staff surrounded by a circle of stars. The doors were open, and he could see people moving in and out, some in armor, others in simple clothes, all carrying the weight of purpose.

Inside, the main hall was bustling with activity. A reception desk dominated the center, where clerks processed applications and answered questions. To the left, a corridor led to what appeared to be testing areas, while to the right, a large waiting room was filled with candidates of various ages and backgrounds.

Lev made his way to the reception desk, where a middle-aged woman with graying hair looked up from her ledger.

"Name and purpose?" she asked briskly.

"Lev. I'm here for the adventurer test."

She consulted a list in front of her. "Ah yes, you're scheduled for today. Take a seat in the waiting room," she said, gesturing toward the right corridor. "You'll be called when it's your turn."

The waiting room was larger than he'd expected, with rows of wooden benches arranged in a semicircle around a central area. About a dozen people were already seated, ranging from teenagers like himself to men and women in their thirties. Some looked confident, others nervous. A few had summons already manifested—a small fire lizard, a wind sprite, what looked like a miniature earth golem.

Lev found an empty spot on one of the benches, his mismatched armor feeling more comfortable after a night of rest, his shield—now a real one borrowed from Caleb's father's old equipment—strapped securely to his left arm. The shield was worn but solid, its surface marked by years of use but still capable of protecting its wielder.

He summoned Zelem, the skeleton materializing beside him with its usual quiet dignity. The azure flames in its eye sockets seemed to scan the room with intelligent curiosity.

"First time seeing you here," a voice said from his left.

Lev turned to see a boy about his age, maybe a year or two older, with tousled brown hair and the kind of confident swagger that suggested he'd spent time on the streets. His clothes were well-worn but clean, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who'd learned to navigate difficult situations.

"I'm Finn," the boy continued, extending a hand. "Been coming here for months now."

"Lev," he replied, shaking the offered hand. "You've been here before?"

Finn laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. "Oh, I've taken this test three times already. Failed every single one. But today's going to be different—I can feel it."

Lev felt a chill run down his spine. "You can take it more than once?"

"Course you can," Finn said, leaning back against the wall. "Long as you pay the fee each time. Most people don't pass on their first try. The headmaster's got standards, you know?"

He gestured around the room. "See that guy over there? Fourth attempt. The woman with the fire lizard? Second try. Me? I'm going for four, but this time I'm ready."

Lev's stomach tightened. If experienced candidates were failing multiple times, what chance did he have with only one night of training?

"Don't look so worried," Finn said, noticing his expression. "First time's always the hardest. You don't know what to expect, how the headmaster fights, what he's looking for. But you learn, you adapt, you come back stronger."

Around them, other candidates waited their turn, each one called forward individually to face the branch headmaster's test. Some returned looking satisfied, others defeated. The atmosphere was tense, filled with the quiet anxiety of people about to face a life-changing challenge.

Lev felt the weight of exhaustion from his night of training—dark circles under his eyes, muscles that ached with every movement, but also a sense of readiness he hadn't possessed before. Zelem stood beside him, already summoned and ready, the skeleton's azure eyes scanning the room with quiet intelligence.

"Next," the headmaster's voice boomed from the testing area.

A young woman emerged, her face pale and her hands shaking. She'd clearly failed whatever test had been administered, and she hurried past the waiting candidates without meeting anyone's eyes.

"Next," the voice called again.

It was Lev's turn.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his shield, and stepped forward. Zelem followed at his side, ready for whatever challenge awaited them. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time since his awakening, Lev felt prepared to face it.

The branch headmaster was a burly man in his fifties, with the kind of build that suggested years of hard living and harder fighting. His face was weathered and scarred, his hands calloused from decades of weapon use. But it was his eyes that caught Lev's attention—sharp, intelligent, and completely without mercy. This was a man who had seen combat, who had survived when others hadn't, and who would judge each candidate by the same harsh standards that had kept him alive.

The test of worth was about to begin.