"Damn it! Why can't I beat her?" Pascel grumbled to himself, his frustration etched across his face. Brow furrowed deeply, lips forming a tight line, he clenched his fists, silently displaying his internal turmoil. Knuckles turned white from the pressure.

The echoes of clashing blades and the sting of repeated defeats seemed to physically weigh on him, causing his shoulders to slump. Vivid memories of Lenora's swift maneuvers played in his mind, and he couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief.

'How could someone who started training at the same time as me surpass me so effortlessly?'

Pascel grumbled, frustration etched across his face, brow furrowed deeply, lips forming a tight line. He clenched his fists in a silent display of his internal turmoil, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

The echoes of clashing blades and the sting of repeated defeats seemed to physically weigh on him, causing his shoulders to slump.

Vivid memories of Lenora's swift maneuvers played in his mind, and as he recalled her impeccable timing.

Pascel's face betrayed a sense of bewilderment as he wondered about Lenora's experiences and what had shaped her sharp instincts.

Mrs. Valeria's interruption shook Pascel from his thoughts. His eyes widened briefly, and he straightened up, absorbing her words with a mix of surprise and readiness. The sudden change in his posture conveyed an immediate shift in attention.

“Pascel, you had no way to open Lenora, nor did you attempt anything new when you couldn't break through.” She said while standing over Pascel.

His head hang low, but he balled his fist, his finger nails digging into his palms with determination as he looked towards Lenora.
‘I will catch up to you.’

The rest of the day continued with more practice matches that the crowd watched with intensity. Some were skilled, though not quite to the extent of Pascel and Lenora, one was so bad that Mrs. Valeria didn’t even know what to say to help him.

After the practice matches came the grueling swings and drills, now that Valeria had an idea of each person's skill, she pushed everyone to their absolute limit. As the class continued with basic swings and drills, Pascel's exhaustion became apparent. His shoulders sagged under the weight of each swing, and the once nimble movements became sluggish. The defeated grin he wore was now replaced by a face of relief when Valeria finally ended the class for the day.

"Enough for today. Excellence requires discipline, not just effort. Reflect on your weaknesses, and return tomorrow prepared to overcome them. Dismissed." Valeria said as she turned away to enter the staff entrance along with a few teacher's assistants.

The air in the courtyard became less intense as her dominating aura disappeared.

After about a minute, pascel caught his breath, sitting up he turned his head to look around he saw the rest of the students weren't doing any better, most of which were also gasping for air sprawled out on the dirt training ground as pascel had been just a few moments ago, except for Lenora, who seemed a little rugged but was still standing.

“That's another loss for me, I guess,” pascel said to himself with a defeated grin.

He eventually stood up completely and made his way to the entrance of the courtyard. Each step he walked through more exasperated bodies.

As the door to the training area swung open, the evening breeze brushed through, creating a momentary lift in the atmosphere. pascel's head, however, hung low as he thought about what Mrs. Valeria had said.

“I lack adaptability and intuition.” The journey back to the dorm became a moment of quiet contemplation for pascel. His steps were measured, his head subtly shook as he mentally dismissed each possibility to improve himself.

"Hiring a skilled private tutor is a little outside of my price range, and isn't really what I am looking for," he mumbled to himself, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. After a while of quiet contemplation back to the dorm, a spark of realization crossed pascel's features as he stumbled upon a promising solution. "The guild?" he uttered, his voice carrying a subtle mixture of surprise and intrigue.

The glint of hope in his eyes suggested a newfound excitement at the prospect of gaining real field experience. However, the skeptical furrow of his brow quickly returned.

“They might accept me if I could join full time, but with my current level of skill on top of being a student no way even the most desperate guild would accept me.”

Finally reaching the dorm area he put an extra spring in his step. He opened the door to the dorm and let it close behind him, as he collapsed onto his bed, which wasn't just a physical release; it was a surrender to the mental fatigue that had accumulated throughout the day.

Lying on the bed, pascel's spent an entire hour staring at his ceiling in deep thought. The subtle narrowing and widening of his brows conveyed the ebb and flow of his thoughts. Then he had a breakthrough, "That's it!" His eyes widened with realization, and a fleeting smile touched his lips, betraying a sense of accomplishment and relief.

He spent the rest of the night meticulously going over the details of his plan before surrendering himself to blissful sleep.
–
As dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, he awoke with a renewed sense of purpose.

Slipping out of his dorm in the early morning, pascel moved through the crisp weekend air. His steps were measured and purposeful, navigating the familiar path toward the street. The merchant's district in the poorer part of town.

Turning a corner, pascel's eyes lit up as he discovered a small shop nestled between two others, a hidden gem in the heart of the bustling district. The air here carried the unmistakable scent of metal, and the distant murmur of early shoppers. pascel pulled a hood up over his head and stepped into one of the narrow alleys.

“Didn’t I tell you to be here earlier?!” Yelled a short man in his late thirties with a beard as he walked through the back door of the shop with a garbage bag in both hands, filled to the brim. pascel was impressed that this short man could carry all that.

"But sir, it's Saturdayyyy..." another voice from inside the shop came out sounding defeated, carried a note of mild protest, and the subtle quirk of pascels lips betrayed an amused smirk at the exchange. The short man's grumbling response revealed his irritation as he threw the bags into a dumpster. “Kids these days…”

As the blacksmith walked away, pascel seized the opportunity. Moving from behind his cover, he listened intently through the door, ensuring the blacksmith wouldn't return. The glint in his eyes hinted at a mix of excitement.

As pascel heard the blacksmith giving a stern talking to the assistant, he approached the dumpster. Opening it with hesitation, he pinched his nose in anticipation of the expected stench. The subtle cringe on his face conveyed a momentary discomfort. Yet, with a determined resolve, he dug into the dumpster.

His gloved fingers sifted through the discarded metal and remnants of unfinished weapons. The smell, initially feared to be overwhelming, turned out to be less offensive than anticipated, thanks to this being a weapons shop. A wry smile played on his lips, acknowledging the peculiar reality of his scavenging adventure.

"C'mon, there has to be at least one," Pascel muttered to himself, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and determination.

Eventually, Pascel's search ended, and a triumphant expression crossed his face, well triumphant as one can be searching through trash. Eager to exit the dumpster with his discovery, he jumped out, the excitement evident in the speed of his movements. However, the unexpected slip on the ground introduced a moment of surprise.

His head collided with the back of the dumpster leaving him dazed for a second, before coming to a realization “Shit!” He exclaimed as he stammered to his feat. The door to the shop opened and the short bearded man, already had a sword in his hand, was looking around for whatever caused the noise. However he could only see a person with a hood up holding something in his arms running away with great speed and the dumpster lid being open.

“Damn kids…” The blacksmith grumbled to himself as he scratched the top of his head and headed back into the shop

Pascel, weariness evident in his hurried steps, returned to his room after another exhausting day. Running most of the way there.

Upon catching his breath, he opened a drawer and retrieved a slightly expensive-looking knife. A grimace crossed Pascel's face as he mumbled to himself

"This is going to dull the blade." The focused intent in his eyes contrasted with the unease in his expression as he cut into a thin sheet of green metal. The physical strain of the task was palpable as he eventually carved out a flat piece of metal piece a little larger and in the shape of a human's head.

The reason for the recent dumpster diving adventure was because pascel needed a very specific type of metal, mythril. Not only is it very light but it also blocks aura. There was a reason why pascel went diving through a dumpster in order to get some.

Aura, its what powers abilities. Every person has a unique power, the unique power's usefulness and output is dependent on one's aura. The abilities themselves can't really get stronger, but one can amp up the aura they put into them and tweak how you use them.

Now, Mythril – its the direct counter against aura attacks but not so great against the physical stuff. Which makes it pretty easy to counter, that’s why people usually color it so it isn’t obviously Mythril.

Mythril should be pretty expensive? Well, it should, but it's not that rare. The real deal is the grade. Pure Mythril is like finding a unicorn, but pascel is only sitting on a grade-three piece – not the top-tier, but still costing a pretty penny.

Why did he not just buy some raw mythril? First off, pascel doesn’t need a paper trail leading back to me buying Mythril or some fancy mask. And secondly, and this is the real reason, he’s broke.

The knife was carefully placed on the bed, and Pascel cradled the thin sheet of metal between his hands. The visible struggle on his face portrayed the exertion required for what came next. His hands moved apart, stretching against an unseen force. The strain was evident in his furrowed brow and the subtle tension in his muscles.

Persistently, Pascel continued stretching his hands until they were about two inches away from the seemingly floating green metal sheet. The small forcefield of gravity met the metal in an intense clash, the metal began bending as Pascel's hands curved inwards to shape it with his face contorting from the amount of aura he was pouring into his ability. The moment of accomplishment, however, was fleeting, as the metal fell from his hands. Exhausted, Pascel collapsed onto his bed, the toll of utilizing his limited power both mentally and physically evident in his slumped posture.

'Bending Mythril is tough!' he mused, Despite the fatigue, Pascel invested hours in decorating the mask. The soft glow of a lone lamp cast shadows on his determined face as the mask transformed from cold, unyielding metal into a personalized emblem of his new identity.

Upon completion, pascel stood up, holding the mask to his face and gazing into the mirror. The reflection revealed a young man with dirty blond hair and a green mask featuring two eye holes and a place for his nose to sit, adorned with intricate designs around the edge.

'Looks good so far,' he affirmed to himself, the satisfaction evident in the subtle lift of his lips and the glint of pride in his eyes.

“I think I'm ready.”