Brock stood atop the tallest building in Meiyo, gazing down upon the city’s residents as they went about their days, laughing and enjoying the new life they’d found here. The breeze lapped against his face, its soft caress almost comforting as he considered the height between him and the ground. While he seemed to have a penchant for falling off of buildings, he felt he needed some solitude right now.

The building itself was entirely uninhabited, still being under construction and nothing more than scaffolding and frames. As for the explanation for the lack of workers, Brock assumed it to be a weekend. He had long lost count of what day it was and couldn’t be bothered asking around. He was fine as is.

Lament rested at his side, the scabbard attached to a belt that wound tightly around his waist. It had been quite an ordeal for him to convince Clerk to sell it to him, as it seemed to be a point of prideful accomplishment for his father, but he managed. Eventually, the allure of 500,000 Shards made the kid crumble.

According to the boy, that was enough for the smithery to buy enough materials to make like 50 of the swords. Severely, Brock underestimated the value of his money. I really need to find out exactly how much a Shard is worth…

He patted the weapon on its ivory pommel. He felt… at ease, having a blade with him once more. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been wanting or had in mind, but it was still a much-needed comfort. It’d take a while for him to get properly used to the fighting style the shortsword required, as it was longer and less sinuous with the movements of his wrists, but he’d manage. He’d learned to fight without an arm. He could do it.

I wonder when I’m getting my arm back. I miss it. He sighed and glanced at his new blade.

There was an apparent ‘bonding process’ for him to draw out the weapon’s locked perk, though Clerk had possessed the required information, having bonded with one of his father’s rare weapons himself. Brock shelved the process for later, instead choosing to focus on more important things.

Like the company he had.

“I assume you’re ready to leave?” A voice called out beside him, and he glanced over, seeing Mio leaning against the scaffolding with her arms crossed. She too was gazing out over the city. She threw him a sidelong glance before returning to seeking the horizon with her eyes.

Brock snorted and turned back to the view, although this time, he directed his attention to the expansive blue sky above, “I still have a few more things I wanna do first. Jane told you?”

“She’s sorry, you know?” Mio twisted her head to meet Brock’s gaze directly. She seemed oddly… sincere, “I don’t know what she said to you, but she regrets it.”

Brock didn’t respond. He knew she was. He knew that she regretted what she said. What sister wouldn’t? He just… he didn’t know if he had the strength to face her after that. It was one thing to fight, but to compare him to their absent father…

He didn’t really feel like talking to her, and he didn’t think he would for a while. It’s just one big loop, I guess.

“I’ll need you to take me to New Paris,” Brock said, deciding to change the subject, “Probably within the next few hours or so.”

Mio stared at him for a long time before she finally responded, “…Call me when you need me.”

Shadows consumed the woman and once again Brock was left alone. He heaved out a sigh, thankful that Mio hadn’t intended to push the matter further. He needed some time to cool off and think about things before he even thought about talking to his sister. He felt calm and relaxed, but that seed of doubt and anger still sat within his gut, fiery and volatile.

If he saw her now, who knows what might slip out of his mouth. It’d just be Jane’s trip to Tokyo all over again, again.

Sighing once more, Brock looked out to the direction he assumed Paris to be in. While he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the idea of visiting those assholes again, he didn’t really have much of a choice at this point. He couldn’t even call early to let them know he was coming, since he had bashed his phone into an inert hunk of shit back in Iz’ Takon’s cave.

And I still have no idea who called me.

He had two hopes for the trip to that accursed place; finding a Source, and avoiding Maxwell. The former related to his own survival, and the latter related to Max’s survival. Brock knew the man would be unable to keep himself from doing something, and he dearly prayed that Adam had talked some sense into him since their last meeting.

Brock’s mind drifted to the possibility that Genesis also knew nothing about Sources. If that happened, well he’d basically be fucked. He’d have a few months to go and find one himself, though considering the new size of the planet and his own speed, it’d most likely be an exercise in futility.

Then there was the option of just roaming around and looking for any monster that could speak, though that was just as much as a gambling as searching for a Source.

He sighed again. The sun was starting to fall past the midway point, meaning afternoon had passed by. Brock brushed the hanging hair out of his eyes. It was time to get on with things.

A satisfying noise resounded as Brock pulled his weapon from its sheath and placed the keen edge up against his scalp. It had begun to obscure his vision somewhat a while ago, and now was getting quite annoying, whether it be in battle or daily life. Lament’s sharp edge cleaved through his wire-like hair with only minimal resistance.

It seemed Constitution also reinforced his hairs, and probably nails too.

Brock felt an odd sense of loss as he hacked and slashed, and his hair fell down in clumps around him. It only took about five minutes and a handful of glances toward the puddle of water to his right before he was satisfied that his cut was clean and relatively even. He looked like he was fresh in the military, but the look didn’t exactly look bad on him.

Coupled with his scars, it made him seem like a warrior. He grinned and wielded the blade experimentally for a little while after, flicking the bits of hair off its lengths. Tiny remains of hair pricked at his skin from inside his shirt and on his neck, although Constitution made it nothing more than an ignorable sensation.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Now let’s see what Lament can do…

The weapon was oddly heavy, maybe two or three times more so than the knives and bracer that he’d used before. It didn’t really matter much with his Strength, but it was still a noticeable difference. The other thing he noticed, was that the blade carried far more momentum, and therefore cutting power, than his knives, simply due to the added weight and size.

It no longer moved in tune with his body, like how knives felt like an extension of his being, but instead moved with his arm and wrist. It felt weirdly… alien to him, though he assumed it was just the feeling of getting used to a new weapon.

Even an hour of practice later – though it wasn’t too vigorous lest he fall off the building – he felt at odds with the blade. It was certainly a bit more familiar to him, but he’d a while longer before it felt… right.

“You should get your sister to teach you how to use that thing,” Brock barely noticed Mio’s presence before she spoke, and immediately moved to skewer her on the weapon out of instinct. He managed to stop it mere inches from her eyes. She didn’t so much as flinch, “before you poke someone’s eye out.”

Brock sighed, “What do you want, Minnow?”

A blade was pressed up against his neck before he even finished the sentence.

“Do you want to die?” she growled.

He chuckled and knocked the weapon out of her hands with Oppressive Might. Since he discovered he was capable of it, Brock always kept his aura at 5% with his Aura Technique active. He was detectable even when it wasn’t released, and this way, he could utilize it at a moment’s notice.

Mio snorted and caught the blade midair with her other hand. Brock felt a tinge of jealously at her possession of two working limbs, “Sorry, sorry. Tell Jane I’ll talk to her in a little while. I assume that’s why you’re here. Again.”

Mio deadpanned, “So in several months?”

Brock felt a guilty expression slide across his face. Did he look guilty? He looked to his barber puddle. Damnit.

He looked guilty.

“…No?”

Mio scoffed, “Whatever. You’re going to bond with that weapon? You know how to?”

Brock felt his brows raise in surprise. She knew his weapon was a rare one, assuming all rares were bondable? Actually, now that he thought about it, he had never asked about anyone else’s weapons, so it was possible bonded weapons weren’t even that uncommon. Carrie’s rapier had certainly looked rather unique.

As did the crooked dagger resting in Mio’s hand. He nodded, “Yeah, I think so.”

As if to demonstrate his words, he whipped the blade around and held it out in front of him horizontally. When Mio didn’t comment, Brock let his aura leak out next and pervade the area.

If he followed Clerk’s instructions, then all he had to do was feel over the weapon with his aura until he felt a sort of immaterial ‘groove’. It was akin to a lock, with his aura being the key. He’d just need to grab onto the groove and shove his aura in there, until it broke through and flooded the weapon. Then, the bond would be established, and the process would be completed.

However, as he roamed his aura over the weapon and Mio’s eyebrows quirked, he began to feel rather awkward. He… couldn’t find the groove. He scanned over the weapon once. Then twice. Then one last time. There was nothing. No groove, no… anything. It felt perfectly uniform.

“So… you don’t?” Mio said, her tone rather mocking. Brock glared at her.

Was this another effect of his strange aura consistency? Was he not only destined to find difficulty in his aura manipulation but also even the simple weapon bonding process? Brock growled and activated Oppressive Might. It better fucking not be.

From what he knew, Oppressive Might converted his aura consistency to something far heavier and far more solid, considering the way the surroundings darkened. Fon had no idea why that effect happened, but he assumed it was a matter of density. The Technique also afforded him a far higher degree of control over his aura compared to what he usually had, almost like it was another limb.

Mio took a step back and blinked. She seemed like she totally couldn’t care less.

Brock’s aura bore down on the blade he held before him, scouring over its lengths for the mythical ‘groove’ that was said to exist. He had to be delicate about it, as applying a certain threshold of force with his aura would prompt the conversion to physical force, and he’d rather not knock the weapon out of his hands.

Soon though, the man held back a grin of triumph as he finally located the aforementioned groove. His altered aura latched onto it, and Brock made it give the area a push. Nothing happened. It was like a solid wall barred his aura access. He gritted his teeth and pushed again.

This time, that wall budged slightly.

Off to the side, Mio looked overly unimpressed at his lack of results, and was instead inspecting the length of her own dagger, flicking little flakes of dried blood of its edge.

Again, and again, and again, Brock rammed his aura against the barrier, and little by little, the barrier shook and weakened. Until finally, as he rammed it one last time, and his aura just barely missed the threshold for force conversion, he felt the barrier shatter. His aura was sucked in without restraint, and seconds later, it was left almost fully drained.

His weapon shook within his grasp, and blackened runes lit up along the length of its blade, shining Brock’s arm and his surroundings in the shade of the void. He felt an ebb of power as he studied the runes, and he felt his excitement rise.

“Huh.” There was a hint of surprise in the woman’s voice.

Within him, Brock felt one of the nodes clinging to his Ascendancy grow in size, signaling the levelling of one of his Technique. Most likely, it was Oppressive Might, for whatever reason. He grinned.

Soon, the glow faded and once again left the area illuminated by only sunlight. To his surprise, however, the glow left behind a set of smoothly carved runes in the metal of his blade. He couldn’t understand what they said, even with the System’s translation function, though he knew they meant something significant.

A screen appeared in Brock’s vision the next second.

[An unexpected transformation has occurred.]

[Due to binding with Spirit instead of Aura, Lament has undergone a fundamental change.]

[Lament has gained a second perk.]

Lament (Rare)

To mourn is the trademark of those who have experienced sacrifice. Forged with blood and sweat, this pristine-quality shortsword has been recognised by the System as an Item. Death, destruction, blood. Revel in it. The runes upon its length greatly improve the weapon’s energy conductivity. Suitable for F Grade.

* Energy Slash: Consume aura to launch a crescent slash of solidified energy. Strength, power, and duration depend on the amount of aura consumed.

“What the…?” Brock frowned, his eyes inexplicably drawn to the phrase ‘Spirit’. What the hell does that mean? Is the weapon part of my soul now or something?

Licking his lips, he forced himself to discard the matter for the moment, knowing that it would lead him to a train of thought that he didn’t really want to pursue right now. I’ll… I’ll think about it later…

Instead, he let a small smile play across his lips. This was certainly a welcome event. Energy Slash had been the effect he was originally interested in back from the first Zerrnak sword he’d found. It would give him a ranged option, and was just plain interesting, being the first ‘active’ effect he’d seen so far on a weapon. Most had passives that were added into the description.

Just like the added conductivity. Which was appreciated, but currently fucking useless. I can’t even use my Augments…

Mio leaned in and whistled, “Jane had a similar thing occur to her bonded weapon. The runes weren’t black though.”

Brock glared at the woman, and she met his eyes. He heaved out a sigh.

“Fine,” the man said, rather annoyed, “I’ll talk to Jane. Bloody hell, mate.”

She snorted, “good.”

Brock sighed again.