"Your demeanor seems different today, kid. Could it be the unsettling sight we witnessed yesterday?" Greg inquired, lowering his voice to prevent eavesdropping from the bustling passersby. I sighed, feeling the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me.

"Yes, it's just... difficult to accept, you know? To realize that beings like myself can act in ways that diminish the rights of others. It's as if, by merely being recognized as a demon, I am instantly associated with those who exhibit such behavior, or at least similar tendencies," I confessed, my words tumbling out in a rush, grateful for Greg's patient ear.

"Indeed, it must be a challenging realization. But why let the actions of others define you? If certain demons choose to conduct themselves as ruthless entities, disregarding all but their own desires—even to the extent of harming those who do not share their ways—why should it concern you? Simply be true to yourself. It's impossible to win over everyone, so focus on living in a manner that allows you to be proud of your actions. If that's not the case, then it might be time for introspection and change," Greg replied, his gaze wandering upward, as if searching for answers in the vast expanse above.

"Surprising," I remarked, lightening the mood. "In all the time I've known you, that's the first time you've sounded like a true mentor, besides the lectures that come with beating me into the dirt, of course," I quipped, attempting to steer the conversation away from its heavy course. I preferred to keep my worries and negativity bottled up, unwilling to burden others with my internal struggles. I sensed that Greg, or 'master' as I teasingly called him, carried his own burdens from the past, and I had no desire to trigger his old wounds just to seek sympathy.

"Always the joker, Ashoc," Greg chuckled, brushing off my jest with ease. "But perhaps it's time to think seriously about what kind of weapon you envision wielding. Or are you inclined to follow my path as a bare-handed combatant?" He teased, flexing his right bicep in a playful display.

"I've always been fascinated by swords, but it seems like every warrior we encounter on these streets is armed with one. Wouldn't that make them somewhat predictable and easy to counter?" I pondered aloud, observing a passerby with a massive sword strapped to his back.

"Not necessarily. That's why those who wield swords often study intricate swordsmanship techniques for both offense and defense. However, any oth-"

Before Greg could finish his thought, the blacksmith of the shop we had just entered interrupted. "What can I do for you, Greg? I hope this isn't another one of your jokes," he grumbled, his gaze fixed mainly on me. The man standing before us appeared taller than most humans, with dull green eyes and gray hair tied in a bun at the back of his head. His bushy gray beard covered most of his lower face, but it didn't conceal the slight smirk playing at his lips, hinting at a more jovial side beneath his gruff exterior.

"Nice to see you too Corey, I'm looking for a weapon for my apprentice here, but he's undecided on the type," Greg explained, also casting a thoughtful gaze in my direction. "Perhaps something hefty? He does seem to have a sturdy build," the blacksmith suggested, his smirk widening as he sized me up.

I struggled to maintain my grip, feeling the pressure threatening to break the skin on my palms. The sound of my teeth grinding together filled the air until Master intervened once more. "Take a look around and see if anything catches your eye," he suggested, a barely concealed smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Deciding to ignore their jests, I moved towards the weapons displayed on the back wall. Each creak of the floor beneath my feet seemed to mock me, but I refused to acknowledge it, knowing that doing so would only validate their teasing. Master was aware of the training gear concealed beneath my cloak, but it seemed the blacksmith was not, which was part of the reason for the disguise. Still, their banter grated on my nerves.

The array of weapons on the wall was impressive. Swords that seemed to beckon with their easy swings, their steel flawless and unblemished. Bows that were smooth to the touch yet provided enough grip to ensure they wouldn't slip from your grasp, with strings that were firm yet flexible. I tested the tension of the bowstring, feeling confident that I could break it if I chose to, though doing so would defeat the purpose. The fact that I could discern the breaking point without actually damaging the bow spoke volumes about the blacksmith's skill.

Among the impressive array of weapons, I found greatswords that matched the weight of the gear on my wrist, their handles firm and practical for combat without impeding my movements. There were spears too, longer than my height, but the memories of my close encounters with death in the forest quickly extinguished any interest I had in them. Adjacent to the spears were staffs, seemingly harmless rounded sticks with flat ends, unless wielded with full force to the head. As I inspected one of the staffs, my grip slipped slightly, revealing a bladed edge that emerged from the tip with a twist. This dual-purpose staff, balanced for both offense and defense, intrigued me more than any other weapon I had seen so far.

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To the right of the staffs lay an unusual weapon—a blade positioned both above and below the handle, with dual-edged blades on either side. A button on the handle split the weapon into two individual swords. Although each sword felt heavier than what I deemed practical, I attributed this to the weighted gear. Even if the weight issue wasn't due to the gear, it simply meant I needed more strength training.

Considering the staff's potential for training in wielding the double-bladed sword before it split, I decided to take both the staff and the sword. I walked back to where Master and the shopkeeper were engrossed in conversation. "Greg, ever since you left, the-" The shopkeeper's words were cut short as Master silenced him, noticing my approach and casting a curious glance at the weapons in my hands.

"You sure? Those are some pretty odd choices for someone as inexperienced as yourself brat." He questioned, staring at the peculiar sword in particular.

The blacksmith looked at the sword with eyes of uncertainty before he said anything. "If the kid wants both, I'll only charge ya for the more expensive of the two as a favor. And for the record, that'd be the sword." His eyes quickly portrayed pity before it disappeared just as fast as it had appeared.

"That'd likely be all the money we have. What a spoiled brat I'm teaching." He sighed in exasperation, handing over most of the coins that were in the pouch that the human woman had given us. "Let's go out back." Master spoke, pointing his thumb at a door behind Corey.

As Master and I faced off in the blacksmith's backyard, I couldn't shake the feeling of being out of my depth. Gripping my new weapons tightly, I tried to push aside the weight of inexperience that seemed to drag at my movements. Master, on the other hand, moved with the ease of someone familiar with his weapon, his staff and posture more relaxed than I've ever seem him.

The spar began slowly, each fighter testing the other's defenses. My movements were cautious, my strikes tentative as I tried to find an opening. Master, however, was patient, waiting for the right moment to strike.

As the fight progressed, my inexperience became more apparent. My attacks lacked the speed and power needed to break through master's defenses. Time and again, Greg easily parried my strikes, countering with swift and precise blows that kept me on the defensive.

Despite my best efforts, I found myself being pushed back, forced to retreat under master's relentless assault. I tried to vary my attacks, to feint and dodge, but master seemed to anticipate my every move.

As frustration began to set in, my movements became more erratic, less controlled. Master, sensing an opportunity, pressed his advantage, landing a series of quick strikes that left me stumbling.

But I refused to give up. With a newfound determination, I focused on my footing, on maintaining a steady grip on my weapons. I began to anticipate master's moves, to read his patterns, and slowly, I started to turn the tide of the fight.

With a sudden burst of energy, I launched a series of rapid attacks, each one aimed with precision and power. Greg, caught off guard by the sudden change in tactics, struggled to defend himself, his staff moving almost instinctively to block each blow.

We clashed, the sound of our weapons ringing out in the quiet backyard. For a moment, it seemed as though the outcome of the spar could go either way. But in the end, it was him who emerged victorious, my determination and perseverance not enough as master landed a decisive blow that sent my staff flying from my hands.

As the fight came to an end, both of us were left panting, our bodies covered in sweat and dirt. But there was a sense of satisfaction in my victory, a feeling of accomplishment that came from overcoming a challenge and emerging stronger for it. And as I stood there, catching my breath, I knew that this was just the beginning of my journey to mastering my new weapons.

"It's pretty annoying how much you're able to push me these days brat. I will say though, had I fought with my hands instead of this staff, you wouldn't have pushed me as far." He defended himself.

"Friendly reminder that you're making excuses to a teenager you nearly lost to. Who was also wearing weighted training gear." I teased, feeling better after all the weight jokes he'd laughed at. He didn't reply but instead stared at the weapon in his hands, almost like it was its fault.

As I sat on a nearby bench, still catching my breath after the intense spar with master, I couldn't help but replay the duel in my mind. The sound of our weapons clashing, the feeling of frustration as my attacks were effortlessly parried, and the exhilaration of finally landing a decisive blow—it all seemed like a whirlwind of emotions and actions.

But now, with the adrenaline fading, I could see my mistakes more clearly. I had underestimated the difficulty of wielding the new weapons, assuming that my skills with my body would easily translate. I had also let my frustration get the better of me, leading to careless and erratic movements that Greg was quick to exploit.

As I reflected on these mistakes, I realized that there was much I could learn from this experience. I needed to approach the new weapons with a fresh perspective, understanding that they required a different set of skills and techniques. I also needed to work on controlling my emotions during combat, staying focused and composed even when faced with a formidable opponent like master. Especially considering that was the lesson he'd emphasized the most, yet I allowed a change in how we sparred to reduce my combat efficiency and affect my emotions.

But perhaps most importantly, I needed to embrace failure as a part of the learning process. This spar was just one battle in a larger war, and defeat was simply a setback, not a permanent state. I needed to take this experience in stride, using it to fuel my determination to improve and grow as a warrior.

As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I was determined to learn from my mistakes, to train harder and smarter, and to become a warrior worthy of wielding any weapon with skill and grace. And with master by my side as my mentor, I knew that I had the guidance and support I needed to achieve that goal.