The icy, bone-chilling pain jolted me awake. I sat up abruptly, gasping for breath.

Instinctively, I touched my right shoulder and found the wound had healed. There wasn't even a scar or any sign of tissue regrowth on my skin. Only the severed fur and the gaping tear in my snow cloak served as proof that a broad sword had once sliced through there.

"Is it really necessary to make such a mess every time?" I flexed the joints in my right hand, making sure there were no lingering effects. Those herbivores from the Federation really knew what they were doing.

"You need to get used to this level of injury sooner rather than later," Qana said as he tossed something that looked like a syringe into an opening in the wall. "When it comes to battles between equally matched psychics, the fight only truly begins once you touch their existence circle."

"Do psychics often fight each other?" I asked as I stood up and stretched my limbs. The nanodrone treatment always left my body feeling a bit stiff, with a dull ache in my muscles and joints.

"Almost never," Qana said, his face darkening. "But that's when rules are in place to prevent it." He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, clearly not intending to elaborate further.

I noticed that the broad sword had quieted down again, no longer emitting that intense resonance.

"Is there any chance... uh..." I scratched my chin and pointed my ears toward the sword, speaking cautiously, not wanting to sound too foolish. "That Winter Chill might get... addicted to my blood or something?"

"No, that's not a thing," Qana growled, somewhere between irritation and exasperation, as he gripped the hilt.

I swore I saw the pommel of the sword flicker for a moment, hoping it was just my imagination.

"Did I pass?" I asked, scratching my ears, feeling like my question was a bit audacious. Unable to bear Qana's gaze, I turned my face to the side.

In doing so, I noticed that the room was... repairing itself. Black fragments of varying sizes moved slowly, like a line of ants, fitting themselves back into the cracks in the walls and floor.

That brought a question to mind.

"If you stopped saying stupid things, you'd probably pass," Qana said, crossing his arms with a hint of displeasure. "But now, I need to reconsider."

When the sword master was in this kind of mood, arguing only made things worse. So, I lowered my ears and tail, adopting a submissive posture to try and keep the conversation going.

"Can psychic power be used for healing?" I asked, watching the cracked parts of the floor slowly mend themselves.

"It can," Qana hesitated slightly. "But almost no psychic dedicates themselves to that, and there's a very clear reason why."

He lifted the hem of his cloak, revealing several more syringes attached to his belt.

"Medical pods are generally sufficient, and the only cases nanodrones can't handle are those involving immediate death. Besides, the interference from the existence circle can't be ruled out. Even if someone did manage to master this highly complex skill, there wouldn't be many practical opportunities to use it." Qana shrugged. "Of all the Grays I know, few can heal themselves with their powers, let alone someone else."

"Oh..." I couldn't hide the disappointment in my voice.

"Why do you ask?" Qana inquired.

"Because..." I reached out with my consciousness to find the long sword from earlier, drawing it to my hand with Domination. "Psychic power is akin to a miracle..." I gripped the hilt with one hand, gently running my fingers along the blade. "Why does it always seem... destructive?" I found its sheath and pulled it over, sliding the sword back in before leaning it against the wall. "Where are the applications of psychic ability for creation?"

"That's partly my fault... We don't have the luxury of time for me to train you fully, so I've had to focus on ensuring you can protect yourself." Qana remained silent for a long time before finally answering, though his tone was still hesitant. "The simplest reason is that most psychics aren't powerful enough. And with existing technology, most issues can be resolved without the need for psychic power, leaving little room for its intervention."

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I watched as the last black fragment slotted into place, perfectly sealing the cracks without leaving a trace.

"As for those who are powerful enough..." Qana cleared his throat, shifting his weight to his other foot. "They quickly find themselves entangled in endless webs of conspiracy, with no time to focus on anything else." The sword master tilted his head, his gaze drifting upward. "Of course, in my case, it's just a lack of talent. I don't understand anything beyond combat." He smiled, rolling his shoulder to stretch his arm. "Your shockwave was pretty strong!"

I scratched my ears, still not used to the warm, restless feeling that came with praise.

"I have a few ideas I'd like to try..." I said cautiously, unsure of how Qana would react.

"Is that the Gray bloodline talking?" He joked, though I still felt a slight sting, nothing I couldn't handle. "I probably won't be able to offer much advice, but don't hurt yourself..." Qana tilted his head. "...or anyone else," he added.

"Yes, Master," I said, lowering my head.

"And..." The sword master hesitated for a long time, visibly struggling with something. "There's a reason all Delta-level psychics and above are trained to master at least the basics combat. It's... a responsibility of being a psychic."

I remained in a bowed position, waiting for Qana to elaborate, but he lapsed into silence.

"Anyway," he sighed, clearly adding this to the list of "things to explain later." "I think we can consider you passing. The questions you raised prove your qualifications."

"So Winter Chill does crave blood?" I joked, twitching my ears in his direction.

"Don't make me regret it," Qana growled, baring a canine tooth.

I immediately lowered my ears again, assuming a submissive posture, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

"Although, it is true that adamantine weapons do recognize their users and can adjust their form based on the user's physique." Qana gestured for me to follow him, indicating that today's lesson was over as he moved to leave the room. "If there's such a thing as living metal, adamantine comes close."

"Can I name my sword, or how do I set command words?" I tried not to sound too eager, like an inexperienced pup, but I couldn't help myself. At least my tail wasn't wagging uncontrollably.

"That's not how it works," Qana chuckled. "There are a few absolute rules when it comes to using a complete adamantine weapon: you can only acquire a adamantine weapon by gift or by earning it. In other words, a adamantine weapon is either a gift or a prize, so the name isn't for you to decide."

He waved his hand, and as the hidden sliding door opened, he stepped out with large strides. I followed, stepping back out into the cold, snowy outdoors, putting on my goggles and extending the ice claws of my snow boots.

"This has to do with the forging process of a complete adamantine weapon, but that's my concern," the sword master turned back, giving me a deliberately mysterious smile. "Also, command words aren't something you 'set'--you have to wait for the weapon to tell you."

"So Winter Chill has a consciousness of its own?" I asked, glancing at the sword master's blade while brushing away the snowflakes stuck in my fur.

"Maybe not in the way you're thinking," Qana tilted his head, pondering. "But if you ask me, my answer is: yes."

"Can I..." That flash on the sword's hilt earlier was just a regular physical reaction, right? "Hold Winter Chill?"

Qana tilted his head at me, offering a smile I couldn't quite interpret before unbuckling the sword from his waist and handing it to me.

I'd seen this broad sword countless times--sometimes covered in my blood--but I'd never before had the urge to touch this weapon, which was clearly too heavy and large for me.

But after learning more about adamantine weapons, I'd grown curious. Especially after Qana said I was qualified to have my own adamantine weapon.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to grab Winter Chill's scabbard decisively. Before letting go, Qana expanded his consciousness circle and erected a barrier. Before I could ask about his actions, a peculiar resonance emanated from Winter Chill, sending a shock through my arm and reverberating strongly in my chest.

"Is this normal?" I asked Qana after recovering from the shock, though I couldn't take my eyes off Winter Chill. If just holding it through the scabbard felt like this, what would happen if I drew the blade?

"Normal," the sword master replied, nearly laughing. "Winter Chill remembers you."

I was about to make a comment about it remembering its favorite flavor, but I felt it--a greeting, a warm, joyful greeting of reunion.

What?

"Unless you're a forger, avoid touching any complete adamantine weapons that have a designated user. It's dangerous, even if the owner consents." Qana took the broadsword back and secured it at his waist again. "We know too little about the properties of adamantine, and most new discoveries come from..." The swordmaster hesitated, tilting his head slightly, as if reconsidering his words. "...from terrible accidents."

"Then why was nothing wrong when Momus touched Winter Chill?" I recalled the morning after the preliminaries, when Qana had finally caved in to the incessant pleading and allowed the wolf cub to hold Winter Chill for a moment before we parted ways.

"He's not a psychic," Qana snorted. "Adamantine can interact with the wave of consciousness, but non- psychic generally don't trigger any special effects." He glanced at me, continuing, "With your level of power, I wouldn't be surprised if it caused an explosion big enough to vaporize this island."

"Oh..." I scratched my ear, noticing that Qana had released his domain, allowing another question to take shape. "Why do we know so little about the properties of adamantine, yet so much about its applications?" Logically, it should be the other way around. Unless...

"Adamantine is a gift," Qana tilted his head slightly. "At least, 'they' think it's a gift." He tapped his fingernail lightly on the hilt of his sword. "I'm not so sure."

Whenever Qana mentioned 'them,' he rarely wanted to go into detail, so I decided not to press the matter further.

"I thought creating a sonic boom with a slash was impossible," I said, recalling the earlier incident and how I had reflexively deployed my domain to neutralize the impact. Maybe I really am good at this?

"It's impossible with the mass of a longsword, but Domination has some interesting applications." Qana shrugged and drew a circle in the air with his finger. "I slowed down the speed of sound, rather than speeding up the slash."

"It's all relative..." I murmured. This was nearly like creating a universe where one's will reigned supreme within a limited area. And I could do it too.

Qana nodded at me, without adding anything more, and we continued walking side by side for a while.

"Achoo!" Suddenly, a particularly cold gust of wind blew past, and I sneezed reflexively.

"I thought the nanodrones would handle viruses." Qana glanced at me. "Are you cold?"

"It's the blood vessels... Achoo!" I covered my nose, trying to warm the air I was inhaling to ease the symptoms. My fur puffed up reflexively, which only irritated me further. "It's not... because... Achoo!" This kind of reaction would cause muscle contractions in other parts of the body, quickly warming me up--but it only made me more irritated.

I was sneezing every couple of seconds, constantly interrupting myself, helplessly brushing the fur on the tip of my muzzle.

Qana raised an eyebrow at me, as if contemplating something. But in my current state, I couldn't respond, let alone attempt spatial etching. Damn allergies!

Just as I was about to internally probe and force my nasal blood vessels to dilate, a wave of warmth enveloped me. Qana had draped his cloak over me, and the wind and snow redirected away from us--Qana had expanded his shielded domain, controlling the airflow around us.

I shot Qana a questioning look, only to sneeze three more times in quick succession.

"It's an acceptable risk," the swordmaster said with a shrug.

Since I clearly couldn't speak at the moment, I decided to keep holding my nose, staying close to Qana, feeling the lingering warmth of his cloak and the fur on my body gradually settling back down. In this space, enveloped by the overwhelming warmth, I watched the snowflakes dance around us.