The academy dorm hallway echoed with every squeak of her wheelchair.
Sayaka gripped the rims of the wheels, her hands still stiff and bruised. Her body had mostly recovered, but her pride? That was another matter entirely.
As the door to Class 1-A creaked open, a group of students looked up.
One smirked. "Oh, it's our mana-less miracle again."
"Careful," another whispered loud enough for Sayaka to hear, "she might fall over if the wind blows too hard."
Sayaka didn't respond.
She simply rolled past them, eyes down, breath shallow.
They're just words… just words…
But they weren't.
They were weights — every insult, every sneer, dragging her further down.
Days passed.
Wounds healed. But humiliation? That lingered.
Every class became a battlefield of a different kind. Spellcasting? Useless. Elemental theory? Pointless. Summoning drills? A disaster.
Only one area didn't earn her outright failure — Sword and Weapon Mastery. And even there, she was barely above the lowest.
Is this it? Was all that drama… just for nothing?
Each time she unsheathed Dragon's Breath, there was no flame. No wind. No frost. No elemental burst. No resonance. Nothing.
Just a blade.
Sharp, yes — beautifully crafted, heavy in her hands — but utterly silent.
No pulse.
No acknowledgment.
No power.
Just like the system window. Just like that stupid YES I clicked.
Fed up, she found herself back at the place where it all began — Greff's Gear & Weaponry.
The bell above the door gave a familiar chime. The scent of smoke, oil, and metal hit her like a memory.
Greff looked up from behind the counter, cleaning a crystalline dagger.
"Ah. Mana-less girl returns," he said with a chuckle.
Sayaka didn't even flinch at the title anymore.
Greff leaned on the polished wooden counter, one brow raised, a smirk tugging the corner of his beard. "Kid, you sure you're alright? You've been staring at that sword rack for ten minutes without blinking."
Her fist tightened slightly, nails digging into her palm. "Don't call me kid."
That made him blink. "Huh?"
Sayaka exhaled sharply. "I'm twenty-three. A full-grown woman." She looked away, ears red. "I've just… had a rough life. That's all."
Greff's expression softened. The teasing glint dimmed slightly in his eyes, replaced by something more thoughtful. "Right… my bad."
The shop was quiet again, filled only with the gentle creak of the lanterns swinging overhead and the low hum of the enchanted heater stones embedded in the floor. Sayaka turned, walking slowly toward the wide display wall lined with weapon types—bows enchanted to fire arrows of light, daggers humming with shadow affinity, and swords whose hilts pulsed with buried runes.
But none called out to her like that one sword still strapped to her back.
The Dragon's Breath.
Her fingers brushed against the hilt, cool and oddly heavy. So heavy, not in weight, but in meaning.
"I don't get it…" she muttered. "That day, it roared with power when I first touched it. It lifted for me. I—I thought it chose me. But since then… nothing. It's like it's ignoring me."
Greff crossed his arms. "It's sleeping."
Sayaka turned back, brows drawn. "Sleeping?"
He chuckled. "That sword is more than just a lump of metal, Sayaka. It's part spirit. Legendary weapons like that choose their wielders… but they also test them."
He turned, walked to the back, and returned with a small leather-bound case.
"Come. Sit," he said, dragging two stools out.
Sayaka obeyed silently.
Greff opened the case, revealing a worn parchment.
"I wasn't planning to show this to anyone for another lifetime," he said. "But since you're the first to move that beast in five millennia… you deserve to hear its story."
Sayaka leaned closer as Greff smoothed the old paper.
"This… is the tale of the original wielder of Dragon's Breath."
"Five thousand years ago, the world was on the edge of collapse.
Demons roamed the skies, kingdoms crumbled under shadows, and mana—our source of life—was faltering.
Then came a warrior. A nameless swordsman, born without magic. He was mocked, beaten, discarded.
But like you… he was stubborn.
He forged his strength through countless battles. Not through spells, but through grit, fury, and… a certain fire inside him that even the gods feared.
One day, the dying forge of the Eastern Peaks birthed a sword—raw, wild, alive.
The Dragon's Breath.
It wasn't forged… it was born. From the soul of a slain dragon.
The sword chose him. No one else could even lift it.
With it, he didn't cast spells. He became the spell.
Flame, frost, wind — they bent to the sword's will, and the sword bent to his.
Together, they fought through the Demon War, ending battles no mage could.
But in his final act, facing a monster of pure void, the swordsman sacrificed himself—sealing the demon away.
And the sword… went silent.
For 5000 years, no one has awoken it."
Sayaka looked down. "Then… maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it only lifted because of something else…"
"Wrong." Greff's voice was firm now. "You still carry it, don't you? Even now, it's bound to your mana-less body. That sword weighs over five hundred thousand tons when it's dormant. If you weren't chosen, you couldn't even move it an inch. That's not a mistake, girl. That's a miracle."
Her chest tightened.
"…But it doesn't trust me yet," she whispered.
Greff nodded. "Exactly. That blade's been silent for five millennia. It's not going to sing just because you cried once."
Sayaka flinched, but didn't argue.
Then, taking a slow breath, she stepped forward.
"…Could you train me?" she asked.
Greff blinked. "Come again?"
"I'm not good at anything," Sayaka said, voice trembling but steady. "My mana's zero, my spellcasting is pathetic, and even this sword doesn't respond to me. But in sword class… I can hold my own. I want to get stronger. Even if I'm not chosen fully yet… I want to be worthy of it. So… teach me."
A silence settled between them.
Greff stared for a long second, then gave a short, barking laugh. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."
Sayaka smiled, faintly.
He shrugged. "Fine. You show up here after classes, and we'll see what those arms can really do. I'll train you like I trained those hunter brats from the capital."
Sayaka's eyes widened. "You trained capital hunters?"
Greff grinned. "Kid—er, sorry—Sayaka… you've got a long road ahead. But it starts with not quitting."
She gave a small nod.
Outside, the evening sun had begun to lower, spilling orange light through the arched windows. Sayaka took one last look at the scroll, at the image of Sylvina—standing proud with the sword that now slept on her back.
I don't know if I'm a hero… or even meant to be one…
But I'll walk the road anyway.