Shane was admiring the nine freshly finished "arrows," the sunset outside gilding their edges with warm gold.
Just then—
Bang!
The door slamd open hard enough to smack the wall.
"Shane! Ti to train!" Erza's bright voice filled the room.
Shane's eyelid twitched. He looked up to see that scarlet silhouette standing in the doorway, eyes sparkling, her long hair blazing in the evening light.
We've only been together a few days and she's already treating this place like her own? He set the arrows down with a helpless sigh. Yesterday she at least knocked and waited. Today it's just… crash, hello.
As he stood, he glanced at the Book of Heroic Spirits.
The sigil for his bond with Erza glowed steady, showing "confidant-level friend," tied with Jellal.
…That escalated fast, the corner of his mouth twitched. What a shaless woman…
He conveniently forgot the Book only records that once both sides acknowledge it.
He was about to call Erza out the door when her gaze snagged on the row of oddly shaped "arrows" on the table.
"Hm? What are these?" She leaned in, studying them. "Are these new weapons you conjured? But… the mana on them feels so light—way weaker than the swords you used yesterday."
Shane's eyelid twitched again.
She wasn't wrong—these were fine mundane steel at best—but hearing his painstaking work called "weak" still stung for no good reason.
"They're not conjured," he answered, a little tart. "I made them. Just iron treated in a special way—stronger than usual, that's all."
"You made them?!" Erza's head snapped up, her eyes lighting at once. "You can forge weapons?!"
Before he could answer, she pressed on, hopeful: "Then… could you make weapons for too, later?"
The sudden request caught him. Faced with those shining eyes, his earlier pique lted; a smile tugged at his lips.
"You already have my conjured weapons. Why have forge one?"
"That's different!" she shot back, downright accusatory. "Then you can't pull a stunt like yesterday and cancel my weapon in the middle of a match. Totally cheating!"
"And…" Her fingers brushed the cold tal of one "arrow." "A real weapon—one you can actually hold—feels… I don't know… safer."
She was scolding him for yesterday's "cheat," but the fact that she wanted his work—an indirect vote of confidence—put him in a great mood.
"Fine," he nodded. "Let refine the craft. When I can make a proper magic sword, you get the first one."
"Deal!" Erza's grin blood.
Small talk over, they headed for the shore and began the day's spar.
Erza's progress was ridiculous.
Every technique or power cue Shane threaded into the fight—she grasped almost at once and folded into her rhythm.
Like a dry sponge, she soaked up every drop of his swordcraft.
The days settled into a steady cadence.
By day, Shane shuttled between the forge and the inn, continuing to tinker with his "smithing." Erza focused on ditation and mana control, getting used to the sudden surge of power.
At dusk, the ring of crossing steel would rise on the coast right on ti. Sotis they'd drag Millianna out to stroll the streets, nibble snacks, and watch the harbor.
In the midst of it, Shane made a point of testing his dream theory.
One day he deliberately didn't use any Phantasm—and that night there was still no Saber vision. That settled it: the dreams weren't triggered by using a Phantasm.
Quiet days slipped by like water. In a blink, a week had passed.
That evening, on the shore—
Seven different longswords, all under Erza's control, darted like quicksilver fish, launching an unbroken assault from every angle.
The sword-light threaded a net, paths wicked, speed startling.
Shane, a katana in each hand, blocked on pure fighting instinct. Clang-clang-clang hamred out like a hard rain on tin.
He could hold off briefly, but his footwork kept ceding ground—her rhythm had him, and he was losing the exchange.
At last, one sword slid through and settled against his neck.
"Hah… hah…" Shane panted, then gave Erza—sweat beading her brow, eyes still keen—a rueful smile. "That's it for today."
Without releasing a True Na, he couldn't beat her anymore.
Erza, for her part, stayed composed; she'd seen Shane's real power. Aside from the surprise the first ti she beat him, she'd been modest—she even dialed down the mana on her sword to make it easier to learn his technique.
Which left Shane privately grumbling that the Book's design lacked QoL.
If only he could use two class cards at once—crimson bow in hand, Saber's Phantasm as the spearhead—he couldn't imagine how he'd lose.
Her growth rate's a monster's… he thought. In just days she'd gone from four weapons to seven.
He'd had to weaken each weapon and increase their number just to keep practice viable.
At this point she could probably give that purple crystal-thrower a run—provided she can read the hiding spot and the other side doesn't pull out that ice magic, he mused.
After his daily ntal roast of "Miss Purple," Shane took his own asure.
He'd improved plenty too.
Keeping nine weapons up through hard sparring day after day, grinding his body, had bumped Agility up to E .
Strength and Endurance at E both felt like they were at a threshold—he could sense D was within days.
Only Mana was stubbornly stuck—still E, not budging.
He knew why.
Per the Book, the "warm current" remodels his body to the stats of the spirit he's summoned.
Arash has E Mana, so the warm current can only push his Mana up to E. Conversely, because Arash's Endurance is A, the current can keep driving his endurance toward A.
Which led to a facepalm discovery.
After summoning Saber, a second warm current had appeared alongside Arash's—slightly different in quality.
Proof that Saber had begun remodeling him too.
But the two currents didn't stack; they shared a single cap, pushing his body together. And the problem was:
his Mana still hadn't moved.
aning this Saber's Mana rank was very likely… also E.
"What is this nonsense…" Shane was speechless. In a world ruled by magic, Mana was his biggest dump stat.
~~~
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