The Defense Force armory was a dimly lit space with a single shaft of morning sunlight cutting through it. When I opened the riveted wooden door, a mixed smell of oil and metal wafted out. Wooden shelves lined along the wall held dozens of training wooden swords. The blade tips were rounded, designed differently from real combat swords—shaped so that even a strong strike wouldn't cause fatal wounds. "Morning maintenance, if you would," Aursla said. Aursla had just returned from the training grounds, dried blood still clinging to her armor. Her copper-red hair, tied in a braid, was disheveled, and cold sweat glistened on her forehead. Yet her amber eyes were alive with energy. The sharpness from yesterday when she first met Varcas was gone, replaced instead by a gaze full of curiosity. "Understood," Varcas replied with a nod. True to his promise with Herda yesterday, starting today he'd earn 0.1 Gren—Seriant's standard currency—for five days of chores with the Defense Force. It was temporary employment until his formal registration as an adventurer. The Defense Force personnel had already left for morning patrols. Aside from Captain Aursla, only one veteran remained at the post—a middle-aged man with a thick beard, repairing training dummies. "Hey, Varcas. Check all the wooden swords on that shelf over there. Stack the broken ones to the side," Aursla instructed, then headed toward the changing room in the back. Varcas settled in. He pulled one wooden sword from the shelf and ran his finger along its surface. There were scratches, but no breaks. The next one was fine too. He inspected the third, fourth, methodically working through them. The work was simple but necessary. During his time with the Silver Flame Knights, Varcas had done similar maintenance countless times. It had been on a larger scale, but the essence was the same. Maintaining training equipment meant protecting the lives of soldiers. About an hour later, Aursla returned. She'd washed off the blood and changed into black slacks and a reddish-brown vest. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders. "Hey, Varcas. I need your help with something," Aursla said. "What is it?" Varcas asked. "Training. Be my sparring partner," Aursla replied. She'd brought two wooden swords. She tossed one to Varcas, who caught it reflexively with one hand. "I usually train alone, you know? Having an opponent makes my movements sharper," Aursla explained. Varcas gripped the wooden sword. The sensation of it in his hand. Its weight. This wasn't a real combat blade, but the feeling of holding a sword was the same. "Understood," he said. They left the post and headed to the training grounds. Seriant's Defense Force training grounds were located in an open area near the west gate—the stone gate on the north side of Seriant. The grounds were modest, with only wooden training dummies, simple weapon racks, and a fence for leaning short swords and wooden swords. The soil was hard-packed from repeated use, bearing the marks of countless training sessions. To the south stood the three-story brick building of the Defense Force post, and to the north, part of the city wall leading beyond the outer wall was visible. Aursla took her stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, lowering her hips. Her center of gravity sank downward. "Come," she said. Varcas took a deep breath. It had been months since actual combat. His body must be stiff. But there was no reason to refuse. Aursla moved first. She stepped forward with her right foot and swung down diagonally from above. A direct, powerful sword stroke. Orthodox movements faithful to basics. A cutting motion using her entire body. Varcas raised his wooden sword to defend. A dry *clang* echoed. Without hesitation, Aursla launched her next attack. A horizontal slash. Then a thrust. Her movements were varied but all based on fundamental sword techniques. She must have extensive combat experience. No wasted motion. Varcas focused on defense, observing Aursla's movements. Footwork. Weight distribution. Wrist rotation. Shoulder movement. Everything was being etched into his mind. It was a sign that his ability—Replication—was beginning to work unconsciously. Replication was an innate talent Varcas possessed from birth, allowing him to observe others' movements and techniques and reproduce them perfectly. "Hey, aren't you going to counterattack?" Aursla said. The moment she spoke, the back of Varcas's right hand grew faintly warm. Ancient-like patterns—the very mark of his ability—glowed softly. (...It activated again...) Varcas changed his stance. He stepped forward with the same footwork as Aursla. From the same angle, with the same rhythm, he swung his wooden sword down. A *thunk*. Their wooden swords collided. But this time, it wasn't one-sided defense—they clashed with nearly equal force. Aursla's eyes widened. "Just now... that was the same as my movement...?" she said. Aursla stepped back, gripping her wooden sword again. "Once more," she said. Aursla attacked again. This time with more complex combinations. A downward swing from the shoulder, changing trajectory mid-swing into a horizontal slash. Then she quickly rotated her body for a feint thrust from behind. Advanced consecutive attacks. But Varcas traced them perfectly. He watched Aursla's movements and reproduced them. The shoulder angle, hip rotation, footwork—complete mimicry. Aursla's expression changed. From confusion to excitement. "You... are you really just a former knight? No, you're more than that. You're copying my movements perfectly," she said. Aursla lowered her wooden sword, catching her breath. "It's just keen observation. At the knight order, they called it 'degraded copying,'" Varcas said, deflecting. He couldn't reveal the truth. His Replication ability—the power to perfectly duplicate others' techniques—had to remain hidden. He'd been taught that since childhood. "Degraded? How?" Aursla asked, unconvinced. "Your movements just now were indistinguishable from mine," she insisted. That's when it happened. "Oh, looks like things are heating up," Herda said, appearing at the training grounds. The Seriant Adventurer's Guild Master looked down at them both with a composed expression. "Aursla, don't bully the newcomer too much. We can't have him getting scared," Herda said. "No, this guy is seriously amazing!" Aursla said excitedly. She explained to Herda: "He saw my movements and copied them instantly. Like the same person doing the same movements." Herda's gaze turned to Varcas. Her green eyes held a thoughtful quality. "Wow, that's impressive. But Varcas, no hiding things, okay?" Herda said with a smile. Her smile carried a clear intent. "Trust is important, right?" she added. "...I apologize," Varcas said, lowering his head. Herda was right. If he lost trust here, life in Seriant would become difficult. But he couldn't reveal everything about his Replication ability. "Well, it's fine," Aursla said with a laugh. "But you're definitely not just some exile, are you?" she added. There was no blame in her words—only excitement and anticipation. Herda looked around the training grounds. "It's almost noon. Let's all have a meal. There's a good inn," she said. After training ended, the sweat-soaked Aursla lightly tapped Varcas's shoulder. Her hand was soft and feminine yet conveyed strength. "You're good, man. Strong and interesting. I'm gonna have you train with me more," she said. The distance was close. Varcas felt inwardly unsettled. At the Silver Flame Knights, there was never such casual physical contact. "Oh, sorry, sorry," Herda said with a wry smile, addressing Aursla. "Aursla, don't touch him while you're all sweaty," she said. Aursla looked down at herself. "Oh, right," she said, laughing as she stepped back. The contrast between her innocent smile and the dried blood on her armor was indeed comical. On the way back to the post, Herda whispered to Varcas: "Aursla's actually kind, despite how she seems. Just a bit clumsy," she said. "...I understand," Varcas replied. That night, in his lodgings, Varcas stared at the pattern on his right hand. During training, his ability had definitely activated. But it had activated in a way that was hard to notice from the outside. Aursla had only noticed because "the movements were the same." She hadn't detected the Replication phenomenon itself. (...This is fine. It can't be known any further...) Varcas clenched his fist. The pattern on his right hand grew faintly warm. It indicated that the power within him wasn't yet fully suppressed. His exile to Seriant hadn't been mere punishment. Galberius had guided him to this city. And something was sleeping beneath this city, surely. Varcas had sensed this since arriving in Seriant. But he didn't yet know what that premonition meant. Tomorrow there would be more chores. Equipment inspections for the Defense Force, help with weapon repairs, training ground maintenance. Simple work anyone could do. Yet Varcas sensed something in it. He would find something in this city. Or perhaps something would find him. Varcas lay on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. Seriant's night was quiet. In the distance, he could hear the night watch patrolling the city. A familiar sound. The Silver Flame Knights had similar night watches. (...I won't return to that fortress...) Varcas closed his eyes. His second day in Seriant had definitely changed something. Aursla's interest. Herda's kindness. And his own ability—Replication—what would it trigger in this city? Tomorrow and beyond. Varcas could only keep walking. Keep moving forward. In the night's silence, Varcas's right hand glowed faintly. But it was only for a moment before fading. In Seriant's dark night, a new story was slowly beginning to move.