The next few days fell into a steady rhythm. During daylight hours, I moved through the Academy's halls flanked by my newfound allies. Genta's small form walked confidently beside me to Basic Swordplay, her orange-spotted nose held high despite the whispers that followed us. Eyarna's massive frame drew stares in Elementary Magic Theory, but having her there made the other students keep their distance.

Loland joined us for meals, his copper scales gleaming as he regaled us with tales from his village. His aristocratic bearing seemed to rub off on all of us, but we carried ourselves with more pride when together. Though food wasn't necessary for my survival, I made a point of joining my companions in the crowded dining hall. My presence there served a purpose, even if I merely occupied a seat while they consumed their meals.

The humans' reactions varied. Some sneered openly at our group, while others simply pretended not to see us. A few of the non-combat students even smiled hesitantly when we passed. Strength in numbers, as Genta had said.

But when darkness fell, I split from my companions. The worn stone steps to the basement became familiar territory as I made my nightly journey to the hidden storage room. There, my combat chassis waited, its six legs folded neatly against the wall.

The defensive frame had proven worth every hour spent crafting it. At over 400 pounds, it was too massive to store in my Depository without severely limiting my material capacity. Instead, I'd claimed a dusty corner of the storage room as my workshop, carefully arranging tarps to conceal my mechanical creation.

Each night, I merged with the frame, feeling the familiar click in my mind as my organic parts integrated with the reinforced chassis. The rotating shields along the back whirred softly as I tested their movement. Then I'd make my way through the concealed entrance into the Academy Hellzone.

The underground tunnels had become my true classroom. Cave Stalkers and Spear Beetles provided better combat training than any of Langdon's drunken lessons. Each night I pushed deeper into the maze of passages, testing my frame's capabilities against increasingly dangerous opponents.

The kills earned me experience, pushing my level higher while my classmates slept. But more importantly, each battle helped me refine my chassis design. I'd learned which joints needed additional reinforcement, which weapon configurations worked best against different monster types.

This double life suited my purposes. During the day, I maintained my C-rank facade while building connections through Genta's alliance. At night, I grew stronger, working toward my true goal. The routine felt almost... comfortable.

I swung the practice sword at the training dummy, making sure to keep my movements clumsy and imprecise. The blade struck the wooden target with a dull thud, leaving barely a mark on its weathered surface. The training grounds stood quiet except for the rhythmic sounds of Copelan and Yulios practicing their forms.

Footsteps approached from behind.

"You're not fooling anyone." Annes crossed her arms, watching me with narrowed eyes.

I kept my focus on the dummy. Not sure what you mean.

"Your sword work. The way you fumble around like you've never held a blade before." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I saw how you moved during the combat assessment. This act isn't convincing."

My next swing went wide, missing the target completely. Perhaps that was just luck.

"Stop it." Annes moved between me and the dummy. "Why are you pretending to be worse than you are? What's the point?"

I lowered the practice sword, considering my response. The training grounds remained empty with no sign of Langdon showing up today, as usual. The lout seemed to miss a third of his classes. Sven and Patter had already wandered off, probably to the same tavern where our instructor spent most of his time.

Why bother trying? I gestured at the empty instructor's platform. In this ridiculous excuse for a school, even the teachers don't care enough to show up. What difference does it make how well I swing a sword?

"That's exactly why we should be trying our best." Annes' eyes blazed with sudden intensity. "Because this place is broken. If we just accept it, if we let ourselves sink to their level, things will only get worse."

The sound of wood striking wood ceased. From the corner of my vision, I saw Copelan had stopped his practice routine, his head tilted slightly toward our conversation.

"The worse this place gets," Annes continued, "the easier it becomes for them to justify treating us like we're worthless. We have to be better, even when they expect us to fail."

An interesting proposal. I studied Annes as she drew her personal blade, a well-maintained saber with a brass guard. Won't you get in trouble carrying that?

"What are they going to do?" She laughed, the sound echoing across the empty training yard. "Demote me to D-rank? We're already at the bottom."

I couldn't help but share in her amusement, the telepathic equivalent of a chuckle rippling through our connection. She had a point. We C-rank students were already considered the dregs of the Academy, members of the dreaded Gutter House where all the chaff fall into.

"Come on." Annes settled into a ready stance, her blade held at an angle. "Show me what you're really capable of. If these so-called teachers won't bother teaching us, we'll just have to learn from each other."

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I looked down at the practice sword in my hand. The dulled blade felt clumsy compared to my usual weapons, but it would serve. Her attitude was infectious; that rebellious spark that refused to accept the Academy's dismissal of our potential.

Very well. I stepped forward, adjusting my grip on the practice sword. Though I warn you, I may surprise you.

"That's exactly what I'm hoping for." Annes grinned, her blade glinting in the morning light. "Now come at me, Widow. Let's see what you've got."

I moved into position across from her, admiring her spirit. She was right; if the Academy wouldn't teach us properly, we would have to take our education into our own hands.

From the corner of my vision, I caught Copelan and Yulios abandoning their practice dummies. They drifted closer, drawn to our impending match.

"You know," Annes said, testing her blade's weight, "you're part of why I ended up in C-rank."

I tilted my head. How so?

"That entrance assessment. After watching you and Barkatus..." She made a few practice swings. "I thought I needed to do something spectacular to stand out. Got reckless trying to match your level of skill." She rubbed her side. "Golem caught me good when I overextended."

You blame me for your ranking?

"Not at all." Annes shook her head. "Just means I have another mountain to climb. And you're standing right at the top of it."

We circled each other, blades held ready. The first exchanges came slow, measured. Steel kissed steel with quiet rings as we tested defenses, probed for weaknesses. I kept my movements controlled, analyzing her style.

Annes fought with a clean technique. No wasted motion, no theatrical flourishes. Each strike held purpose, each step calculated. As our pace quickened, our blades met with increasing frequency. The hollow clang of practice swords gave way to a steady rhythm of strikes and parries.

I found myself appreciating her form. Though lacking the raw power of Barkatus or the fluid grace of Bethani, Annes displayed a methodical precision that spoke of countless hours of dedicated practice.

Our strikes increased in speed, and soon the sound of steel engaging steel rang loudly in the training yard.

The riposte flowed naturally from my parry, my practice blade seeking the gap in Annes' defense. The strike would have ended our match, but something changed.

Through my newfound mana senses, I detected a surge of power. Annes pushed raw mana into her sword. The blade moved with impossible speed, catching my attack with enough force to jar the practice weapon from my grip. The dulled sword clattered across the stone floor.

Copelan let out an appreciative whistle.

Yulios clapped, his eyes wide.

What was that? I flexed my porcelain fingers, still feeling the vibrations from the impact.

"Just Blade Skill." Annes smirked, twirling her saber with practiced ease. "Most top-rank adventurers use it. You push mana into the sword during a swing. It makes the strike faster and more powerful. Only lasts a moment, but time it right..." She shrugged. "Well, you saw what happened."

But how? I retrieved my fallen practice sword. Professor Kilnei taught us metal repels mana. How did you channel power into your blade?

"Simple." She held up her saber, letting sunlight play across its surface. "The blade's coated in the same alchemical base enchanters use. No actual enchantment, but it can still hold mana. That's what I channel into: the coating, not the metal itself."

The explanation aligned with what I'd learned about magical theory. Still, seeing it in practice proved fascinating.

"Can't do it with enchanted weapons though," Annes continued. "The existing enchantment interferes with mana flow. That's why most serious fighters carry both. An enchanted blade for sustained effects, and a coated one for Blade Skill."

Fascinating. I studied the coating on Annes' blade more closely. The alchemical base acts as a conduit.

"Most nobles think it's beneath them." Copelan lifted his practice sword, examining its dull edge. "They see System abilities like Blade Skill as cheating. They prefer their expensive enchanted weapons."

"Which just proves how stupid nobles truly are." Annes sheathed her saber.

"Can't disagree there." Copelan shrugged, his usual rigid posture relaxing slightly.

Annes turned to me, her eyes bright with purpose. "Want to learn? I could teach you Blade Skill."

Yes. The potential applications already formed in my mind. If I could channel mana through weapon coatings, perhaps I could apply similar principles to my mechanical parts.

"Oh! Me too!" Yulios bounced forward, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please teach me too!"

Annes laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Of course I will."

She turned to Copelan, a challenging smirk on her face. "How about you? Or is your noble pride too strong to learn a commoner's technique?"

Copelan ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair. "Pride has nothing to do with it. My mana manipulation is terrible. Couldn't channel power into a blade if my life depended on it."

"Well, maybe you just haven't found the right person to teach you yet," Anne told him with a smirk. She then turned to the rest of us and began her lecture.

"The trick," Annes balanced her saber on an open palm, "is understanding how mana flows through your body. You need to gather it first, then push it into the blade at the exact moment of impact."

I watched her demonstrate, my mana senses detecting the surge of power as she channeled energy into her weapon. The blade hummed with contained force before she released it in a lightning-fast strike that split the air.

But what if one cannot generate mana internally? I asked, thinking of my own limitations.

"Everyone has mana." She lowered her blade. "It's just a matter of learning to feel it."

"I can feel mine," Yulios piped up, "but it's like trying to catch smoke with my hands."

Copelan stood rigid, his face twisted in concentration. A weak flicker of mana pulsed through his arm, then dissipated.

"You're too tense." Annes adjusted his grip. "Mana follows the path of least resistance. The harder you try to force it, the more it slips away."

I absorbed her words, considering how they might apply to my unique situation. While I couldn't generate mana naturally, I could draw it from my surroundings. Perhaps if I stored ambient mana in my organic parts, then channeled it through my flesh hand into a coated weapon...

"Here." Annes guided us through the basic movements. "Start by gathering mana in your core. Let it build naturally. When you're ready, imagine it flowing down your arm like water."

Yulios managed a weak pulse that made his practice sword vibrate. His face lit up with achievement.

I focused on drawing in ambient mana, storing it in what remained of my organic flesh. The energy felt different from the mechanical power that drove my artificial parts, more fluid, less controlled.

"Now," Annes continued, "the timing is crucial. Too early, and you waste the energy. Too late, and you miss the moment of impact."

We practiced the movements while she corrected our form. An hour passed unnoticed as we worked to master this basic technique. Even Copelan's rigid demeanor softened as he made gradual progress.

Thank you for teaching us, I sent to Annes as she demonstrated another variation.

She paused mid-swing. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't managed a successful Blade Skill strike."

Still, this is more instruction than we've received from Professor Langdon.

"True enough." She laughed. "Though that's not saying much. A sleeping cat would be a better teacher than that drunk."

We gathered closer as she began explaining the finer points of mana control, each of us eager to learn what the Academy had failed to teach.

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