[Timeline: 3 Days Before the Tournament]

[Location: Central continent, The Imperial Capital – Industrial District]

"No training today," Mozart announced as he walked into the classroom.

The students of Class F looked up, relieved. Alaric was nursing a bruised shin from fighting golems. Lukas had soot on his face. Elena was polishing her nails with wind magic.

"We are going shopping."

….............…

The Imperial Capital was a marvel of the modern age.

As Class F walked down the main thoroughfare, they were surrounded by the fruits of the "Magitech Revolution", a revolution quietly funded and directed by the Black Thread over the last sixteen years.

Sleek, mana-powered vehicles known as Phantom Type-1s glided silently over the cobblestones.

Massive holographic billboards advertised "Memory Theatres" where one could experience the recorded dreams of famous bards.

"It's amazing," Lukas murmured, looking at a phantom car.

"My dad said these didn't exist twenty years ago. Then the Golden Coin Guild just... invented them."

Mozart walked ahead, tapping his cane with a smile on his face. After all, he owned the patents for all of them.

"Professor," Elena asked, wrinkling her nose as they turned away from the sparkling boutiques of the Upper District. "Where are we going?"

However, with a smile on his face, he didn't answer rather he pointed at a shop not far from them.

The sign above the door was simple: [The Golden Coin Smithy – Heavy Works Division].

"We are here," Mozart said.

He pushed the heavy iron door open.

CLANG. HISS.

The shop didn't smell like incense and lavender like the elven boutiques.

Instead, it smelled of sulfur, grinding metal, and honest sweat. Sparks flew from the ceiling where automated hammers pounded glowing ingots.

A Dwarf with a beard braided with copper wire stepped out from the back. He was wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

"We're closed for private contra—"

The Dwarf stopped. He saw the silver mask. He saw the black coat.

His eyes widened. He dropped the rag. He immediately straightened his spine, sweat beading on his forehead not from the heat, but from fear.

"Sir!" the Dwarf barked, almost saluting before catching himself. "I mean... welcome, customer. The... uh... custom order is ready."

Apparently, it seemed some of the workers already knew who Mozart really was.

Lukas whispered to Alaric. "Did that Dwarf just salute the music teacher?"

"Mozart is scary," Alaric whispered back. "Even Dwarves know it."

"Bring it out," Mozart ordered.

The Dwarf signalled two burly assistants. It took both of them, grunting with effort, to drag a long, cloth-wrapped bundle onto the counter.

THUD.

It hit the heavy wooden counter with the sound of a falling boulder. The wood groaned under the weight.

"Mr Ironheart," Mozart gestured. "Unwrap it."

Alaric stepped forward. He felt a strange resonance in his chest. The Titan's Capacitor thumped, syncing with the density of the metal beneath the cloth.

He pulled back the oilcloth.

Lukas gasped. "What... is that?"

It was six feet of dull, grey Heavy Mythril.

It had no edge. It had no point. It was essentially a sharpened I-beam with a handle wrapped in rough dragon leather.

It lacked the elegance of the royal swords. It had no gold inlays. No gems.

It was ugly. It was brutal. It radiated a sense of absolute, crushing density.

"It's hideous," Elena noted.

"It's perfect," Alaric breathed.

He reached out.

A normal human couldn't have lifted it. The two dwarven assistants had struggled with it.

Yet Alaric grabbed the hilt and lifted it with one hand.

The muscles in his forearm shifted like steel cables.

The weight felt... right. It felt grounding.

For the first time since the raid, he didn't feel like he was going to float away or break the world. The sword anchored him stably.

"This is The Anvil," Mozart said softly. "It is designed to break not cut, a weapon to help harness all your uncontrolled strength."

Mozart looked at his student.

"It's a weapon for a brute. Does it suit you?"

Alaric swung the massive blade.

WOOSH.

The air displaced by the swing blew Lukas's hair back.

Alaric stopped the blade an inch from the floor with perfect control, the result of the spoon training.

"Yes, Professor," Alaric grinned, a feral light in his eyes. "It suits me just fine."

Mozart turned to the Dwarf. "And the others?"

The Dwarf scrambled to bring two smaller boxes.

"For the Mage," the Dwarf said, handing a box to Lukas.

Lukas opened it. Inside were a pair of gloves made of Salamander Skin, woven with cooling runes.

"Combustion Stabilizers," Mozart explained.

"They will help condense your Blue Flame. No more accidental flamethrowers. You can now light a candle without vaporizing the table."

"And for the Princess," the Dwarf handed a sleek case to Elena.

Inside was a monocle made of crystal.

"A Photon Lens," Mozart said. "It focuses light magic. It turns a simple scatter-shot into a laser; use it to your imagination."

Elena put on the monocle. She looked in a mirror. "It is... acceptable. It matches my eyes."

And with that, they left the smithy

…..............

[Location: Outside the Smithy]

Class F walked out of the shop, geared up and looking dangerous.

Alaric had "The Anvil" strapped to his back. It was so large it looked like he was carrying a tombstone.

As they turned the corner back toward the main street, they ran into a wall of white and gold.

Class S.

Prince Nero stood at the front, flanked by his entourage, including Vance (who was still nursing a bruised wrist) and Elise (who looked away, ashamed).

Class S had clearly been shopping too. They were carrying bags from The Gilded Lily and Arcane Weaver, high-end boutiques.

They held staffs inlaid with rubies, robes woven from silk-spider thread, and polished rapiers that looked more like jewellery than weapons.

Nero stopped. He looked at Class F.

He looked at the soot on their faces. He looked at the industrial shop behind them.

"Well," Nero drawled, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I didn't know the Golden Coin Smithy sold weapons. I thought they only made ploughshares for farmers."

His entourage laughed.

"Look at that thing on his back," Vance mocked, pointing at The Anvil.

"Is that a sword or a building material? Are you planning to build a house, Ironheart?"

However, Alaric didn't get angry or shout.

He simply adjusted the strap on his shoulder.

CLINK.

The sound of the heavy metal shifting was heavy. Deep.

Nero's smile faltered slightly. He felt it, pressure.

Instantly, he flared his aura in retaliation.

[3rd Order Aura: Sun Flare]

The temperature in the alley rose. Flames began to crawl up the walls.

It was a blatant intimidation tactic, a wave of S-Tier mana designed to make lesser students kneel.

Lukas retreated, his blue flame flickering in his chest. Elena stepped back, her wind barrier flaring.

But Alaric also twitched slightly.

However, neither of them faltered; they were used to Mozart's aura.

They were used to the 6th Order pressure of a Flesh-Crafter Elder. Compared to that... this was just a cold breeze.

Alaric took a step forward.

CRUNCH.

The cobblestone beneath his boot cracked.

"Do you want to fight Prince?" Alaric said calmly, looking Nero in the eye.

He reached back and patted the hilt of the slab.

"Because I'm still not sure I can control my strength."

Alaric smiled. It wasn't a hero's smile. It was the smile of a predator who realised the prey was made of glass.

Seeing this, Nero's eye twitched. For the first time in his life, looking at the peasant with the slab of iron, he felt a flicker of genuine concern.

"We'll see," Nero spat, turning around. "Try not to trip on it in the arena."

Class S walked away, but the laughter was gone.

Mozart watched them go, leaning on his cane in the shadows.

"The psychological warfare has begun," Mozart noted.

"Excellent work, Class F. Now, let's go back. We have three days to get you all into top shape."

[Author's note: Thanks to all privilege leaders, your support means more than you can ever imagine.

As a thank you note, a mass release will be held on the first of next month as thanks!]

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