One by one, Virion made me wield nearly every weapon imaginable.
Swords. Axes. Spears. Daggers. Maces. Chainblades. Even a ridiculously oversized scythe that nearly took my head off when I tried to swing it.
Each attempt ended the same way—with Virion's merciless critiques carving deeper into my confidence than any blade could.
"Your footwork is atrocious."
"Do you intend to tickle your enemies to death?"
"I've seen corpses with better coordination."
"You are going to hung yourself if you use it that way."
By the time we finished, my hands trembled, my muscles burned, and my gaze had gone disturbingly empty.
My confidence had long plummeted to zero and gone all the way to -1000.
I stared at my palms, the echoes of failure ringing louder than Virion's taunts.
Is it because I'm a background character?
Is that why I have no talent for any weapon?
The thought slithered through my mind, poisonous and suffocating.
But beneath the crushing weight of inadequacy, a tiny spark remained—stubborn, foolish hope.
I can make up for it. Hard work. Strategy. I don't need to be a prodigy if I'm clever enough—
"...Did I see it wrong?" Virion's muttering cut through my spiraling thoughts. His serpentine form coiled tightly around a training post, emerald scales flickering in agitation. "No, that's not possible..."
What is he talking about? Could it be I have some hidden talent?!
"Hmm?"
When he noticed I'd regained focus, his demeanor shifted abruptly.
He shook his head in disappointment, clearing away my delusions.
Though after a few moments, the mocking glint in his eyes faded, replaced by an unsettling gravity.
"Listen carefully," he said, his voice clearer and more measured than I'd ever heard it. "I didn't put you through that humiliation just for my amusement."
...Are you really sure about it?
A flick of his tail, and the scattered weapons vanished—all but one. A simple, unadorned dagger remained, floating between us.
"I asked you to wield everything because compatibility matters more than talent." His slit pupils pinned me in place. "Pick the wrong weapon, and you'll spend a lifetime climbing a mountain—only to realize you were on the wrong peak entirely."
The dagger spun lazily in midair.
"There was once a warrior," Virion continued, "who had a gift for hammers. Natural, effortless mastery. But he chose swords instead because hammers 'lacked elegance.'" A derisive snort. "He died pathetically, slain by a true hammer wielder—one who'd embraced their natural weapon without shame."
The dagger drifted toward me. Virion's voice sharpened.
"Weapons aren't for posturing. They aren't for dreams of being 'cool' or 'flashy.'" His tail lashed, cracking like a whip.
Virion's voice dropped lower, each word deliberate.
"One uses a weapon because it is the bridge between intent and reality."
His tail flicked, and suddenly, the training hall shifted again—walls dissolving into a swirling void where fragmented scenes flickered like echoes of lives lived:
- A hunter's arrow piercing a wolf's jaws mid-leap—survival.
- A knight's shield deflecting a blade aimed at a child—protection.
- A rebel's dagger slipping between corrupt noble's ribs—killing.
- A chef's cleaver mincing herbs—creation.
- A blacksmith's hammer shaping molten steel—transformation.
- Etc...
The visions vanished as abruptly as they'd appeared, leaving only the dagger between us. Virion's gaze bore into me.
"A weapon is a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. But the moment you pick one up, it becomes an extension of your will. Your reasons—survival, protection, vengeance, even something as mundane as cooking—determine its weight." He tilted his head. "So tell me, boy: What is your intent?"
I stared at the dagger. My palms still ached from earlier failures, but the question cut deeper than any mockery had.
Did I want strength to survive this world's dangers? To protect those I cared about(If I had some)?
Or… was it something else? .
...A need to carve my own place in a story world that had written me as a background character?
Before I could answer, Virion's tail snapped. The dagger flipped, hilt-first, into my grip.
"Good. You hesitated." He bared his fangs in approval. "The wrong answer would've been certainty. Only fools think they know their own hearts at first glance. Or... never mind."
The training hall reassembled itself around us, the weapons racks now glowing faintly.
"We'll start with daggers," Virion declared. "Not because you showed talent with them—you didn't—but because your eyes sharpened when you held one. That's enough for now."
I stared at the dagger in my hand, my breath slowing. The weight of it felt... right. Not because I was suddenly skilled, but because something in my mind had clicked into place—a clarity I hadn't realized I was missing.
I see...
The thought was quiet, but it carried the weight of revelation. A weapon wasn't just about strength or talent. It was about purpose.
Then—
CRACK!
The floor beneath me shuddered, stone tiles grinding as they rearranged themselves into a circular battlefield. A bad premonition prickled at my neck. Slowly, I looked up.
Virion's grin had twisted from mentor-like to downright sadistic.
Master Virion, you are turning from a mentor to a tormentor real quick!
Virion's chuckle slithered through the air, now dripping with sadistic glee. "Now, let's see that epiphany in actual combat, shall we?" His scales darkened to a venomous jade. "It's time to meet your new friends~"
A chorus of eerie laughter erupted behind me—"Kuku!", "Haha!", "Keke!"—each voice more unsettling than the last. Goosebumps raced down my spine.
"Hehe, is this our new toy~?"
"Shush, you'll scare him."
"Haha, don't worry, he's gonna realize it soon anyway!"
"Third Brother is right!"
I whirled around—
And froze.
Four turtlemen stood before me, each grinning like they'd already planned my funeral. Their shells were polished to a shine, their beady eyes glinting with mischief. Each one held a different weapon: a katana, a bo staff, nunchaku, and a pair of sai.
'...Why am I having déjà vu?' I muttered inwardly.
Virion cackled, slithering through the air like a pleased predator. "These are the Four Turtle Brothers! I found them half-dead in a sewer, saved them, taught them—and turns out, they excel in different weapons! Now they'll be co-teaching you!"
I gaped. '...This sounds so familiar too.'
Wait, damn, aren't you afraid of copyright?!
And, couldn't you think of a better backstory?! At least change a few lines!
"Jie jie~ Let's start the fight boys." Virion's tail flicked dismissively. "Teach your new to-friend well."
The largest turtle, wielding the katana type sword, stepped forward. "Enough talk! Let's play!"
The battlefield trembled.
The four turtle brothers lunged.
And I realized, with dawning horror, that Virion had just thrown me into a bootleg Ninja Turtles death match.