"Oops, young man, here you came."

Among a dazzling sea of flowers stood a petite girl with white hair and crimson eyes, as if she had just woken up. She was still wearing that same pink pajama outfit Moen had seen the first time they met.

She held an adorable pink watering can in her hand, gently tending to the sea of flowers. As she noticed Moen walking closer, her crystalline, amber-like red eyes revealed a glimmer of satisfaction.

"You’ve done well,"

she said.

"Far better than I expected. Achievements like this are rare, even within the span of my long years."

"Mela, Teacher…"

Facing her, Moen was momentarily at a loss for words. Even his hands and feet felt awkwardly out of place. He could only muster a dry response:

"It’s been a while."

Mela smiled.

"No need to be nervous. Now that you’re officially a disciple of Mela Dormir, at any time and before anyone, you hold the right to keep your head high."

"Really?"

The tension eased slightly as Moen scratched his head and asked,

"So I’m officially your disciple now? Do I need to prepare anything? Maybe a gift for you? Or are there special rituals to follow? Should I change how I address you?"

"Let’s skip all that formal nonsense,"

Mela thought for a moment.

"As for what you should call me, just keep calling me 'Mela, Teacher.' I prefer that."

"Then…"

Moen respectfully bowed and said earnestly,

"From now on, please guide me well, Mela, Teacher."

"Mhm, I will."

Mela gracefully accepted Moen’s bow and then casually snapped her fingers. A streak of light flashed, and a silver-white box appeared in front of Moen.

"Take this. It’s my gift to you, a gift of our first meeting."

"A gift?"

Moen’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected Mela to be so generous: a gift right after officially becoming her disciple? But since the box had been presented to him, there was no reason to refuse.

Feeling overjoyed, Moen picked up the box, inspecting it from every angle and even knocking on it curiously.

"What’s inside?" he asked.

"Open it and find out,"

Mela replied with a gentle smile.

"I believe you’ll like it."

With Mela’s assurance, Moen grew even more excited. He quickly found the box’s latch and pressed it decisively. With the sound of mechanisms whirring, the silver-white box sprang open with a creak.

A sharp aura and a radiant light instantly surged outward, momentarily stealing Moen’s breath.

Knives.

Short knives.

Two pure white short knives adorned with golden engravings lay quietly inside the box. As the lid opened, the knives emitted faint humming noises, as if they were alive.

Moen could even hear the sound of his own heartbeat.

The moment he laid eyes on the two knives, his heart began to race. It was as if he could feel a resonance with them.

"These are…"

His mouth dry, Moen turned to Mela, seeking an explanation.

"I haven’t named them yet. I think letting you name them would be better."

Mela spoke softly.

"I’ve watched recordings of your battles before and noticed you seemed to lack suitable weapons, so I crafted these for you."

"Mela, Teacher…"

‘Like’ didn’t even begin to cover how Moen felt. Gratitude welled up inside him, nearly to the point of tears.

Though Mela casually described them as “crafted on a whim,” the exquisite craftsmanship of the knives and the profound aura they radiated surely ranked them at legendary gold-tier level or higher.

How could someone as remarkable as Mela toss out something so extraordinary like it was nothing?

Still…

Moen blinked curiously and asked,

"But these are such niche weapons. Aren’t you worried I might fail and end up wasting them?"

"Unlike that Pulan boy, I trust my judgment wholeheartedly."

Mela cast a casual glance at Moen.

"If I didn’t believe you could handle it, I wouldn’t have wasted the time seeking you out."

"Ah, I see…"

Moen murmured, the realization dawning on him.

"It feels like I’ve unknowingly ended up carrying a lot of expectations."

"Now that you know, shouldn’t you work harder?"

Mela remarked lightly.

"Try the knives."

"Alright!"

Without hesitation, Moen reached out and grabbed the two knife hilts.

The moment he held them, a sharp pain shot through his palms, as if something had cut into his skin. Warm blood quickly spread across the golden engravings of the knives.

Gold transformed into deep red, and the sacred aura of the knives took on a faintly sinister hue.

However, the transformation lasted only briefly.

In the next instant, the knives let out sharp hums, and golden light erupted from them.

Moen suddenly felt the blades, once light as paper, become substantial with a perfectly balanced weight. It was as if they had become extensions of his arms.

Faintly, he could sense the joy radiating from the knives themselves.

"It seems she’s very fond of you,"

Mela observed, stroking her smooth chin thoughtfully.

"The knives hold a sentient life inside. Now that she has accepted you, it means that until your death, no one else will be able to wield these weapons."

"That’s incredible…"

Moen exclaimed in awe. He was well aware, having read the original book, just how rare sentient weapons were in this world.

To think Mela had gifted him one effortlessly…

Overcome with excitement, Moen swung one of the blades.

In that instant, a streak of lightning seemed to flash through the air, leaving an extremely subtle, ink-like charred shadow floating in its wake.

"Based on your fighting style, the primary feature of these knives is sharpness,"

Mela explained.

"Extreme sharpness capable of cutting through nearly any defense. For someone like you who relies on agility and flexibility, I thought this would be much more useful than any flashy additional functions.

"Besides that, when the two knife blades collide, they activate a powerful alchemical field."

"An alchemical field?"

Moen’s eyes lit up. Without hesitation, he struck the blades together.

*Clang—*

The knives emitted an electric hum. Silver-white arcs of electricity spread alongside golden engravings, forming a unique metallic-like field in the area several meters around Moen.

"The alchemical field’s effect is… rejection of all external matter."

Mela casually picked up a flower and tossed it toward Moen’s field. The pristine petals disintegrated into ash the moment it touched the edge of the field, as if consumed by fire.

"That said, this rejection effect isn’t particularly strong."

Mela reached her pale, slender hand into the field, causing the arcs of silver-white electricity to ripple like water.

"Someone with slightly stronger physical strength could force their way in, and regular weapons wouldn’t be impeded either. But this field wasn’t designed for defense. After all, if I wanted to give you a defensive feature, I’d have handed you a shield instead.

"This field is meant to counter the unseen and the intangible:

Curses, toxic gases, negative effects, mental attacks—things of that nature.

"And most importantly, it provides complete isolation between what's inside and outside the field.

"In other words…"

Mela met Moen’s eyes, speaking each word deliberately.

"When the field is active, you can freely wield the flames of the King of Wither."