Chapter 96: Markings on the summoner

Chapter 96: Markings on the summoner The wooden statue shook with every strike he landed upon it, small chips of wood breaking away and scattering to the ground like dried leaves in a storm. Lloyd continued, throwing blow after blow at the erected wooden dummy. He didn’t turn on his integration; instead, he relied solely on his physical strength. And yet, even without enhancement, his power was astounding—equivalent to that of an early Summoner’s integration. He had trained his body to the brink of inhuman potential. His muscles, honed by unyielding discipline, moved with precision and raw force. His fists cracked against the dummy, and still he kept going. Hours passed. Sweat poured from his forehead, soaking his shirt. He finally stopped, his knuckles bruised and slightly reddened. His chest rose and fell heavily as he leaned into the battered dummy, exhaling a deep breath from his lungs. His mind drifted once more to what Goldrics had told them... Project Dark Wing. He had searched. Dug into files. Pulled at every thread he could find. But the project was buried so deep, even his clearance couldn’t reach it. Hidden from the world, from him. Whoever sealed those records didn’t want anyone discovering what had happened. Which only meant one thing—whatever had transpired on Pascoloid was too dangerous, too damning, to let resurface. Before his thoughts could spiral further, a sudden creak broke the silence. His head turned sharply to the door. A student? He blinked in mild confusion. This was the staff’s training center. Restricted. No students should’ve been able to access this place. How did she even find it? He narrowed his eyes slightly. He didn’t recognize her. Had no idea who she was. Still, he chose not to engage first. Maybe she was here looking for someone else. But then, she began walking toward him. Her pace was steady. Her gaze unwavering. She stopped just a few feet away and stood in silence, watching him with calm determination. "Sir," she said after a long pause. "Can you teach me... how to wield a core weapon?" Lloyd froze for a moment. A core weapon? Anyone could wield a core weapon—at least that’s what he believed. Why was she asking him? Before he could respond, the girl—Kaela—began explaining her situation. Her voice carried the weight of sincerity, but she held back on certain truths. She didn’t mention her mother. Instead, she focused on her struggle—the risk she faced when trying to wield a core weapon. Lloyd listened intently, the gears in his mind turning. It was the first time he had heard of such a condition. To be physically unable to wield a core weapon... It wasn’t just rare—it was unheard of. Something like this had to be hidden. Either a well-guarded secret among certain factions, or a condition known only within clandestine families. "So if you can’t wield one, that doesn’t mean you need it?" Lloyd asked, curious. Kaela shook her head slowly. "I don’t want to wield it to use it," she replied. "But just to stop it from being a weakness. Back on planet Pascoloid, it stopped me so much that I couldn’t help my friends." Her voice trembled slightly. Not from fear, but from frustration. She wasn’t seeking power—she was trying to avoid being a hindrance. Lloyd studied her, then nodded. "Alright then. Let’s try something. Use another object to hold the weapon... let’s see what happens." Kaela remained silent as Lloyd turned and retrieved a piece of thick cloth. In his other hand, he held his core weapon. As he returned to her, he handed over the cloth. "You’ll use this to hold the weapon. Let’s see if that helps." She wrapped the cloth around her hand and reached for the weapon. But as soon as the hilt made contact, her palm began to burn. She recoiled instantly, dropping the weapon and the cloth to the ground. "It’s just normal clothing?" she asked, confused. She had clearly expected him to hand her something different—some special fabric or artifact that might bypass her condition. "Sorry. So it burns?" Lloyd muttered, placing a thoughtful hand under his chin. "Honestly, I don’t have much of a solution yet. But... I’m starting to get a theory." He picked up the sword again, gripping the hilt with his bare hand. Then, without warning, he reached for her wrist and guided her hand to the section of the hilt his fingers were still wrapped around. Nothing happened. There was no pain. No burn. No reaction. He let go, and his mind sank into deep thought. Kaela gave him space, watching quietly, not daring to interrupt his reflection. Then, without warning, Lloyd performed a jarring act—he grabbed the edge of the blade and sliced his own palm. Blood pooled quickly from the fresh wound. Kaela gasped softly, eyes widening in disbelief. He smeared the blood across the hilt of the weapon, coating it carefully. Then he extended it toward her again. She hesitated, eyeing the cloth still lying on the floor like it was a lifeline. "Don’t worry. Take it," Lloyd assured. "I’m sure this will work." Still, she wavered. Eventually, Kaela reached forward, wrapping her left hand around the blood-stained hilt. Her body tensed. She didn’t flinch. No burn. No pain. Then she brought up her second hand, holding the weapon fully. She remained still. Her expression shifted. "How does it feel?" Lloyd asked. "It’s warm..." she murmured, "and growing hotter." Her hands trembled slightly, and after a moment, she dropped the weapon again, afraid the heat would soon rise beyond tolerance. "I see," Lloyd murmured. "Your genetic makeup... it’s what’s rejecting the core weapons." He paused. Her reaction told him she already knew this. So why come to him? "You already know this. So why are you here?" Kaela shrugged. "I just want to know how to stop it from being a weakness." Straightforward. Oddly so. Lloyd nodded. "Okay. Let’s assume your genes are incompatible with core weapons. That’s not possible for a human... but for a summon? Maybe. If that’s the case, this might be a permanent weakness. It could only be ’cured’ if your summon were to die." He sighed. "But there’s something strange... the heat you feel—it’s not just heat. It’s not burning you, exactly. It’s like a—" "Switch," Kaela interrupted. She turned around slowly, pulling down the back of her shirt just enough to reveal her upper back. Lloyd’s breath caught in his throat. Etched into her skin were intricate markings—arcane, symmetrical, and unnatural. "This is a keyhole," Kaela said. "And it needs a key... or a switch. My mother put it on me. And I think you know what this thing is." Lloyd’s eyes widened. He had seen this marking once before. And that was on the Alien race planet.