The armory's heavy doors hissed open, revealing a cavern of steel and steam. Unlike the pair’s previous visit to an armory, this space sprawled, a vast hall dwarfing the rookie's storage. The air clicked with the clatter of expertly crafted weapons and the sharp tang of gun oil. Racks of weapons lined the walls, crates of supplies stacked neatly in corners. The occasional hiss of steam punctuated the low murmur of voices as slayers inspected and maintained their gear.

  This was no mere storage room for standard-issue arms; it housed the tools official slayers relied on for survival. Gadgets, finely crafted weapons, and experimental contraptions awaited deployment. It was easily twice the size of the rookie armory, and that meant double the security. Guards were posted in every corner, their watchful eyes ensuring that nothing left this place without clearance.

  Velos immediately took note of several weapons he didn’t recognize. Some had mechanisms embedded in the hilts or along the blades, gears and moving parts hinting at hidden functions. It was clear that the arsenal here wasn’t just about steel and edge—it was about innovation, versatility, and ingenuity.

  At the center of the room stood a man, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing the moment Velos and Sterling entered the room. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, a thin beard tracing his jawline and sideburns neatly framing his face. He wore a bandana bearing the Division insignia, a touch askew. There was no overt hostility in his gaze, just the steady, knowing look of a seasoned observer who made it his job to know every slayer who walked through these doors.

  Before Velos could even speak, the man smirked.

  “I know who you are,” he said, stepping forward. “No need to ask.”

  Velos raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

  “I'm Quartermaster Zi Feng,” the man introduced himself. “Just Quartermaster Feng, if you prefer. And I make it a point to keep track of slayers moving up the ranks.” His voice was steady, friendly even, with an ease that suggested he wasn’t the type to bark orders. Despite his rank, there was still a youthfulness to him—his eyes held no weariness and his shoulders were loose, unburdened.

  Feng glanced between the two of them, then motioned toward the weapons racks. “I hope you two don’t plan on dying out there carrying the same gear as a markless rookie.” He grinned. “Come on. Let’s get you properly outfitted.”He glanced between the two of them, then motioned toward the weapons racks. “You’re authorized to bring a primary and a secondary weapon,” he explained. “Carrying both is your problem, though. You can stow one at a camp if needed, but if you lose it, you’re taking a penalty on your quest reward.”

  He led them to a display of weapons and gestured to the first option. “Standard sword and shield,” he said. “Basic protection, balanced defense and offense.”

  Velos nodded. “I’ve used these before. The shield came in handy against the Darau, but…” He trailed off, considering. They would be fighting larger and larger monsters—would a shield still be useful, or just dead weight?

  The practicality of it wasn’t lost on him. The shield doubled as a sheath, making it easy to put down, but in what kind of scenario would he need to ditch it mid-fight?

  Feng moved on. “Twin blades. Fast, efficient. I think you’re already familiar.”

  Velos tilted his head. “My previous instructor said there were ‘hidden strengths’ in twin blades. Any idea what she meant?”

  Feng rubbed his chin. “Could be their ability to administer poisons effectively. A thousand cuts from a light weapon coated in venom will do more than a single heavy strike from, say, a two-handed axe—assuming the cuts go deep enough.”

  He pointed to variations on the rack. “Some are designed specifically for stabbing, others are hook blades for more advanced maneuverability.”

  Velos jotted down the details in his notebook, underlining "poisonous substances." The next locale had plenty of those, which could come in handy.

  Feng's voice cut through his thoughts. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he cautioned, his eyes fixed on Velos. "You're not permitted to use any of the advanced variants yet, or any other guild-made concoctions, for that matter."

  He moved them along. “Axes. Good for added impact, and can double as tools for cutting down trees. Sizes vary. Small ones can be thrown. The heavy ones have the most power, but they need two hands and significant strength.”

  Sterling chuckled. “Nothing’s changed for me, then.”

  Feng smiled before pointing to the next rack. “Spears. Best for keeping your distance. Good reach, solid control. You dictate the pace of the fight.”

  Velos nodded. That was a thought. If they encountered creatures with dangerous toxins surrounding them, keeping distance would be a solid strategy. Though he mused, as his training with spears was... practically nonexistent, a glaring gap in his skillset.

  Feng continued. “Standard crossbow is a standard crossbow. Comes with different projectiles—if you’re willing to pay. Tranquilizer darts, explosive rounds, the works.”

  Velos considered it. Crossbows offered great utility. He’d consider carrying one as a secondary, but spending money on specialized ammo wasn’t on his to-do list right now.

  “Bows require a lot of training to use,” Feng added. “Not recommended for most slayers. Great archers are rare in the Division, but I’ve seen one.”

  Velos raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

  “A Drakari one-mark named Pyakar. Borrowed a bow recently. Seems pretty good at it, too.”

  Velos mentally cursed their luck. They’d had a skilled archer practically in their grasp, a Drakari no less. Velos made a mental note of that. Drakari islanders were known for their distinct features – he'd have to keep that in mind the next time they went looking for her.

  Velos took a step forward. “What about ignition weapons?”

  Feng glanced at him, then shook his head. “Most ignition weapons aren’t authorized for you two.”

  Sterling turned to Velos. “Ignition weapons?”

  “You’ve never seen one?”

  Sterling shrugged. “Can’t say I have.”

  Velos exhaled. “They’re weapons with built-in mechanisms that let them discharge an explosive payload on impact. Some release incendiary substances to use against flame-vulnerable creatures, others inject freezing agents to crack through tough shells.”

  Sterling raised an eyebrow. “Sounds expensive.” Then, with a smirk, he elbowed Velos. “But you could probably afford one if you wanted.”

  Velos was caught off guard by the remark. If it was a joke, the timing was questionable.

  Then something clicked in his mind. “You said ‘most’ ignition weapons, Quartermaster Feng.”

  Feng nodded. “That’s right. One-mark slayers aren’t permitted to use most of them. But there is an exception.”

  He led them to a display case and gestured to a shortsword resting inside. It was compact but sturdy, its hilt fitted with a set of gears and small vials sectioned near the wielder’s grip. The vial slot was clearly meant to be filled with explosive substances. Velos eyed the blade, noting that it was just about his size.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Ignition shortswords,” Feng explained. “They can be used by one-mark slayers, but only with clearance. No permit, no weapon.”

  Velos tilted his head. “So, only certain quests allow them?”

  “Exactly,” Feng confirmed. “Some missions require more firepower, but they don’t just hand these out to anyone.”

  Velos stared at the case, considering the possibilities.

  “Alright,” Feng clapped his hands. “Weapons are important, but these,” he gestured, “these are what will give you the edge.”

  Feng set a row of small glass bottles on the table, each filled with a thick, jade-colored liquid. “These are your standard-issue healing elixirs,” he explained. “Made from natural reagents and monster materials. They boost your body’s natural healing process.” He tapped one of the bottles with a fingernail. “Won’t regrow a lost limb or anything, but it’ll close up wounds fast, stop bleeding, and leave only faint scars. Also gives you an energy kick—enough to get you back on your feet in a pinch.”

  Velos observed the elixirs for a moment before glancing at Feng. “Can I take a look?”

  Feng nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Velos picked up one of the bottles. It was small enough to fit in his palm, its cylindrical glass smooth and cool to the touch. He turned it over, watching the thick liquid inside shift sluggishly. No label. No markings. Just an ordinary-looking vial holding something that could decide between life and death.

  Feng reached under the table and pulled out a leather sling with snug compartments, designed to hold multiple bottles. “This comes with it,” he said. “Carries up to five at a time.”

  Velos tested the weight of the elixir in his hand. “How many are we allowed to bring per quest?”

  “Depends on the job,” Feng said. “But usually, you get one free elixir per person.”

  Sterling raised an eyebrow. “Per person?” Then his expression shifted. “Seriously? If it's 'free,' that means it's cheap as dirt.” He crossed his arms and gave Feng a curious look. “What's the garbage they brewed up in this thing?”

  Feng shrugged. “No clue. If you’re looking for the recipe, you’d have to ask the Guild Alchemists in the Research Division.”

  Sterling snorted. “Figures.” He turned to Velos, smirking. “Not curious, Doc?”

  Velos’ grip on the bottle tightened slightly, but he didn’t look up. “Doesn’t matter,” he said flatly. “It just works.”

  Sterling's smirk disappeared. He looked away, a quiet huh escaping him. He didn't pursue it, but the moment hung in the air.

  Feng gestured to a row of armor pieces lined up on a wooden rack. “Alright, let’s talk protection. Basic armors come in a few varieties—light, medium, and heavy. You’re both already wearing what suits you best, so I doubt this will change much.”

  Velos barely listened. He already knew what he’d be wearing—the same leather vest as before. Lightweight, flexible, allowed him to stay nimble. Anything heavier would just slow him down. He glanced at Sterling, still standing there in his plate armor. Had he always worn that thing, even inside HQ? Shouldn’t he take it off when they weren’t on duty? Didn’t it get heavy?

  Or was it barely heavy for him?

  Velos found himself staring, caught up in the idle thought of just what Sterling is—

  “—which is why armor materials matter.”

  Feng’s voice snapped him back into focus. Velos blinked and turned his attention back to the quartermaster.

  “As you move up in rank,” Feng continued, “you’ll get authorization to process monster materials into equipment—armor, weapons, elixirs, you name it. And trust me, armor’s a big deal. Say you take down a fire-breathing beast—chances are, the hide you carve off that thing is going to be fireproof too. Process it right, and now you’ve got yourself armor that’ll help you take a blast head-on.”

  Sterling nodded, intrigued. “Noted.” Then, he glanced at Feng. “You ever cut up a monster before?”

  Feng scoffed. “Hell no. I leave that to the slayers and retrieval teams.”

  Sterling chuckled. “Figured.”

  Velos stayed quiet, but the thought lingered. Armor from monsters… It made sense, but something about it felt oddly impersonal. Wearing something carved from a creature they’d slain, shaping it into a tool to survive the next fight—it was just part of the job. But still…

  He ran a thumb over the leather of his vest, lost in thought again.

  —

  The armory door swung shut behind them, sealing off the dimly lit chamber and its countless tools of war. Neither of them had taken any weapons tonight—there was no rush. They could return whenever they wanted.

  But Velos had already decided. He’d be carrying the same crossbow as before, with twin blades at his sides. He still had no proper knowledge of poisons, and their next outing was unlikely to involve anything too large to handle. That meant he’d finally get some practice in—just clean, close-quarters work with steel in hand.

  Sterling, of course, was Sterling. He needed nothing else.

  Outside, the Heartland sector had settled into its late-night rhythm. Slayers trickled back to their cabins, their voices low and heavy with exhaustion. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of damp stone and distant woodfires. It was about time Velos checked out the one-mark cabins himself. He was already planning his route—until Sterling called his name.

  Velos turned.

  "Follow me," Sterling said simply.

  There was no explanation, no elaboration—just an expectation that Velos would comply. He hesitated for only a moment before sighing and falling into step beside him.

  They walked, veering away from the main paths, away from the cabins and the soft hum of voices. The further they went, the quieter the Heartland became.

  Velos tried to make small talk. "So, where exactly—"

  "You’ll see," Sterling cut in.

  It wasn’t rude, but it left no room for further questions.

  So Velos walked in silence, the only sounds their boots against the dirt and the occasional wind curling through the trees. Soon, the terrain shifted—ground sloping upwards, stone replacing soil. And then they emerged onto the cliffside.

  Velos slowed, glancing around.

  The structures here were old—abandoned rooms built into the cliff’s edge, long since left to time. They loomed, empty and quiet, their doors half-rotted, their windows dark voids. Beyond them, the cliff overlooked a lake, its waters a perfect mirror beneath the night sky.

  Stillness.

  Velos exhaled, watching the lake ripple as the wind disturbed its glassy surface. He almost allowed himself to relax. Almost.

  Then the thought struck him.

  If something happened to me here…

  His fingers curled instinctively, tensing.

  No one would know.

  No one could even hear him scream.

  His body reacted before his mind could catch up—he turned sharply, stepping back, away from Sterling. His pulse pounded in his ears. "Where are we?"

  Sterling didn’t answer.

  Not immediately.

  Instead, he lifted his hands, undoing the clasps at his neck. Metal scraped against itself as he pulled his helmet free.

  Velos’ stomach dropped.

  Even in the low light, he saw them—those inhuman features that were more akin to the monsters they fought.

  Velos’ breath hitched. He stepped back again, his heel nearly brushing the edge of the cliff.

  Sterling didn’t move. Didn’t make any sudden gestures. He just met Velos’ gaze, unreadable.

  Then, at last, he spoke.

  "Let’s talk."

  Slayer's Notes

  Property of Velos Rendhal

  Healing Elixirs

  Healing Elixirs are one of the few things keeping slayers like me from becoming names on a wall. You pop the cap, chug it down, and within moments, wounds start to close, bleeding slows to a stop, and you get this jolt—like someone kicked your heart awake. Each elixir is a concoction, a blend of aggressively potent herbs that seem to push the body beyond its normal capacity for regeneration. These are combined with materials harvested from monsters possessing extraordinary healing abilities. The precise science escapes me; the result feels less like alchemy and more like a miracle.

  Still, even the strongest elixir isn’t a cure-all. I copied down a list from an old alchemist’s journal—tucked it in my notebook, figured it’d be worth knowing what these things can and can’t do.

  Effective Against:

  - Lacerations, puncture wounds, bite marks, and most claw injuries.

  Moderate Success:

  - Concussions, bruises, sprains, burns (minor), mild venom exposure, and mild freezing damage.

  Unreliable or Useless:

  - Broken bones, crushed limbs, internal bleeding, organ damage, severe burns, potent venom, acid.

  Doesn’t mean we stop fighting. I’ve seen a guy down an elixir with a broken rib sticking out his side. The body is still human. The fight doesn’t care.