The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 98: Forging Your Own Path

The cafeteria was quiet, except for the occasional clink of chopsticks against bowls.

Jin ate in steady, slow bites, feeling the food settle into the hollow ache of his body. Simple stuff—rice, soup, a few fried eggs, pickled vegetables. Nothing fancy. Nothing heavy. But after what he’d been through, it tasted better than any feast.

Seul sat across from him, arms resting loosely on the table. She wasn’t hovering, but her eyes flicked to him every few seconds, checking. Joon and Echo were nearby too, leaning against the windowsills, their conversation low, drifting in and out of earshot.

Some of the recruits—Areum, Hanuel, Doyun—huddled at another table, half-eating, half-watching him like he might collapse again if they blinked wrong.

He didn’t blame them.

A few hours ago, they thought he was dead or at the very least dying.

Now... he was just tired. Heavy in a way that food couldn’t fix.

Jin pushed the last of the rice into his mouth and sat back, exhaling slow through his nose.

The weight in his chest hadn’t lifted. It had just settled deeper, quieter.

"Done?" Seul asked quietly.

Jin nodded once.

She stood up without another word, smoothing out her jacket with a sharp tug. Joon straightened from where he was slouched, and Echo gave a mock-salute before shoving himself off the wall.

"Alright, everyone," Jin said, raising his voice slightly. "Outside. Training ground."

The recruits scrambled up fast enough to knock their chairs over. Areum cursed softly under her breath, rushing to catch hers before it clattered.

Seul smiled faintly. Joon rolled his eyes and muttered something about "rookies," but he was already moving.

They filed outside into the morning light, the courtyard stretching wide around them. The ground was cracked, some places overgrown with stubborn grass and weeds, but it was still their space. Their territory.

Their ground to build on.

Jin waited until everyone had gathered, the sunlight catching on steel and glass as the recruits adjusted their weapons. He let the silence hang for a moment, the tension soft but present.

Then he spoke.

"Today’s going to be different."

The recruits stiffened slightly.

"Normally we’d be running drills," Jin said. "Practicing forms. Dueling. Seeing what works."

He paused.

"But that’s not enough anymore."

They looked at him, frowning, confused.

"You all have different skills. Different bodies. Different instincts. Trying to force you into one style—into our styles—would be wrong."

He glanced at Joon, Seul, Echo. They nodded slightly, silently backing him.

"You’re not supposed to copy me. Or them. You’re supposed to find the way you move. The way you fight. What feels natural. What makes sense to you."

He let the words settle. Let them breathe.

Areum shifted her weight from foot to foot, her hand brushing the edge of her glass-forged blade. Hanuel looked thoughtful, his eyes flickering back and forth between the others. Doyun chewed his lip, restless but attentive.

"This morning," Jin continued, "you’re working on that."

"Here and at the gym," Seul added smoothly. "We’ll split into groups."

"You’ll push your bodies," Joon said. "Test your limits."

"And figure out what kind of fighters you really are," Echo finished.

Jin smiled slightly. Small. Real.

It wasn’t about barking orders. It wasn’t about drilling forms into them like machines.

It was about building them into something solid. Something real. ƒreewebɳovel.com

Something the world couldn’t knock over.

He shifted his stance slightly, feeling the pull of the broken katana at his side.

Muramasa’s voice echoed in the back of his mind.

Stop copying.

Start becoming.

Jin wasn’t stupid enough to think he could lead anyone else down a path he hadn’t even found yet himself.

He had his own work to do.

He turned to Seul briefly. "You and Joon take a group to the gym. Strength and endurance. Power building."

She nodded. No hesitation.

"Echo, stay here with the others," Jin said. "Work on mobility. Control. Ability integration."

Echo gave a quick thumbs-up, already corralling the teens with a few easy jokes and a flick of his hand.

Jin watched them split off naturally, without confusion or chaos.

Good.

That left him with his next move.

He caught Echo’s eye briefly and jerked his head toward the school building.

Echo frowned but didn’t question it. Just nodded once.

Jin slipped away from the training grounds, his steps steady but his mind turning.

He wasn’t just training anymore.

He was learning.

He needed to.

The memory of Muramasa cutting through him like a whisper was still fresh. Too fresh.

If Jin was going to fight with a sword... really fight... he couldn’t just rely on instinct anymore. Or skill mimicry. Or system buffs.

He needed a foundation.

He needed understanding.

The hallways of the school were cool and empty as he made his way toward the old library. Dust floated in shafts of light cutting through cracked windows. Somewhere far off, he could hear the muted thud of footsteps, laughter, metal on metal—his people, training.

Good.

He reached the library doors and pushed them open with a quiet groan of rusted hinges.

The space inside smelled of old paper, ink, and something faintly metallic—blood memory, maybe, soaked into the bones of the building after everything they’d been through.

Rows of sagging shelves lined the room, half-full, half-forgotten. Textbooks. Manuals. Handwritten notes from a world that had tried to survive the Collapse.

Jin moved through the aisles slowly, fingertips brushing the spines.

Science. History. Mechanics.

Then—closer to the back—combat theory.

Martial arts.

Tactics.

And there, tucked between a tattered strategy book and a half-burned field manual—

Swordsmanship.

He pulled the first battered book free carefully, thumbing through yellowed pages.

Handwritten annotations filled the margins—old instructors scribbling notes, adding corrections, arguing with dead authors.

It felt real.

It felt solid.

Jin grabbed two more books from the shelf—one on traditional forms, another on blade philosophy.

He carried them to the nearest table, dust puffing up under his hand as he set them down.

No system prompt. No skill window.

Just paper. Ink. Thought.

He flipped open the first book, the old spine creaking.

Diagrams. Descriptions. Principles.

Everything he didn’t have yet.

Good.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowing in concentration.

If he was going to wield a sword—

He was going to understand it first.

And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.