Hope inhaled deeply as he focused inward, summoning the dagger from his Soul Sea for the first time.
A flicker of essence surged through his body, and in the next instant, the weapon materialized in his grasp.
But instead of a single blade, two appeared—one in each hand.
His eyes widened slightly as he examined them.
One dagger gleamed with a deep, almost liquid blue, its blade smooth and cold to the touch, its edges lined with intricate wave-like engravings that seemed to shift when he moved it. The other was a striking red, its metal slightly darker, almost as if it had been tempered in fire, the patterns on its surface resembling flowing flames.
Both daggers had curved, serrated edges near the base, perfect for rending flesh, and their hilts were wrapped in dark leather, providing a firm grip. Despite their solid appearance, they felt almost weightless in his hands.
Hope spun them experimentally, shifting his fingers along the hilts to test their balance. The way they moved—fluid, effortless—was unlike anything he had ever held before.
He had wielded makeshift weapons before—rusted pipes, broken glass, the occasional stolen pocket knife—but this was different. These daggers were alive in a way that those crude tools weren't. They responded to his intent, shifting in his grip like extensions of his own body.
Kelvin, who had been watching him closely, raised an eyebrow.
"Looks like they suit you," he commented.
Hope didn't respond immediately. He ran his thumb along the blue blade, feeling the faint hum of power beneath its surface.
"Are you used to weapons like this?" Kelvin asked.
Hope exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."
He hesitated, then added, "I never had the money to learn any fighting arts. The only weapon I ever owned was a pocket knife, and even that was barely sharp enough to cut through cloth."
He wasn't embarrassed by the admission. The outskirts weren't the kind of place where kids had the luxury of training in proper combat. If you wanted to fight, you either learned on the streets or didn't survive long enough to make it matter.
Kelvin nodded in understanding. "That's fine. These daggers are meant for speed and precision, not brute force. You're not a brawler—you won't be standing toe-to-toe with that thing."
He crouched and traced a rough outline on the dirt, drawing a crude representation of their target. "The centaur is going to be a nightmare up close. It's bigger, stronger, and a hell of a lot tougher than we are. If it lands a hit, you won't get a second chance. That means you'll need to do what you do best—avoid getting hit."
Hope's grip on the daggers tightened slightly.
Kelvin continued, "Wait for an opening, then hit it with everything you've got. The dagger is an Awakened weapon of the 3rd Tier, so it should at least be able to leave a wound on the bastard. If we can make it bleed, we can kill it."
Hope studied the dirt sketch. He wasn't sure how much damage his attack would do, but he understood one thing—he wouldn't be facing this thing head-on. That was Kelvin's job.
"Got it," he said, then dismissed the daggers back into his Soul Sea.
The weapons dissolved into shimmering particles of essence, sinking into his body like they had never existed in the first place.
He still wasn't used to how Memories worked—how something so real could disappear and return at will—but now wasn't the time to ask questions.
The fight was coming. And if he wanted to survive, he needed to be ready.