[To get your true weapon, the first step is to find a connection with the Mana Heart. And in this location, with you just forming your mana core, I'd say this is perfect timing…]
[It's all based on spirituality, your spirit sense. Let's put it like this; in a sense, mana has a heart. It can feel. If not, it would be lifeless, unmoving. Its heart is the reason why when one commands, it moves.]
Bruce gave a slow nod, absorbing every word.
The crystal continued, its glow steady and warm. [Okay now… try to find the connection between mana and its heart. Then, after that, form a bond with the Mana Heart itself.]
Bruce took a deep breath. He lowered himself to a seated position, folding his legs and closing his eyes. The world around him dimmed as he drew his awareness inward. The soft hum of energy that filled the air grew louder in his mind, faint at first, then clearer, like the beating of something ancient and alive.
He could feel the mana drifting through the air, gentle currents flowing in harmony, like a quiet sea beneath moonlight. He focused deeper, peeling away distraction after distraction, searching for the pulse that tied it all together.
Time became meaningless.
And then… he felt it.
A faint throb, distant yet undeniable, the heart of mana. It was subtle, almost shy at first, then it began to synchronize with his breathing. Every inhale seemed to draw it closer, every exhale pulled him deeper into its rhythm. His body felt lighter, his veins tingling as the flow of energy brushed against his spirit.
The more he reached for it, the more it reached back.
Until finally;
A rush of warmth surged through him. His core pulsed in response, resonating with that same rhythm. For a moment, he wasn't sure where his mana ended and where the world's began. It was as though he and the mana were two hearts beating as one, a perfect sync between soul and source.
Bruce's eyes opened slowly. The world around him looked… different. The air shimmered faintly, the colors sharper, the energy alive and breathing in tune with him. He felt grounded yet limitless, fragile yet immensely powerful.
He glanced toward the floating diamond crystal, still glowing with calm authority.
"So," he exhaled softly, voice steady but carrying awe. "What's next?"
[Tell it to form your true weapon.]
Bruce nodded lightly, taking a slow breath before diving inward once again. Now that he had connected with the Mana Heart, he could feel it, not as some mindless energy, but as something living, aware, and… listening. He could speak to it, and it would answer.
'Mana Heart… form my true weapon.'
The response came instantly.
The very mana within that radiant core region convulsed, converging toward a single point before him. A brilliant explosion of color burst forth, not just ordinary light, but a spectrum so wide that it defied comprehension. Hues that had no name danced before his eyes, merging and splitting in waves of divine luminescence.
For a few seconds, the entire space was swallowed by that brilliance. Then, gradually, the light began to fade…
What remained floating before Bruce left him speechless.
Two dagger-like scalpels hovered silently in the air, sleek, deadly, and mesmerizingly beautiful.
His eyes widened, a spark of pure joy flashing within them. It was like a loyal hound being reunited with its favorite toy.
"Two scalpels… two red scalpels, t-this… this is perfect." His voice trembled with excitement, unable to hold it back.
Each scalpel gleamed with a dark, metallic red, fine runes etched across their surface in intricate patterns that seemed to breathe on their own. The red hue wasn't flat; it pulsed, like molten blood flowing through veins, radiating a faint dark aura that curled through the air. The craftsmanship wasn't something mortal hands could achieve. It was art. It was power given form.
Bruce was entranced. He reached out instinctively, and as though they'd been waiting for his touch, both scalpels shot into his hands with magnetic precision, like iron drawn to its destined master.
The instant his fingers closed around them, warmth spread through his palms, coursing up his arms like an old bond rekindled. They felt right. Balanced, familiar, alive. With scalpels like these, Bruce could swear he'd be able to operate for days straight without exhaustion that was how perfectly they fit his hands, his rhythm, his very soul.
Yet beneath that perfection, he could feel something else, an edge, a hunger. The scalpels pulsed faintly, almost like they were breathing with him. There was a bloodthirsty intent buried deep within their core, subtle but undeniable.
He swallowed hard. "These things…" he muttered under his breath, "…they're alive."
He could feel their excitement, a mutual pulse between wielder and weapon.
This was no ordinary creation. No, he had gravely underestimated what a true weapon really meant, even after Vaelith's warnings. This wasn't just a forged tool of war; it was a fragment of his will, his essence, given shape by the heart of mana itself.
It was boundless… limitless.
And for the first time, Bruce realized that the weapon had chosen him just as much as he had called for it.
[This weapon, with its thirst for blood… it must be a manifestation of your hidden desire.] Vaelith's tone carried a hint of intrigue, the crystal's light pulsing faintly. [I find it surprising that for a healer such as yourself, your fascination with blood runs so deep that your true weapon was born with the ability to evolve by devouring it.]
Bruce let out a long sigh, running his thumb along the flat edge of one scalpel. The weapon hummed faintly, almost in response to his touch.
'Well… back on Earth,' he mused inwardly, 'in cases of severe injuries or diseases, the kind I specialized in, you had to cut to heal. Surgery was never clean. Blood was inevitable. In fact… seeing blood was my greatest comfort. My greatest hobby, even.'
His lips twitched slightly, half a smile, half a shadow of something deeper.
'While I never admitted it out loud, it was one of the few things that kept me going. The rhythm of a beating heart under my palms… the sight of blood flowing but life still clinging on, it gave me purpose. Without that… I wouldn't have become the number one surgeon.'
He exhaled softly, the scalpels glinting in the dim light as he stared into them—almost seeing himself reflected back.
'But now that I think about it,' his thoughts continued, quieter this time, 'it's a good thing I channeled that obsession the right way. Otherwise… I could've easily turned into something else entirely, a bloodthirsty SSS-ranked assassin… or maybe just another serial killer who enjoyed the sight of crimson for all the wrong reasons.'
The scalpels thrummed faintly again, as though amused by his confession.
Bruce chuckled under his breath. "Guess it's true what they say, everyone's got their demons," he murmured, "mine just happen to take the form of scalpels."
The faint crimson aura around the blades pulsed once, in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat.