The Academy’s Weapon Replicator - Chapter 163

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Weapon Replicator of the Academy 163
Chapter 53: Divine Artifact (4)
“—It’s done.”
At last, Frontdier finished the 3D Blueprint.
He’d drawn every line of the workshop’s orthographic projection without a single omission, so there would be nothing lacking.
Binkis approached and examined the completed blueprint with meticulous care.
“…You really did draw it.”
“Of course.”
Frontdier answered matter-of-factly. He’d been asked to draw it, so he had. As though fulfilling an obvious task.
Yet for Binkis, it was anything but obvious.
‘Perfect. The spacing, the lengths, the fit between components—not a single line out of place. Flawless.’
And above all, the moment Binkis laid eyes on it, her intuition spoke.
This Artifact was genuine. Unmistakably functional. Its capabilities would certainly match what Frontdier described. To someone like Binkis, who could perceive the blueprint’s structure with such clarity, the underlying principle was already half-apparent.
‘What in the world is this boy?’
Binkis felt something beyond mere admiration toward Frontdier—a creeping unease.
The Frontdier she’d met during finals was, like everyone at Constellation, unmistakably a swordsman. Formidable technique, real strength, and a sharp mind. Moreover, he was the owner of the notorious “Fireworks” that rumor followed everywhere.
Yet what he displayed today was the complete opposite—talent more suited to a craftsman or researcher.
Could one person genuinely possess multiple talents to such a degree, and all at this caliber? Binkis had observed many students called geniuses over the years, but never one like Frontdier.
Ellin Evans, hailed as the finest swordsman, lacked sufficient Mana reserves, and Elody, who bore the name “Inies,” though favored by five deities, remained unpolished—her power control still rough.
More than anything, those called geniuses typically excelled in only one field.
Even Aster, destined to become humanity’s hero, was a genius only as a swordsman. Every talent he possessed was necessary to and excellent for his role as a swordsman, which is why Aster earned the title of genius.
Binkis had never encountered someone who, like Frontdier, displayed talent across entirely different domains—and not even in combat.
‘…What if, from Frontdier’s perspective, it’s all the same field?’
Binkis paused in thought. If the talents of the students she’d observed were merely scattered abilities suited to various domains, each earning their praise, then could Frontdier’s chaotic-seeming versatility actually be converging toward a single point?
And if so, what would Frontdier become at the end of that singular point?
“Um, teacher. Would you take a look at this blueprint?”
“Ah, yes! Of course.”
Frontdier spoke first, as though noticing Binkis’s distraction. She brushed away her reverie and examined the blueprint.
“Hmm. So it works this way. I thought it would be more like a faucet, but instead you’ve used concentration. Mana isn’t visible before it manifests, but it’s certainly material. By using that concentration as the standard, you determine the mana output. In other words, the mana is already filtered before the user fully activates the spell.”
Binkis murmured as she studied the blueprint. Of course, Frontdier understood almost none of it. Despite being the one who’d drawn it.
“Would it be possible to modify this armband to hold the Heukcheon?”
“We’d have to try, but it should be feasible. Though liquid is naturally heavier than Mana, so we’ll need to focus on weight reduction. We’ll also need to extend the length for spatial expansion and carve in a Magic Circle.”
At Binkis’s words, Daud crossed his arms and let out a dismissive snort.
“As long as there’s room to draw a circle.”
It was reassuring. Binkis smiled faintly and spoke.
“Well then, shall we begin?”

* * *
While Binkis and Daud revised the 3D Blueprint, Frontdier sat across from Edwin.
Edwin examined Frontdier’s hands quietly. Specifically, his fingertips.
“Hmm, this should be good enough to use for Fingerprint Recognition.”
“There are cases where you can’t use fingerprints?”
“Quite a few. Worn away too much and barely visible, or disappeared entirely. It’s rare among students, but you see it fairly often at Constellation. Must’ve trained them relentlessly before entrance. Can’t imagine what for, though.”
Edwin now picked up the Necklace Frontdier had brought.
“When you use the Necklace, remember the back surface here. Of course, we’ll make a new one, but there won’t be major design changes. Going forward, you just press your finger on this spot to break it.”
“Does it matter which finger?”
“No. I’ll input all ten fingerprints from both hands.”
Edwin spoke so casually that Frontdier was momentarily confused. Was it really that simple? But seeing Saiber’s slack jaw beside him suggested otherwise.
“Fingerprint Recognition—how fascinating.”
Fingerprint Recognition felt so modern that Frontdier voiced his honest admiration.
In the meantime, Edwin was holding something like a Lens to Frontdier’s fingers, flowing Mana into it. He seemed to be recording the fingerprints. Though it wasn’t entirely clear.
“It’s just magnified observation and recording using Magic, so there’s nothing particularly mystifying about it. In terms of principle, it’s simpler than creating flames. The important part is the handling. Even with Magic, you need consistent Mana uniformity while applying the Mana in the thinnest layer possible. It’s more technique than Magic, really. That’s why so few people do it.”
As Edwin explained, he verified each of Frontdier’s fingers in turn and moved on.
“All right, left hand now.”
“…That was all it took?”
“Yep.”
At Edwin’s terse reply, Frontdier found himself speechless and extended his left hand.
‘This man probably never had need for inferiority in the first place.’
“…Frontdier.”
Edwin opened his mouth while still illuminating the fingers with the Lens.
“What do you think of the gods?”
“……Sorry?”
“You’ve met Hephaestus. You’ve even fought against him, indirectly. I thought your perspective might differ from most people’s.”
It was Saiber, standing beside him, who actually paid close attention to Edwin’s words.
Saiber remembered what Frontdier had said in front of the Sanctum.
-I don’t believe in gods. Because I don’t believe in fate.
That statement had become a turning point for Saiber’s worldview. She had felt ashamed of her own complacent thinking—that everything would somehow work out on its own—and came to understand that even if she received help, her life had to remain entirely her own.
But what of Frontdier himself? What kind of life had he lived, what path had he walked, that he could speak such words?
“……I don’t really hold any particular opinion about what the gods are.”
“That in itself is a problematic statement.”
Edwin replied with a laugh.
Frontdier thought for a moment. There was Thanatos, who had tried to kill him at first; then Hephaestus, who had controlled Edwin; Ares, Renzo’s god; and even Hestia.
At first, he had held nothing but dislike for the gods of this world. It was only natural. He couldn’t tell if they hated Weaving itself or hated Frontdier as a person. Either way, it seemed all the gods wanted was to kill him.
But Hestia had said something different. The gods themselves stood in opposing factions. He didn’t know what those factions opposed, but Hestia had proven it by helping him.
She had met him knowing he would save her Hearth.
Divine conflict. Which side, if any, stood with Frontdier, he couldn’t say. It was possible neither did.
Yet it was enough to shift his thinking, even slightly.
“If I had to say,”
Frontdier finished his thought and spoke.
“the gods are rather… human.”
Their opposing positions unable to reconcile. Seeing Thanatos, he learned that a god could harbor murderous intent toward a single human. Seeing Hephaestus, he came to know divine hatred and divine rage. From Hestia, he received information and felt kindness.
All of it had prevented him from seeing the gods as gods anymore. Perhaps it was because he had never believed in them from the start that he could hold such impressions now.
“……Heh.”
Edwin let out a small laugh at those words. He smiled, genuinely pleased.
But then his expression grew somewhat serious, and he spoke.
“If you’re serious about that, be careful of temples and their worshippers from now on.”
“……Temples.”
“For gods to manifest in the human world, certain conditions must be met. But temples have already satisfied several of those conditions. If a god pushes hard enough, they can manifest within a temple.”
As Edwin said, gods had already manifested in temples many times. It was far more direct and potent a display of divine power than a god appearing in the Sanctum itself. Thanatos, who had appeared to kill Frontdier, was the closest parallel.
There were several famous temples across the continent. In particular, the Parthenon Temple still stands in perfect, unblemished form.
“This is just a hunch, but I don’t think you’re only hated by Hephaestus.”
His intuition was remarkably sharp.
Frontdier felt something off and asked.
“I’ve been curious since earlier—you don’t use formal speech with Hephaestus either.”
“…….”
“……Don’t tell me you’re like me too. That you……”
Edwin shifted his gaze from Frontdier’s fingers to meet his eyes directly. Mischief danced across his smiling face.
“That’s a secret.”

* * *
Once Frontdier’s fingerprint registration was complete, Binkis determined the design’s direction and began work.
But it seemed it would take longer than initially planned.
‘I can’t head to Yeran Hess carrying a finished artifact.’
Angen had said it would take more than two weeks even after the full seven-day preparation period he’d mentioned. Frontdier asked that the artifact be sent to Yeran Hess as soon as it was complete.
He’d never expected to obtain Heukcheon the moment he arrived in Yeran Hess anyway. The Fragment of Helheim lay beyond the Barrier, and there was no chance Angen would allow him to go there.
If the artifact was certain to be completed within this winter break, it would be wise to simply lie low in Yeran Hess until then. Frontdier wasn’t desperate enough to want to die.
Frontdier picked up his phone. Multiple messages had arrived.
Unlike last summer break, this time Frontdier had told most people he was heading to Yeran Hess. Of course, he’d emphasized that it wasn’t to break through the Barrier, but to train under the Roach Knights.
Most people had sent messages of encouragement. This time, it didn’t seem like Saiber or Aten would be coming with him.
But one message paused him.
[Just don’t die.]
It was from Elody.
It looked like a simple message mixing concern and support, but another message came through.
[I know you’re going to push yourself too hard.]
Sharp, as if she could predict his every move.
Frontdier tried to respond.
[I won’t push myself.]
[Don’t lie.]
It was an immediate reply.
Then another message came through. This one was rather unexpected.
[And this time, I won’t say anything either.]
[Huh?]
At the question, the messages stopped coming for a moment.
Had something urgent come up? Just as that thought crossed his mind, another message arrived.
[I’m going to push myself this time too.]
“…….”
Frontdier closed his mouth.
Elody, who was already more than powerful enough, pushing herself to the limit—he couldn’t quite imagine what would happen.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
Unable to actually send that as a message, Frontdier muttered it to himself.
Frontdier was unaware of one crucial fact: how different the game was from the current situation.
Among Constellation Academy’s first-year students, both Aster and Elody were universally acknowledged geniuses. Moreover, they were already the top in their respective fields among first-years.
Aster had Rohwald coming up behind him, and Elody had Runia and Aten, but for now there was still a visible gap between them and those two.
So while both possessed a natural disposition to never slack on training, being the strongest also meant their motivation was correspondingly weaker.
Within Constellation’s environment alone, they would make efforts, but they wouldn’t break through to any level beyond a certain point.
Though a player controlled Aster, the player only moved along efficient routes—they couldn’t change Aster’s fundamental mindset. And so there were limits to his growth curve.
But Frontdier’s arrival changed that complacent thinking.
During the Second Semester’s midterms and finals, Frontdier had deliberately adjusted his rankings. As long as he didn’t fall out of Angen’s favor, he had no reason to aim higher. And those who knew about Frontdier were aware he had deliberately modulated his performance.
In Elody and Aster’s eyes, Frontdier’s true ability was immeasurable. So they had no room to relax. The titles of top in each field were merely hollow words on paper.
To defeat Frontdier. To stand as his equal.
In their minds’ eye, Frontdier had already become an insurmountable wall.
To overcome that wall, they would spare no effort, holding nothing back.
Aster hadn’t sent Frontdier a message, but what he intended was little different from Elody’s resolve. If anything, his silence spoke volumes about his determination.
“……Well then.”
Unaware of this truth, Frontdier simply moved forward, slowly.
“Shall we go, Yeran Hess.”
Taking another step to change the game’s future.
Even in places he knew nothing of, the future had begun to shift.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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