The night was still, save for the soft creak of aged wooden beams and the occasional drip of water echoing from somewhere within the vast expanse of the shop. Moonlight bled through, casting faint silver trails that illuminated the intricate carvings etched into the structure.
The shop itself seemed alive, not in the eerie, unsettling way a haunted house might, but with a quiet hum of ancient knowledge lingering in the air. Every rune, every embedded crystal, pulsed faintly, like the steady heartbeat of something far older than Guldrin could fathom.
Most of the others had retired for the night. Shiro had curled up beneath a pile of blankets, her hair sprawled messily across the pillow, while Ino rested with a peaceful rhythm to her breathing.
Shizune had also finally settled, though the traces of conversation and murmured plans still lingered in the air.
Tsunade and Schnee had fallen asleep holding each other and giggling, alcohol does that to people.
But for Guldrin, sleep was a distant concept. There was too much to uncover, too much waiting in the depths of this place.
The shop's endless corridors twisted and wound like the branches of an ancient tree, leading Guldrin deeper into its heart. Every step he took echoed softly against the polished stone and dark wood floors, the gentle sound swallowed by the vast emptiness that surrounded him.
Dim lanterns, suspended by delicate, most likely handcrafted chains, flickered with an ethereal glow. The flames weren't ordinary; they burned with a pale bluish hue, illuminating the walls in a ghostly light. Shadows danced in their wake, curling along the intricate murals like whispers from a time long past.
A past Guldrin had yet to know.
The carvings told stories, tales of mages wielding unfathomable power, of great battles that shook the heavens, and of kingdoms long forgotten. Figures cloaked in lightning raised their hands toward storm-ridden skies, torrents of energy bursting from their fingertips.
Others stood stoic, holding radiant staves that pulsed with faint golden light. And then there were the somber ones, robed silhouettes draped in shadow, their eyes hollow and empty, runes swirling around them like echoes of ancient spells.
Guldrin traced his fingers along one of the carvings, feeling the cool stone beneath his touch. Despite the countless years that must have passed, the craftsmanship remained immaculate. Each rune was etched with meticulous precision, and though he couldn't read the language, the weight of its meaning pressed down on him.
"Wow," he murmured under his breath, the awe unmistakable in his voice. "This must have taken years to carve… maybe even decades. Then again, with magic involved, who knows? Could've been done in a day. But still, the effort, it's impressive."
The runes responded to his touch. A faint hum resonated beneath his fingertips, like the low thrum of a distant heartbeat. It wasn't sound, not exactly, but something deeper. A presence…? It stirred at the edges of his mind, brushing against his thoughts with the faintest touch. There was no malice, only an ancient curiosity.
Was it his curiosity or something else?
It felt familiar…?
'Weird,' he thought, narrowing his eyes. 'I don't understand the language, but… it's like I've seen it before. Or maybe I dreamt it? No, that's not it. It's like I'm remembering something I was never meant to forget. Or was it the other way? Did I forget?'
The sensation gnawed at him, frustrating and fascinating in equal measure. But as tempting as it was to stay and decipher the carvings, Guldrin knew his purpose, even if he wanted to think deeper about it, that damnable headache would come back, so... For now, he wasn't here to admire the artwork, not yet.
Something far more important awaited him.
The crystallized knowledge Shin had left behind. He'd felt it the moment he entered the shop. A pull. An unrelenting tug at the back of his mind, like a string tied to his very soul.
Who knows, it might be.
"Let's follow that feeling," he muttered, the words slipping out with a grin. "After all, my gut hasn't failed me yet. And if my so-called 'Master' was as clever as I think he was, he probably planned this whole thing out."
He chuckled at the thought, though the sound barely rose above a whisper. The notion of having a master still unsettled him. Guldrin wasn't one to bow easily, not to kings, not to gods, 'Why did I think about gods? I haven't even seen a God…' and certainly not to some long-dead magic blacksmith who thought it would be amusing to leave behind cryptic puzzles. Be that as it may, he still wanted to honor the man who gave him this chance? Whatever Shin had left for him, he would uncover it.
The air grew heavier as he ventured deeper.
'This place is crazy, from the outside it looks smallish, but on the inside, the whole place is massive… I wish I could learn how to do that… Hopefully he left this information behind.'
The walls narrowed slightly, the carvings becoming more intricate, their details sharper as though etched by invisible hands. The faint glow of the lanterns cast wavering shadows across the stone, distorting the figures into ghostly silhouettes. It would have been unnerving, had Guldrin not grown accustomed to the eerie ambiance.
Still, the shop responded to him. Subtle, almost imperceptible changes. The lanterns burned brighter as he passed, as if urging him forward. Doors creaked open without a touch, revealing empty pathways that whispered of memories long forgotten. Even the very floor seemed to shift beneath his feet, aligning his path with unerring precision.
He wasn't merely walking aimlessly
He was being guided.
"Clever," Guldrin muttered with a smirk. "Leaving me breadcrumbs like I'm some storybook hero. You really had this all planned out, didn't you? Well, you were an isekai protagonist, at least that is the feeling I got from your story…"
The sensation intensified, a steady thrum that reverberated through his bones. It was close. He could feel it. The pull was no longer subtle, it was obvious, insistent. Each step brought with it a surge of anticipation, like the final moments before a long-awaited revelation.
And then, at last, he found it.
The doors in front of him loomed like ancient guardians, their presence demanding both reverence and curiosity. Towering slabs of dark metal stood silent, adorned with delicate silver inlays that shimmered like captured stardust.
They weren't merely decorative; the patterns seemed alive, pulsing with a faint glow. At the center, the crescent moon emblem marked its dominance, proud, regal, and commanding. Crystals embedded along the frame pulsed in sync with the beat of his own heart, as if the sanctum itself was aware of his presence.
"My master sure had a passion for eccentric set-ups," Guldrin muttered, half amused and half exasperated. "Subtlety? Never heard of it."
Still, despite the dramatic flair, the doors were undeniably beautiful. His gaze traced the delicate silver lines, marveling at the craftsmanship. Every symbol seemed woven with purpose, like a thousand stories etched into the very metal.
The power sealed within the inscriptions was undeniable, a constant hum that filled the air, thrumming beneath his skin. Yet, there were no handles, no keyholes. No apparent mechanism to grant entry. It was as if the doors mocked him, daring him to understand the ancient magic woven into their frame.
"Well, no turning back now," he sighed, placing his hand against the cool metal.
The reaction was immediate. The runes blazed to life, igniting with a brilliant blue glow. Energy cascaded through the inscriptions, flowing like water down a mountainside. The crystals along the edges pulsed in rhythmic unison, and a low, guttural groan echoed through the chamber. The doors shifted, the ancient mechanisms grinding like forgotten titans awakening from slumber.
With a resounding thud, the path beyond was revealed.
Guldrin's breath caught. "Well… no point in being polite."
He stepped forward, the threshold swallowing him whole.
The library that greeted him was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was vast, impossibly so. Shelves spiraled endlessly upward, vanishing into a sky that defied logic. There was no ceiling, only a boundless abyss speckled with drifting orbs of blue light, like stars scattered across the night sky. The air itself shimmered with a quiet hum, the lingering presence of ancient magic woven into every inch of the space.
Books lined the towering shelves in endless rows. Some appeared pristine, their spines glowing with faint, protective wards. Others bore the scars of time, weathered leather, cracked parchment, and faded ink.
But even they pulsed with life. It was as though the very knowledge within them refused to be forgotten. Some volumes whispered softly, the gentle rustling of pages echoing through the chamber. Others thrummed with faint power, as though aware of his presence.
"Is this…" Guldrin murmured, spinning slowly as he took it all in. "A library?" Whatever it was, it felt alive.
And at the center of it all, standing upon a pedestal carved from flawless obsidian, was the source of the pull.
A single book.
It hovered just above the pedestal, bathed in a soft blue light. Its cover gleamed with silver script, intricate patterns curling along the edges like ivy weaving around an ancient gate. But despite its elegance, the title made Guldrin blink, and then, to his own disbelief, laugh.
"To My Inheritor. Moon Sanctum For Dummies."
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, his voice echoing through the vast emptiness. "Shin, really? This is your grand legacy?"
The absurdity of it lingered for a moment, but so did the curiosity. Humor aside, this was it. The very reason he had felt that unrelenting pull. Whatever knowledge Shin had left behind, it awaited him within these pages.
He approached slowly, his boots tapping softly against the polished floor. With a steady breath, he reached out, his fingers brushing the glowing cover. The warmth that surged through him was immediate. It wasn't like a flame, nor an electric shock. It was… familiar. Comforting. Like the embrace of a long-lost memory.
And then, without warning, the book flipped open.
Pages blurred in a flurry of motion, glowing script cascading like the turning of time itself. The air grew thick with anticipation, and a low hum resonated through the chamber. Finally, the pages settled, and from the depths of the book, a voice emerged.
"Ah, so you've finally made it."
Guldrin stiffened. The voice was unmistakable. It wasn't simply a recording, nor a projection. It was something more, a lingering fragment of Shin's presence, woven into the very essence of the book.
"Before you make unnecessary assumptions," the voice continued, laced with a warmth that was both teasing and fond, "no, I am not here. Yes, I am dead, or gone, or something in between. No, I still don't know who you are. But now that we've cleared that up, let's move on."
"Well, that's… charming," Guldrin muttered, though a smirk tugged at his lips.
The voice held a certain ease, as if Shin had known exactly how this moment would play out. There was no pretense, no dramatics. Just the words of a man who had anticipated everything. And somehow, it was comforting.
"I'm sure you have questions. Good. That means you're not a complete idiot," Shin's voice quipped, his laughter echoing faintly.
"But those can wait. You stand within the library of the Moon Sanctum, my greatest creation. A culmination of knowledge, magic, and a little bit of stubbornness. Congratulations, inheritor. This place is yours now."
The weight of those words settled over Guldrin like a heavy cloak. This place, this unimaginable place, was his, that was… Comforting, and slightly unnerving.
"As for this book," Shin continued, "it will serve as your guide. Not exactly the most refined method, but, well, I like to keep things practical. Besides, I never had much faith in grandiose speeches."
"That makes two of us," Guldrin mumbled.
The pages shifted once more, glowing runes dancing across the parchment. Guldrin felt the subtle tug of magic as knowledge seeped into his mind. Concepts, instructions, memories, all flooding through him like a rushing tide. It wasn't overwhelming, but rather, it was like fitting pieces of a puzzle together. The structure of the sanctum. The purpose of its wards. The history behind its creation.
And yet, it was only the beginning.
"You'll find no shortcuts here," Shin's voice echoed through the vast chamber, the ethereal sound bouncing off the endless shelves of ancient tomes. "No simple spells to grant instant mastery. Power without understanding is a fool's ambition. Learn, question, adapt. That is your path now."
The words struck a chord, resonating deep within Guldrin's chest. There was a heavy truth in them, the kind forged through experience and failure. Shin hadn't built this sanctum for power-hungry fools seeking instant gratification and shortcuts.
"Of course," Shin added with a mischievous lilt, amusement clear in his voice, "if you blow something up within the first week, don't say I didn't warn you. Schnee will scold you like you have never been scolded before, so be careful, and don't overreach without the proper experience."
Guldrin snorted, shaking his head. "Noted."
"The sanctum was built not merely as a shop, but as a living archive. It holds knowledge gathered across my entire world and beyond, sealed within these walls. Some of it will aid you. Some of it will test you. And some…" Shin's voice trailed, a sense of caution creeping in, "some may change you. For good or for worse, you will have to decide that."
Guldrin swallowed hard. He could feel it, the hum of power that radiated from the very air around him. It was intoxicating, alluring even. But it wasn't malevolent. It was… ancient. A thousand voices of knowledge, layered together, waiting to be unraveled. Something deep inside his very core was basking in this feeling like it was a missing piece of the puzzle that was Guldrin.
"First, you'll need to understand the foundations," Shin's voice continued, growing firm once more. "The Moon Sanctum operates on principles of both magic, technology, and will. Every enchantment, every ward, every carving you passed was intentional. Some will guard. Others will guide. And a few… well, let's just say not all of them are friendly."
"Figures, a modern mind would make a modern store, makes sense." Guldrin muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.
"You'll find a trainer forge within the lower chambers, alongside it, you will find a few books, those will be your blacksmithing introductory content." Shin instructed. "But remember, forging is not merely the act of shaping metal. It is the transference of intent. The runes left behind will teach you, though they require patience. They are stubborn. Hopefully, so are you."
The amusement in Shin's voice was undeniable now, as though he took a certain twisted pleasure in the challenges Guldrin would undoubtedly face.
He did, oh he certainly did.
"Study well, inheritor. The sanctum will test you. But if you listen, if you learn, it will also grant you strength. Consider it an entity of its own. I was still fiddling with the idea of creating a spirit for the shop. I did something, or will? Time is weird. Anyway, by your time, I should have made my last attempt at breathing life into the shop. Treat her well, and she will return the favor. Even without the spirit, the shop has a will, a standard, and it will be your task to earn its recognition. It has much to offer, but you must learn how to listen."
The words lingered in the air like smoke, wrapping around him. Guldrin felt an odd sense of reassurance, as though the sanctum itself acknowledged his presence but nothing more.
Despite Shin's absence, there was a presence. It wasn't threatening, no malice, no judgment, just something… watchful. Patient. Curious. Playful? It was like a slumbering guardian, waiting to see if he was worthy.
"Well, Master," Guldrin murmured, running his fingers along the glowing silver lettering of the book, "let's see what your sanctum has to say." He shook his head with a wry smile. "Who am I kidding? It isn't going to speak to me yet."
He closed the book, the warm pulse of its magic fading as it rested within his grasp. The vast library stretched endlessly around him, the shelves towering like monuments to forgotten eras. There was no clear path, no obvious starting point. Only the whispered hum of dormant knowledge, beckoning him to delve deeper. The chamber's air was thick with the scent of old parchment and lingering traces of arcane energy.
But before he could begin his exploration, the sensation of the sanctum's presence grew stronger. It was subtle at first, like a low hum resonating through the walls. The crystals embedded along the stone began to flicker, their soft azure glow pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. Each pulse sent a ripple of energy through the air, making the fine hairs on his arms stand on end.
Then, without warning, a flicker of blue light arced through the air. It twisted and danced like a wisp, coiling into a shape that hovered before him. Slowly, it gathered substance, forming a vaguely humanoid figure.
Ethereal and translucent, it took on the form of a woman. Her flowing hair cascaded like strands of silver mist, shimmering as if woven from moonlight. Her eyes gleamed with soft luminescence, twin moons set within a face of delicate beauty.
She didn't speak. There were no grand introductions or ominous proclamations. In fact, she barely acknowledged him at all. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like the drifting of clouds across the night sky. Without a word, she raised her arm and pointed.
At first, Guldrin saw nothing but the smooth stone wall. But then, as though obeying the silent command, the crystals embedded within it flared to life. The soft blue glow outlined the edges of what had once been concealed. The stone groaned faintly, shifting, twisting. A massive archway emerged, framing a set of ornate doors that hadn't been there a moment before. Runes traced along its surface, pulsating with power.
He blinked. "That wasn't there before."
By the time he looked back at the figure, she was gone. No trace. Like a wisp in the wind.
Chuckling under his breath, he shook his head and stepped toward the newly revealed door. "Okay, I'm not dense enough to miss the obvious. Thank you, Miss Sanctum Spirit. I assume this leads to the forge Master spoke of. Let's see what I'm working with."
The air around him seemed amused, though it was likely just his imagination. He reached out, placing his hand against the cold metal. The door was massive, imposing, yet not unwelcoming. It felt ancient. Not merely in the way old things do, but as though it had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations.
And then, just as he braced himself to push it open, he heard it.
A voice. Ethereal. Playful. Neither purely childish nor entirely adult. It was something in between, like a song caught on the breeze.
"Hehe~ So polite~"
Guldrin froze. His eyes darted around, searching for the source. But no one was there. Just the whispering walls and the rhythmic hum of magic.
"...Okay," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "So you do talk."
No response.
"Figures."
He exhaled sharply, more amused than concerned, and gave the door a solid push. The runes pulsed once in acknowledgment, and with a heavy groan, the massive doors parted.
What awaited him was breathtaking.
The forge chamber was colossal. The vaulted ceiling stretched high above, disappearing into shadow. Massive pillars lined the space, carved with intricate patterns that pulsed faintly with power. The floor beneath him was polished obsidian, gleaming like a dark mirror that reflected the swirling light of suspended crystals.
At the chamber's heart stood the forge itself, a monstrous construct of stone and metal, its basin glowing with molten silver-blue flames. The very air around it shimmered with heat, though it was a comfortable warmth rather than an unbearable blaze.
Chains of runed steel hung from the ceiling, suspending enormous anvils and mechanical arms that moved with deliberate grace. Tools of every imaginable kind lined the walls, each gleaming with the unmistakable presence of enchantments.
There was no denying the forge was calling to him.
Yet for now, there was no trial. No sudden eruption of flames or magical puzzles to solve. Just the lingering hum of the forge and the presence of knowledge that awaited him.
He turned his gaze toward a pedestal near the forge, a single book rested upon it. Bound in thick leather, its cover gleamed under the forge's light, embossed with silver runes.
The title, however, was impossible to miss.
"Forging For Dummies, Part 1 of 10."
Guldrin blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."
He couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at his lips. "Master Shin, you absolute bastard."
He reached for the book, half-expecting it to vanish in a puff of smoke or explode in his face. But no. It was real. Solid. Its magic thrummed beneath his fingertips, the runes along the spine reacting to his touch. There was a comforting warmth to it, as if even the book itself was pleased to be opened once more.
"Let's see what Master's countless years of life left behind as a culmination of his knowledge…"
He flipped the cover open, the pages glowing faintly with enchantment. The script was clean and precise, though it shifted slightly, accommodating to his understanding. No archaic languages or indecipherable glyphs, just clear, straightforward instructions.
The first page greeted him with a familiar voice.
"Welcome, foolishly brave or brilliantly stubborn inheritor! This is your text-to-speech master, the amazing, Shin, here to help you learn the basics."
Guldrin smirked. "Yeah, that tracks."
The voice continued, as though Shin was standing right beside him, barely suppressing his amusement.
"If you're reading this, congratulations! You haven't blown yourself up yet. But don't worry, there's still time for that. Before you go tumbling headfirst into the forge, I'll walk you through the fundamentals. You're holding the first of ten volumes, because apparently, even a genius like me can't explain the wonders of forging in just one book. Shocking, I know. Next to it, there will be a tome labeled, 'Intent to Enhancements.'"
Guldrin rolled his eyes. "Humble as ever. For now, let's look at blacksmithing basics,"
"Now," Reading forward, the voice continued, "there are three core principles to forging. Remember these, or the forge will happily remind you with an explosion to the face. First: Intent. Every creation starts with a purpose. Forging is equal parts skill, luck, and shaping will. Second: Control. Magic is a volatile mistress. She demands respect and precision. Lose focus, and you'll be picking shrapnel out of your hair, body and everything in between. And third: Understanding. The materials, the runes, the process, the flow of mana, know them as you know yourself."
The words carried weight, sinking deep into his mind, settling into the spaces where instinct met understanding. Intent. Control. Understanding. Simple words on the surface, but within them lay the foundation of a craft that had shaped civilizations, won wars, and forged legends. The essence of forging was not just in hammering metal or shaping magic; it was about bending the very will of the world to create something greater than the sum of its parts.
Guldrin exhaled slowly, letting the words roll over him like waves against the shore. It was exhilarating, daunting, and oddly comforting all at once.
"Simple enough," he murmured, though he wasn't fooling himself. Nothing was ever as easy as it sounded, especially not something as intricate as this.
A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, laced with dry amusement.
"Don't get cocky."
Guldrin blinked, glancing around as if expecting to see Shin himself standing there, arms crossed, smirking at him. Of course, the old man wasn't physically present, but the enchantment woven into the book made his voice feel eerily real.
"This is a trainer forge, yes," the voice continued, "but it will still bite. And before you ask, yes, it has bitten before."
Guldrin snorted. "Fantastic."
He could almost hear the grin in Shin's voice.
"Oh, don't worry, it wasn't anything too catastrophic. I mean, there were a few... incidents. A melted ceiling here, a missing limb there, but that guy was an idiot, so you should be fine. Probably."
Shaking his head, Guldrin turned the page, the enchanted text shimmering before settling into clarity. His eyes were immediately drawn to the intricate diagrams that unfolded across the parchment, detailed sketches of various circles, their uses meticulously annotated. One in particular caught his attention, the design eerily familiar.
He glanced at the forge's platform, where a similar formation had been carved into the metal, the runes glowing faintly with untapped energy. It was a system, a language of raw magic that dictated how power flowed, how forces were contained, and how creation itself was stabilized. Every line had a purpose, every curve held meaning.
"First lesson!" Shin's voice rang out, snapping him back to attention. "The binding circle is your foundation. It anchors your will and channels the forge's power. Get it wrong, and the best-case scenario is your creation collapsing into a heap of molten regret. Worst case? Boom. No more eyebrows."
There was a pause.
"Get it right, though, and the sky's the limit. Well, technically, your imagination is the limit, but you get the point."
Guldrin exhaled through his nose, staring at the glowing runes beneath his feet. He crouched, running a hand over the grooves in the metal. There was something alive about it, something that responded to his presence, his intent. It was waiting for him.
He mulled over Shin's words, his mind already working, piecing together an idea, forming the shape of something new.
"I'm sensing a theme here," he mused offhandedly, his fingers tracing an arcane symbol absentmindedly.
He already had a purpose in mind, and it wasn't to craft some ornamental trinket or a simple blade to be swung mindlessly in battle. No, what he envisioned was something far more subtle, something that would spread his influence without a single soul realizing what was happening. It had to be a symbol, an emblem that represented judgment, an entity unseen yet ever watchful. A force lurking in the shadows, perceiving all without being perceived itself.
If that was his goal, then the symbol had to reflect that intent, woven with meaning deeper than what met the eye.
He closed his eyes, allowing the concept to take shape in the void of his mind. A singular eye, all-seeing, piercing, positioned within the confines of an inverted triangle. A dark and watchful presence, ever-present yet unnoticed. It wouldn't be just an image; it would be a mechanism, a one-way telepathic conduit, pulling in the thoughts and emotions of those nearby. Not something people could activate consciously, no incantations, no deliberate effort. It would react to raw intent.
Desperation. Pleas. Begging. Prayers. Wishes whispered in hopelessness, thoughts left unspoken but filled with need.
A slow smirk curled at the edges of his lips.
If he got this right, he could weave it into anything, a medallion, a sigil etched onto armor, a subtle engraving on a ring. Or something even more discreet. A small marking hidden in corners, carved into stone, tucked away in forgotten places, watching, listening. He could scatter them across cities, fortresses, and temples, creating a network of unseen eyes.
If developed properly, this could be the beginning of magical long-range communication. No spells needed, no runes to be deciphered, no visible indicators that such a thing even existed. It would function purely through mana, making it undetectable by conventional means, impossible to trace or reverse-engineer in this world. A perfect system. A win-win.
Of course, this was only half the equation. For a transmission to be received, there needed to be a counterpart, a receiver to pick up the messages, the cries, the whispered wishes. Without a means to interpret the signals, all he'd have, was a silent network of watchers with no way to relay what they observed. That would have to come next.
For now, he had to start at the very beginning.
His eyes flicked to the raw material scattered around the forge. There were high-quality metals, shimmering alloys, even enchanted ores resting in reinforced cases, each far too valuable for an experimental first attempt. No, he needed something cheap, expendable. A failure wouldn't mean much if the material was worthless.
His fingers curled around a hunk of black industrial iron, rough and unrefined, utterly mundane in every way. Perfect for his first attempt.
Flipping through the book, he skimmed over the step-by-step process. The instructions were clear, or at least, they should have been. They outlined the fundamentals: shaping the metal, controlling mana flow, tempering without shattering. The basics of crafting without reducing his materials to worthless slag.
He wasn't expecting perfection on his first try. In fact, he was counting on failure. That was part of the learning process.
But then he turned to the diagram for shaping metal, and his confidence took a direct hit.
The book displayed an image of a blacksmith hammering a glowing ingot, nothing unusual about that. But instead of just heating, striking, and shaping the metal, the diagram glowed with shifting mana formations.
According to the instructions, he was supposed to strike the metal with mana.
And somehow, that was supposed to make it bend and form into the desired shape?
"…What?"
His brow furrowed as he reread the passage. No matter how many times he went over the steps, it still felt like he was missing something. The book made it sound as if hitting the metal while infusing the hammer with mana would naturally guide it into the proper form.
That made absolutely no sense.
And yet, it had to work.
"…I don't get it," he admitted to himself. But that had never stopped him before.
There was only one way to figure it out.
He grabbed the ingot with tongs, pulling it from the forge where it had been heating. The metal glowed a deep orange, radiating heat in waves. He placed it carefully on the anvil, watching the way it pulsed in the dim lighting of the chamber. The mana-infused forge had seeped into it, making it more malleable than it would have been under normal conditions.
Now came the real test.
He gripped the hammer in his dominant hand, testing the weight, adjusting his stance.
How much mana was he supposed to use? A trickle? A surge? He had no idea.
With a breath to steady himself, he concentrated. He wasn't even sure how to put mana into the hammer, so he simply willed it to happen. He focused on the sensation of energy within him, pushing it outward, letting it flow into the metal tool.
The hammer shivered in his grip. A faint, almost imperceptible glow crawled along its surface, along with crackles of red lightning.
That was something, at least.
"Alright," he muttered. "Here goes nothing."
He raised the hammer and brought it down.
A sharp clang echoed through the forge, bouncing off the high walls. Sparks flared where metal met metal, scattering in the dim light.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then-
The iron rippled.
Not in a way metal was supposed to move, not like it was bending or warping from impact. It shivered, like a disturbed pool of water, the glow pulsing outward in gentle waves before settling back into solidity.
Guldrin froze.
That was definitely not normal.
"…Did I just...?"
The metal twitched.
He stumbled back a step, staring at the ingot like it had personally insulted him. It wasn't behaving like ordinary metal. That much was obvious.
What the hell had he done?
The hammer still hummed faintly in his grip, the glow flickering slightly. He had infused it with mana, and it had done something.
But what?
Cautiously, he adjusted his grip and brought the hammer down again.
Another sharp clang rang through the forge, a burst of glowing embers scattering into the dimly lit workshop. The sound was different this time, not just metal meeting metal, but something deeper, something resonant.
He could feel it in his bones.
The iron beneath his hammer shuddered, shifting in a way that wasn't natural. Not from heat, not from force. It was changing, reshaping itself in direct accordance with his will.
For a moment, he simply stared, gripping the hammer tightly as realization struck him like a war hammer to the chest.
This wasn't just forging.
This wasn't just heating and hammering and bending metal into submission.
It was listening to him.
It was obeying him.
His breath hitched slightly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
This changed everything.
The hammer felt heavier in his grasp, not because of its weight, but because of the sheer implications of what he had just discovered. He wasn't simply crafting anymore, he was imposing his will on the material itself.
The very laws of metallurgy and craftsmanship were being rewritten, not by skill alone, but by the unseen force of mana guiding his strikes.
A slow, wolfish grin crept across his face, stretching wider with each passing second as his mind raced with possibilities.
"Oh," he muttered under his breath, voice thick with unrestrained amusement, "I am so going to abuse this."
The book hadn't detailed this. It had given vague, almost dismissive instructions, Strike the metal with mana, and it shall take shape. That was it. No explanation of how to control it, no technical breakdown, no warnings. Just a line of text that implied you either understood it intuitively, or you failed spectacularly.
Apparently, he understood it.
And if he did understand it, then this changed everything.
His grip tightened around the hammer's worn handle as he shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders, adjusting his posture. This time, he wasn't going to swing blindly. He wasn't just going to hammer away and hope for results. No, now that he knew the truth, now that he could feel the way mana guided his strikes, he would command the material.
The sigil of the all-seeing eye was going to be perfect.
He took a deep breath, feeling the raw energy pooling within him, and struck again.
This time, the result was immediate. The moment the hammer made contact, the metal flowed, not melted, not deformed, but flowed like water rippling outward from a single point of impact. The glow intensified, surging along the surface in intricate patterns, reacting as though responding to a silent command. The metal curved, stretched, reformed, no longer resisting his efforts but bending willingly to his intent.
He was no longer merely a blacksmith. He was something else entirely. But, Shin still called himself a blacksmith, so maybe Guldrin was too? It is so confusing, but that wouldn't stop him from taking full advantage of the situation.
The hours blurred together after that, lost in a haze of glowing embers, rhythmic hammering, and the sheer exhilaration of control. Time became meaningless as he refined, adjusted, and perfected the base template of his creation. He was no stranger to the patience required in crafting, but this was something beyond ordinary craftsmanship.
By the time he finally stepped back, the forge's glow had begun to fade, the once-brilliant embers dimming to a dull red as the last of the excess mana settled into the metal. The heat still radiated outward in thick, oppressive waves, making the air shimmer slightly, but Guldrin barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, his eyes fixed on the cooling piece before him, his heartbeat slowing from the relentless hammering yet refusing to fully calm.
Because this… this was something different.
Something special.
The weight of what he had just created pressed down on him, not in the way an ordinary piece of metal would, but in a way that felt heavier. Like an unseen force had anchored it to something greater, something vast, something just beyond the grasp of those who would ever come to hold it in their hands.
An emblem.
A sigil.
A symbol.
But not just any symbol.
This wasn't some mindless ornamentation, a bit of pretty metal to be admired and then discarded, a trinket with no greater meaning than the craftsmanship behind it. No, this was a message. A warning. A declaration that no one would recognize for what it truly was, not yet, at least.
Not until it was too late…
The all-seeing eye, suspended within the sharp confines of an inverted triangle, was etched into the surface with precision beyond ordinary forging methods. It didn't just rest upon the metal, it existed upon it, a part of the very essence of the material itself. Its dark, unnerving curves and sharp, deliberate angles weren't merely decorative. They meant something. They spoke of something.
A presence unseen.
A force ever-perceiving.
A watcher in the shadows.
He reached out and ran a gloved hand over the cooling surface, tracing the lines of the sigil with slow, deliberate motions. Even without the enchantments, without the final touch that would make this more than just a carved piece of metal, it felt like it was watching him. A trick of the mind, perhaps.
Or perhaps… something more…?
'Something to think about, just add it to the list.'
And soon, it would be everywhere.
Once he inscribed it properly, once he finalized the enchantments that would turn this from a simple piece of worked iron into a network of unseen eyes, it would become an unseen force in the world.
A force no one would understand.
A whisper on the edges of society, an unseen entity lurking just out of reach.
His influence, his reach, would stretch further than anyone would ever suspect.
To start, he needed a way to spread it, a method that wouldn't raise questions, something subtle, something innocent. It had to be a common sight, something people wouldn't think twice about. A simple good luck charm. A trinket. A gift.
That was it.
A complimentary item.
Something handed out freely, with no strings attached. Something so mundane, so ordinary, that people would accept it without hesitation.
Every traveler who passed through, every merchant who stopped by, every person who received aid, every customer who stepped into their shop would receive one. Just a simple, harmless token, given with a casual blessing,
"May the all-seeing eye protect and guide you."
No more. No less. A few simple words. A well-wish.
Something no one would question.
Something no one would ever think to refuse.
People loved charms, loved symbols that promised safety, guidance, protection. Superstition was a powerful force, and he would use it without shame. He would feed it, cultivate it, allow it to grow until the mere sight of the symbol would evoke a sense of security, a belief that they were being watched over by something greater.
But in reality, the only ones doing the watching…
Would be his people.
The Ash Walkers, The village hidden in the Ash, True Assassins.
Guldrin smirked at the thought, the corner of his lips curling upward as he stepped away from the anvil, stretching out the stiffness that had settled in his shoulders.
No one would ever know.
The world would believe it was faith.
That the eye represented some unseen deity, some benevolent force that protected the lost, punished the wicked, and guided the faithful.
But in truth?
It would be them.
It would be his group ensuring that justice was dealt.
The weight of that realization settled deep in his chest, pressing down, yet not in a way that was suffocating or overwhelming. If anything, it was stabilizing, a firm and steady pressure, like an anchor holding him in place amidst a storm. It wasn't fear. It wasn't doubt. It was understanding. Recognition.
This was no longer just an idea, no longer just a distant possibility. It was real. Happening.
Right here, right now, he was laying the groundwork for something monumental, something far bigger than himself, something that, once fully set into motion, would be impossible to stop. The sheer scale of it was both exhilarating and sobering all at once.
And yet, despite knowing how massive it would become, how far it would stretch, how deeply it would root itself into the world before anyone even realized what was happening, he felt calm.
Because he was the one shaping it.
This wasn't blind luck. This wasn't reckless ambition or a half-baked scheme that relied on the unpredictable nature of fate. No, this was design, his design. Careful, deliberate, methodical design. Every single step was planned, every piece placed with precision.
And it would all spread in silence.
No grand declarations. No dramatic, world-shaking events to mark its beginning.
Just whispers in the dark.
A shadow slipping unnoticed through the cracks of society, spreading like ink on parchment, slow and unassuming.
And by the time anyone did notice?
By the time the weight of it settled upon the world in a way that could no longer be ignored?
It would already be too late.
His gaze fell once more to the sigil, still cooling atop the forge's surface. Its darkened metal edges gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the dying embers, the lines of the symbol stark and unyielding, as if carved into existence by something far more deliberate than mere hammer and heat. It wasn't just etched into the metal, it belonged there, an inseparable part of the material itself.
An extension of his will.
A single ember before the wildfire.
Shaking his head, he exhaled slowly, his breath steady as he reached for another blank piece of metal. There was no hesitation in his movements this time. No uncertainty. No need to pause and double-check his progress. He knew what he was doing now. The first attempt had taken hours, but now? Now it was natural.
Another piece. Another sigil. The hammer rose, fell, and sparks danced in the dim forge light, flickering like tiny stars being born and dying in an instant. The glow of mana pulsed with each strike, drawn not just from the force of his blows but from the sheer intent behind them.
Time blurred. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal filled the space, steady, deliberate, unrelenting. One after another, the sigils took form, each one smoother, more refined than the last. The once-unfamiliar process now felt like second nature, as though he had always known how to do this and had merely been reminded rather than taught.
By the time he finally stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand, there were ten completed sigils resting before him. Each one identical. Each one perfect.
The first phase was complete.
But forging the sigils was only the beginning.
They were still just metal at this stage, symbols without function, without true power. They needed something more.
They needed enchantment.
His eyes flicked to the side, settling on the thick, leather-bound tome resting atop a nearby workbench. The book had been there from the start, untouched until now, waiting for him to reach this exact point. Its darkened cover was worn with age, the edges frayed, the title embossed in faint silver script that had long since begun to fade.
The 'Intents to Enhancements' manual.
With a quiet exhale, he stepped over and flipped it open, the scent of old parchment and ink mixing with the lingering heat of the forge. The pages crackled softly as they turned beneath his fingers, the aged paper dry and brittle but still intact.
And then, as soon as he reached the first page, a familiar voice rang out.
"Wonderful, you aren't dead."
Guldrin's eye twitched.
The voice, Shin's voice, was as dry and exasperated as ever, the same infuriatingly casual tone he had come to expect from the man's recorded guides.
"Well, at least there's that," Shin's voice continued, utterly unimpressed. "Or maybe you ignored the basics entirely and decided to skip ahead, in which case, congratulations, you probably didn't explode. Yet. But whatever, not my problem. Moving on."
Guldrin resisted the urge to sigh.
This damned book.
Shin had never been one for patience when it came to teaching, and it showed. Every single one of his instructional texts, especially the recorded ones, dripped with thinly veiled exasperation, as if he were personally offended by the mere concept of people needing to be taught things.
"If you've actually followed instructions and forged something first, then good news," the voice continued, tone slightly less dismissive now. "You probably didn't screw it up completely. So, assuming you haven't turned your workspace into a smoldering ruin, it's safe to say you have at least a basic understanding of intent in forging."
A pause.
Then, a sharp rustling sound, as if someone was flipping through pages at an absurd speed.
"Alright, now here's where the actual work begins. If you're expecting this to be easy, congratulations again, you're wrong. Because while forging is all about using intent to shape metal, enchantment is about using intent to shape reality itself."
Guldrin felt his grip tighten slightly on the book, his attention sharpening.
"Intent comes in all sorts of forms," Shin continued, voice carrying that same almost bored tone, as if explaining something that should be obvious. "But for enchantments, you're going to need absolute clarity. No half-measures. No vague ideas. If your intent isn't crystal clear, if your mana isn't aligned with the exact purpose of the enchantment, congratulations again, you've just made a very expensive piece of scrap metal, a bomb, let's hope it is the first one."
Another pause.
Then, a low sigh.
"Look, just follow the damn diagram at the bottom of the page. If you don't understand it, don't skip ahead. I swear, if I find out you skipped the basics, I will,"
The recording abruptly cut off.
Guldrin stared at the page for a long moment, then shook his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite himself.
Shin, for all his chronic impatience and near-constant exasperation with the mere existence of students, knew his craft better than anyone. If he said the basics were important, then that wasn't just advice, it was a warning. A warning that ignoring them wouldn't just lead to mistakes or minor inconveniences. No, it would lead to full-scale, catastrophic, turning-yourself-into-an-unrecognizable-pile-of-ash level failure.
And he wasn't about to test that theory.
His eyes dropped to the bottom of the page, tracing the intricate diagram sprawled across the parchment. It was impossibly precise, the kind of thing only someone with a near-obsessive level of detail orientation could create. Every line, every curve, every tiny symbol looked like it had been placed with a deliberate purpose, as if the slightest deviation would cause the entire thing to collapse in on itself like a poorly stacked house of cards.
Beneath it, in Shin's barely legible, chaotic scrawl, was a single line of text.
"If you don't get this part right, don't blame me when it backfires, and you turn into a crispy pile of regret."
Guldrin stared at the words for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"Yeah, real reassuring, Shin. Thanks for that."
But he wasn't going to argue with the man's wisdom, not when the alternative involved spontaneous combustion.
He flipped the book open wider, pressing the spine flat against the worktable to make sure the page didn't close on him mid-process. Then he rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and exhaled slowly.
Alright.
This was it.
Channel mana into the hammer, picture the desired result, and lace the front striking part of the hammer with the enchantment he wanted.
Simple.
At least, in theory.
In reality?
He was fairly certain it was about to be the single most frustrating experience of his life.
But hey, if Shin had taught him anything, it was that failure wasn't just expected, it was practically mandatory.
Still, that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and get it right as fast as possible.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath, shifting his stance and gripping the hammer firmly in his hands. "Let's do this."
The forge's glow flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls, the air thick with the scent of heated metal and the distant traces of old soot. It was a familiar scent, one that settled into his lungs like an old friend. The hammer in his grip felt steady, the weight familiar, but this time, he wasn't just swinging it for the sake of shaping metal.
This time, it was different.
This time, he was trying to weave something into existence.
Enchantment.
It was a delicate, fickle thing.
Too much force, and the mana would fracture, scattering into useless scraps of wasted energy. Too little, and it wouldn't take at all, fading like mist in the morning sun. It was all about balance. A perfect harmony between intent, mana, and the physical act of forging.
And that was where things got complicated.
Because, as it turned out, getting everything to align perfectly was about as easy as threading a needle while riding a galloping horse blindfolded.
His first attempt lasted all of three seconds before the mana flared too violently, snapping out of his grip like an over-pressurized boiler. The resulting crack sent a small shockwave through the workshop, rattling tools and making a few loose pieces of metal clatter noisily onto the floor.
Guldrin stood still for a moment, staring at the hammer in his hands, then at the scorched mark now decorating the anvil where the symbol used to be.
"Okay," he said, voice perfectly calm. "That was definitely not right."
A moment of silence.
Then he exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders again and shaking out his arms.
"Alright. Again."
The second attempt lasted longer.
Five seconds.
Which, in hindsight, wasn't really that much of an improvement, considering it still ended in failure.
This time, the mana just fizzled out, vanishing like smoke, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of warmth. No explosion, no dramatic backlash, just nothing.
If the first failure was a bang, then this one was a whimper.
And somehow, that was even more infuriating.
But frustration wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he forced himself to breathe, to settle, to focus.
Trial and error. That was the only way forward.
So he tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each failure taught him something new.
Each mistake chipped away at the unknown, peeling back layers of confusion, turning what had once been a nebulous, abstract concept into something tangible.
His grip adjusted. His stance shifted. His focus honed.
The mana, once wild and untamed, started to feel familiar, as if it were becoming an extension of himself rather than a force outside of his control.
It took hours.
By the time real progress was made, sweat had begun to bead along his brow, his muscles tight from exertion, but he hardly noticed.
Because this time…
This time, the mana held.
It didn't crack.
It didn't fizzle.
It wove itself into the metal, lacing through it like a thread through cloth, binding itself into the sigil rather than merely sitting atop it.
The hammer glowed faintly, its surface pulsing with a steady, rhythmic light, and as he brought it down,
A sound.
Not just metal striking metal, but something else.
Something deeper.
A hum, like the resonating chime of a distant bell.
It vibrated through the air, subtle but undeniable, a ripple of power spreading outward, sinking into the sigil like ink soaking into parchment.
And when the hammer lifted…
The sigil shone.
Not brightly. Not overwhelmingly.
Just a soft, barely-there glow, pulsing with the faintest heartbeat of mana, as if it had come alive. A few seconds later the glow faded, appearing as if nothing had changed, but he knew, this was a success.
Guldrin let out a slow breath.
Then, after a long moment, he smirked.
"Finally."
The first true success.
The first step toward turning an idea into reality.
He wasn't done, not by a long shot, but this?
This was proof that he could do it.
One sigil at a time.
One careful step after another.
That was all it took.
Like the slow weaving of an unseen web, delicate yet unbreakable, his work would spread, unnoticed at first, slipping silently into the cracks of the world like roots beneath the soil. By the time anyone realized what had been built, it would already be too late.
By then, the unseen eye would already be watching.
He exhaled, shoulders stiff from hours spent hunched over the forge, muscles aching from the repetitive movements. Time had long since lost its meaning, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The only rhythm that mattered was the hammer's fall, the pulse of mana threading through the metal, the slow, meticulous process of creation.
It wasn't until the familiar presence of Schnee materialized, silently, effortlessly, like a ghost made flesh, that he realized how long he had been at it.
Her voice, poised and composed as always, cut through the haze of his exhaustion.
"Good morning, young master. The sun has risen, and as per our plans, it is time to relocate the shop."
His first reaction wasn't acknowledgment. It wasn't even understanding.
It was startlement.
Because Schnee had a habit, no, a talent, for appearing out of nowhere with all the eerie precision of a specter.
"Schnee!" He jolted, nearly dropping the sigil he had been working on. His heart kicked against his ribs before he forced himself to relax, dragging a soot-streaked hand down his face. "You have to stop doing that."
A quiet smile touched the corners of her lips, unbothered. "Perhaps you should simply become accustomed to it. And or, don't sneak off in the middle of the night to forge as your master did in the past…"
"That's not how that works, and you mean you knew when I left?" he muttered, still trying to calm his racing pulse.
"Yes, I knew, but I let you go while watching over you…"
"That is disturbing and comforting… But you still scared me half to death."
She gave no indication of sympathy for his predicament. Instead, her sharp blue eyes took him in, assessing, noting the streaks of soot, the faintly singed edges of his sleeves, the exhaustion in his movements that he hadn't yet acknowledged himself.
With a sigh of unmistakable fondness, she pulled a pristine cloth from somewhere, 'where did she even keep these things?', and reached forward before he could stop her, dabbing at his cheek with precise, efficient movements.
"Tch. Just like Master." Schnee's voice was both scolding and amused as she wiped away the evidence of his work. "No appreciation for cleanliness while forging."
He chuckled, allowing it. "I was a bit too absorbed to notice, I'll admit."
"A bit?" Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "You are covered in soot, young master. If I had arrived a moment later, I might have mistaken you for a coal miner."
He huffed out a tired laugh, shaking his head. "Well, since you're here, I could use a second opinion on something."
From the nearby table, he picked up a small, intricate emblem, an all-seeing eye, carefully engraved into metal. He had forged several over the course of the night, but up until now, he hadn't been able to test them properly. Not alone.
"I need to see if this works," he said, turning it over in his hands before offering it to her. "Just hold it and either pray or think of something. If I'm right, I should be able to receive your thoughts through mine."
Schnee accepted the sigil without hesitation, her grip light yet firm as she examined the craftsmanship. Her gaze flickered up to him, considering.
"If it works," she said smoothly, "then what?"
"Then I can finally take a break and go bathe." He stretched his sore arms, feeling the ache settle into his bones. "And then, breakfast."
Her lips quirked ever so slightly.
"Very well," she said, "I will assist you in testing your creation." Then, without missing a beat, she added, "However, I refuse to allow you to bathe on your own."
He froze mid-stretch.
"…What?"
Schnee's expression remained composed, utterly matter-of-fact, as if she had just declared something as mundane as the weather. "That is my responsibility as your maid. I will not allow you to undermine my duties."
Inside his system space, Alisa was giving her a mental thumbs up, she approved.
A beat of silence stretched between them.
He swallowed.
"…You're serious."
She merely gave him a flat look, as if daring him to argue.
A thousand thoughts raced through his mind at once, most of them variations of there is no winning this argument, before he finally exhaled in defeat.
"Yes, ma'am," he relented, voice resigned. "Who am I to refuse a maid her duties?"
Schnee's nod was one of deep satisfaction, as if he had just spoken the most reasonable words she had ever heard.
"I am glad you understand," she said smoothly. "Now, how do you wish for me to test the device?"
Still mentally reeling from his impending mandatory bath assistance, he cleared his throat and forced his focus back onto the sigil.
"Right. Right. Uh, just hold it and concentrate. Either think of something or whisper a phrase, and I'll see if I pick it up."
Schnee obeyed without hesitation.
The sigil, cool to the touch, rested in her palm as she directed her focus inward. Her expression didn't change, but the air around them subtly shifted, an unseen ripple of intent, like the faint disturbance on the surface of still water.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then,
A voice, quiet yet unmistakably clear, not spoken aloud, echoed in his mind.
"You owe me a proper explanation for your insistence on overworking yourself, young master."
He nearly dropped his own sigil.
"You," He blinked rapidly, barely processing the words before his brain latched onto what had just happened. "It worked? It actually worked?"
Schnee's expression didn't change, but the faintest hint of approval glimmered in her eyes.
"It seems so."
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling both exhilarated and deeply relieved. After hours of trial and error, countless failed attempts, and more soot stains than he cared to count, he had finally, finally, made something that worked.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath. "I did it."
Schnee tilted her head slightly. "Did you doubt yourself?"
"Always," he admitted with a dry chuckle. "It's part of the process."
A small pause. Then, smoothly, Schnee handed the sigil back to him.
He let out a tired chuckle, rubbing at the back of his soot-streaked neck as he stretched his aching limbs. Every joint popped in protest, a reminder of just how long he'd been hunched over his workbench, forge and everything else. His fingers still tingled from the residual energy of his latest creation, the warmth of magic lingering faintly against his skin. Success, no matter how small, should have felt satisfying.
It did, but it also came with the crashing weight of exhaustion that threatened to pull him under the moment he allowed himself to relax.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, exhaling through his nose. "Breakfast. Definitely need food. And an energy drink. Or, wait, does the shop have something magical that clears exhaustion? Because if I sit down for too long, I might just pass out and sleep through half the day."
Schnee, ever composed, gave him a measured once-over, her sharp eyes cataloging every detail in an instant, the sluggishness in his movements, the way his shoulders sagged slightly, the way his hands twitched from overuse. If she had any sympathy for his plight, she didn't show it. Instead, she simply adjusted the pristine cuffs of her uniform and spoke with her usual crisp certainty.
"You will bathe first," she declared, as if it were an immutable law of the universe, as undeniable as gravity itself. "However, yes, we do have something called a refreshing potion. I will prepare one for you after your bath."
He blinked at her, momentarily thrown. "Wait, wait, hold on, you're telling me I've been running myself into the ground this whole time, and all it would've taken to fix it was a potion?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words. "It would not have prevented your overworking habits. You would have simply ignored your limits further, and then I would have had to force you to rest instead of merely reminding you."
"That's… fair," he admitted begrudgingly, rubbing at his temple. "Still would've been nice to know before I spent six hours doing mental arcane calligraphy with my spine at a ninety-degree angle."
"You never asked."
"Schnee," he groaned.
She smiled. It was subtle, barely more than a small quirk of her lips, but the amusement in her eyes was unmistakable.
"Now, come along, young master," she said smoothly, stepping aside to allow him passage. "It is time for your bath."
His stomach sank.
"Right, that," he muttered under his breath.
And just like that, the sweet taste of victory he had only just begun to savor was completely overshadowed by the crushing realization that there was absolutely no escaping this. There was no arguing. No negotiating. No chance of a last-minute reprieve.
He sighed in surrender, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Yes, Schnee."
With that, he trudged forward, dragging his feet just enough to make a point but not so much that Schnee would call him out on it. She followed close behind, ever the watchful presence, her footsteps silent as always.
Though, if she was being honest, she found it quite cute to see her young master like this.
As they left the forge behind, the scent of heated metal still clinging to the air, he couldn't help but shake his head.
The bathroom, much like everything else Schnee maintained, was immaculate. The floors gleamed as though freshly polished, the air carried a light, herbal scent, and the water in the large stone tub steamed invitingly. It was the kind of bath fit for nobility, far beyond what he had expected when he first set foot in the shop.
He wasn't even fully inside before Schnee stepped ahead of him with practiced efficiency, already reaching for his soot-covered clothes.
And that was precisely when he remembered something very important.
"Oh no," he muttered under his breath, taking a half-step back. "Nope. We are not doing this."
Schnee merely tilted her head, her expression perfectly composed. "Doing what, young master?"
"You know exactly what," he said, keeping his grip firm on his shirt. "I can bathe myself."
Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "Can you?"
"Yes!"
"Considering the state I found you in, I remain unconvinced."
He exhaled sharply, already seeing where this was going. "Schnee-"
"You are filthy," she continued, voice steady as ever. "You have soot embedded in your skin, your hair is stiff from ash, and if I leave you alone, you will inevitably rush through the process and leave behind traces of grime. That is unacceptable."
"I can wash myself properly," he insisted, but even as he said it, he knew it was a losing battle.
Schnee's expression didn't change, but he could feel the unwavering resolve radiating from her like an immovable force of nature.
"You are my responsibility," she stated simply. "And I will ensure you are properly cared for. And don't go making excuses saying you are 17 and an adult, in my eyes that is still a child, so, shut up, and let me bathe you."
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're not going to stop, are you?"
"I am efficient, and no, I will not. This is my job, entrusted to me by your master, my previous master and creator, Shin," she corrected. "Now, unless you intend to argue further, I would suggest you step into the bath before the water cools and I have to warm it up."
He hesitated for another second. Then, recognizing that his chances of escape were nonexistent, he reluctantly gave in.
"Fine," he muttered, dragging a hand down his tired face before reaching for the hem of his soot-streaked shirt. "But if you drown me in there, I'm going to be very upset. And also very dead. So don't."
Schnee, as always, remained perfectly composed, though the tiniest twitch of amusement played at the corner of her lips. "Then I shall make sure you do not drown, young master."
He sighed heavily, peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside before trudging toward the bath. The heat from the steaming water rolled through the air, thick and inviting, and despite his exhaustion, he felt a reluctant pull toward the warmth.
That reluctance, however, was nowhere near enough to override the sheer, soul-deep embarrassment of what came next.
To his absolute lack of surprise, Schnee was as meticulous in bathing him as she was in every other aspect of her duties.
Which meant he had absolutely zero say in the matter.
Any fleeting hope that she might take a more casual approach, perhaps let him handle the washing himself while she simply supervised from a polite distance, was swiftly dashed the moment she stepped forward and, without hesitation, stripped the remaining layers from his exhausted body as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
His soul nearly left his body.
"Schnee!" he yelped, barely managing to cover himself.
She gave him a perfectly neutral look, as though his reaction was both expected and entirely unimportant. "It is my duty to ensure you are properly cleaned. Now, into the bath, young master."
He hesitated for all of two seconds before realizing that one, he was not winning this argument, and two, the longer he stood there, flustered and gaping like an idiot, the more power he was giving her in this already lopsided battle of wills.
He vowed in his heart to pay her back for this…
It would come, he was sure of it.
So, with the grace of a man utterly defeated by forces beyond his control, he stepped into the steaming bath, allowing the water to rise and embrace him like an old friend. The moment the heat seeped into his skin, a long sigh escaped his lips, his body instinctively unwinding as though it had been waiting for this exact moment to give in. His muscles, sore and overworked from hours of relentless crafting, finally loosened, and the tension that had coiled itself into his bones unraveled bit by bit.
For a brief, fleeting moment, he allowed himself to relax.
And then Schnee got to work.
Her hands, as always, were merciless in their efficiency. There was no hesitation, no unnecessary flourish, just pure, calculated soul-soothing precision.
Every speck of soot and grime that had clung to his skin from a night of tireless labor was methodically scrubbed away with the care and exactness of a master artisan restoring an ancient, priceless relic. Her touch was firm but never rough, purposeful yet strangely gentle, as if she was carefully piecing him back together after he had spent hours whittling himself down.
It was an experience that should have been humiliating. And in many ways, it was.
Looking back at it…
She had stripped him of every last layer of clothing, any pretense of modesty discarded in the wake of her absolute dedication to her role. He had long since resigned himself to the fact that, when it came to matters of his well-being, Schnee was unwavering. If she decided something needed to be done, then there was no argument, no discussion, only the inevitable, steam-filled reality of a situation entirely outside his control.
As her fingers carded through his hair, working in the faint scent of something clean and crisp, mint, maybe? He had half a mind to grumble about how unnecessary all of this was.
But then her nails scraped lightly against his scalp.
And just like that, all thoughts of protest vanished.
If he had been standing, he might have collapsed.
It was infuriating how good it felt. The methodical way she massaged his scalp, the almost mind-numbing relaxation that followed, it was unfair. Utterly, completely unfair. He was supposed to be brooding, supposed to be miserable about this whole ordeal.
Instead, he was dangerously close to melting into the water like a puddle of exhausted contentment.
Which, of course, made it all the more necessary that he at least pretend to be disgruntled about it.
"This," he muttered, voice muffled by the rising steam, "is completely unnecessary."
Schnee, predictably, did not dignify his complaint with a response.
Instead, she simply hummed, a quiet, knowing little noise, and continued.
By the time she was finished, he was practically glowing. His skin, once coated in soot and sweat, was now smooth and unblemished, his muscles loose and warm from the combined efforts of the heat and Schnee's merciless thoroughness. Every ache, every lingering strain from his long night of work had been carefully, methodically erased, leaving him feeling… refreshed.
Which, of course, meant that Schnee had been right about everything.
But he would sooner die than admit that out loud.
Instead, he scowled at the water as though it were the real enemy here.
Schnee, as composed as ever, handed him a fresh towel and turned away to retrieve his clothing.
He watched her with narrowed eyes.
She enjoyed this. Too much.
She wouldn't admit it. She would never admit it. But the subtle way she carried herself, the faintest hint of satisfaction in her usually impassive expression, it was there.
And that made it even worse.
He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he dried himself off, his previous complaints reduced to nothing more than sulky muttering.
Schnee, mercifully, chose not to comment.
Or at least, he thought she had.
Until she suddenly spoke, her voice cutting through the fading haze of steam like a blade of ice.
"Now that the bath is out of the way," she said, her tone deceptively calm, "care to explain why your body looks like someone decided to scar every inch of it for fun?"
He froze.
There was nothing outwardly different about her expression, nothing particularly alarming about the way she stood. And yet, if one looked closely, if one really paid attention—there was something else in the air now. A shift. A presence that hadn't been there before.
Tiny, near-invisible specks of ice shimmered in the air around her, forming and vanishing in an instant.
She was angry.
Not in the way he had seen before. This wasn't the sharp, disciplined precision she wielded in her battle with Root, nor was it the silent irritation she had expressed when he pushed himself too hard tonight.
This was different.
This was wrath, contained and controlled, but simmering just beneath the surface.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his still-damp hair.
"Yeah," he said, voice quiet but firm, "that would be courtesy of mine and Shiro's extended torture sessions over the last three years. Courtesy of Danzo from Konoha and his scientist."
Schnee's posture remained unchanged, but the air grew colder.
"The scientist is dead, though," he continued. "I killed him when we escaped. Danzo, though? He wasn't there. And honestly? If he had been there, we might not have escaped at all. We probably wouldn't have even gotten the chance."
The room was silent.
For a long, stretched-out moment, Schnee said nothing.
Then, she took a single step closer.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached out, tracing her fingers over one of the deeper scars along his ribs. It was an old wound, long since healed, but the memory of it still lingered beneath her touch.
"Tell me," she said, her voice so calm it was nearly eerie. "Tell me what they did."
He hesitated. Not because he wanted to hide anything, but because…
Because the way she was looking at him now, like she was committing every mark, every wound to memory, made it real again.
Not just for him.
For her, too.
And that was dangerous.
He had seen many expressions throughout his life. He had learned to read people the way a starving man learned to hunt, out of necessity, out of survival. He had seen rage that burned hot and quick, seen grief so deep it swallowed people whole, seen fear that made hands tremble and voices quiver. But this?
This wasn't any of those things.
This was something colder, something quieter.
Something patient.
That was the most unnerving part of it all.
If she had raged, if she had cursed the names of those responsible, if she had reacted in some predictable, emotional way, he could have handled it. He could have dealt with it, could have waved it off, could have given her some halfhearted reassurance that it was in the past and didn't matter anymore.
But this?
This was different.
This was calculation.
This was vengeance being written into the very air around them, solidifying into something unavoidable, something unstoppable.
He knew this wouldn't mean anything good.
He might not know everything about Schnee yet, might not understand every nuance of her thoughts, every twist and turn of the way she processed the world, but some things were universal. And that look?
That was one of those things.
It was the look of someone who had just carved a name into their soul with the intention of one day erasing it from existence.
Her fingers moved slowly, methodically, trailing across another scar. They barely even touched him, just the faintest brush of her fingertips, ghosting over his skin like she was memorizing every single inch of damage.
And it was damage.
He didn't pretend otherwise.
She moved to the next scar.
Her fingers trembled.
It was the smallest thing. A fraction of a movement. A nearly imperceptible shift in the otherwise absolute stillness of her hand. But he noticed it.
He swallowed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him in a way that had nothing to do with the physical wounds she was tracing.
"They used Shiro against me," he admitted.
The words came out quieter than he expected.
"They knew I wouldn't fight back if it meant she got hurt instead, or worse…" he continued, each word dropping into the space between them like stones into deep, dark water. "Whenever I resisted, they made sure she was the one who suffered for it. She was their leverage, and they used her well."
A muscle in Schnee's jaw tightened.
"They tested my healing," he went on. "At first, they started small. Cuts, stabs, bruises, minor wounds. But then they got creative. Fingers, organs, broken bones, peeling flesh… they did it all."
The air grew colder.
Schnee wasn't moving anymore.
She had stopped tracing his scars, stopped studying his injuries. She was just standing there now, absolutely still, but somehow heavier, like the entire weight of her presence had just shifted into something darker.
She wasn't breathing.
Not really.
She was, of course, she was alive, she was standing right in front of him, but it was shallow, controlled, like she was containing something massive and barely holding it together.
And then, finally, finally, she inhaled.
A single, sharp breath.
Her chest rose, then fell in a steady, measured rhythm.
And then, as if it had never been there at all, the ice in the air vanished.
Gone.
Replaced with nothing but stillness.
A silence stretched between them, thick and loaded with unspoken words.
He should have left it alone. Should have moved on. Should have redirected the conversation somewhere else, anywhere else.
But instead, against all logic, he found himself watching her.
Because something about this moment felt… significant.
She had heard all of it, processed all of it. And she had chosen this reaction.
Not rage.
Not sorrow.
Not even disgust at the details he had just laid bare.
No, she had chosen silence.
A silence that meant something.
And for the first time since he had escaped that nightmare, since he had torn his way out of that hellhole with Shiro and Ino by his side, he felt something stir in his chest.
A different kind of weight.
Something that almost, almost, felt like relief.
Because he knew, with absolute certainty, that Schnee wasn't going to let this go.
And part of him, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, was glad.
(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)