In that brief moment, the complex hidden thoughts of two people, each with their own secret intentions, flashed through their minds.
'There's a very slim chance she's not a bad person, but if she truly discovers my weakness, I don't know how she'll change. If only I could skillfully use the new sword technique I've been developing, I wouldn't be this anxious. So, I just need to deal with this woman appropriately and find an opportunity to shake her off.'
'He received money from the Sword Saint? That's ridiculous. Either it's a clumsy lie, or he's as foolish as he seems. But if I try to test his strength and annoy him, I'm done for. He's injured right now, so if I provoke him unnecessarily, I might earn his hatred. For now, it's best to observe him until I can figure out his true abilities.'
At Pre's subtle gaze, Serica instinctively touched the bow on her back, then took her hand off it.
"Pre, you're so badly hurt, what kind of 'work' do you absolutely have to do without getting treatment first?"
The moment Serica asked her question, Pre inwardly thought, 'Oh no,' and felt a deep regret. The words he had carelessly blurted out a moment ago to shake Serica off had returned like a boomerang, catching him by the ankle.
He desperately wanted to treat the terrible foreign sensation from the deep gash on the Devil's Fang as soon as possible and rest comfortably in a cozy lodging, but he felt it would be dangerous to let his guard down.
'I'll rest after I get rid of Serica. I can't show any weakness or lack of composure anymore. Her attitude is subtly changing every time I act awkwardly...'
Fearing that he might arouse suspicion, Pre decided to hastily proceed with his next, unplanned task.
"I'm looking for a skilled blacksmith in this city."
"I know where the blacksmith is, but are you really okay?"
Pre inwardly exclaimed, 'This is it!' He decided to gratefully accept Serica's offer, rather than pretending to be strong and refusing her worried question.
"Honestly, I feel like collapsing right now, but actually, I'm quite hurt... *Ssssh hmm*... Yes. I guess I should rest now..."
"But it's harder to extinguish a passionate heart that's just started burning again, isn't it?"
"Why would I?"
"You said you got inspiration."
"I did..."
Pre answered, forcing a cheerful tone, and roughly wiped his forehead with his palm, sweeping away sweat. The sand particles that rotated against his forehead as his arm brushed past stung him, but Pre's mind was preoccupied elsewhere, so he didn't feel much. Only a deep sigh escaped between his tightly closed lips.
As Pre stood blankly, looking lost, Serica leaned her head closer to his face with a worried expression.
"Are you *really* okay? You're not... perhaps... everything you said earlier was a lie..."
"I'm perfectly fine!"
Pre tried to sound okay, raising his voice with exaggerated, lively steps as he walked with Serica towards the blacksmith's.
***
It was a suffocatingly hot summer day, the scorching sun relentlessly pouring down heat, making the very ground shimmer. If there was one place hotter than the rest on that parched earth, it was undoubtedly this blacksmith's shop, where molten red iron boiled like the setting sun.
I arrived in front of the smithy with the suspicious man named Pre. In the sweltering heat, where sweat endlessly streamed down, the old blacksmith was tempering iron with his thick forearms. Pre awkwardly approached the blacksmith, exchanged a few brief words, then handed over a considerable amount of money from his pocket and was assigned a rather dim corner of the smithy.
"Mr. Pre? Do you happen to have any blacksmithing skills?"
"No."
"You're not planning to tamper with this greatsword, which looks like a treasure to me, are you? Even for a skilled blacksmith, treasures are difficult to handle carelessly."
At my worried voice, he looked down at the sword for a moment, then shook his head.
"Don't worry. The work I'm about to do hardly requires any blacksmithing skill. I'm just planning to modify the outer part slightly. I'll absolutely not touch the internal structure."
He sat down on an old box placed in the corner of the smithy, then pulled out a thin piece of paper from his pocket. The paper had what looked like a magic circle drawn in black on it, and he began to hold the paper up to the sunlight. This made the magic circle pattern form an elongated shadow in the sun.
"Mr. Pre, what kind of magic circle pattern is this?"
"I don't know. I just picked a magic circle with appropriately beautiful curves."
"Huh?"
"If I'm going to engrave a pattern, wouldn't a magic circle pattern be good? It might activate something later. It's about creating a possibility, just in case. Though I don't have mana. Hmm~"
'Oh no, he's even stranger than I thought...'
He took out a dark-colored pen and carefully began to draw on the broad blade of his treasure-like greatsword, tracing the shadow cast by the paper. He drew lines repeatedly, then rubbed them with his palm to check the path, shaking his head as if unsatisfied. Soon, he subtly changed the paper's angle, erased the lines on the blade with his hand, and began drawing again.
As he repeated this process multiple times, I continued to watch silently by his side. After a while, he spoke to me.
"Serica, it seems this work will take quite a while. But you have something you need from me, don't you? That's why you deliberately approached me."
I was hesitant about when to speak to him, as he was completely engrossed in transferring the magic circle to the blade, so I immediately got to the point.
"Yes, there's something I absolutely want to commission you for, Pre."
"Commission? Do you really need me for that commission? Can't someone else do it?"
I shook my head firmly. "No, they can't."
"What makes me so special?"
"I wish to borrow your strength, which even the Sword Saint admired. My commission isn't some trivial task that mere small fry could dare to undertake."
He subtly reacted to my choice of the word 'small fry.' His eyes widened for just a moment, and he vaguely stroked his chest with his hand.
"Serica, I'm currently holding onto this work, despite being so injured that there isn't a single unhurt spot on my body. I have no intention of taking on any other work whatsoever until this is finished. So, I apologize, but please find someone else who is much stronger than me. Please."
"In that case, I will wait. Until your work is finished, Pre."
At my unyielding stance, he sighed softly, turned his head away, and pressed a hand to his forehead.
Seeing him seemingly lost in deep thought, I was seized by an even stronger conviction that I couldn't leave his side. I didn't care if I was criticized as materialistic. I was that desperate; I desperately needed strength. However, when he slowly turned his head back to look at me, his demeanor was utterly different from a moment ago.
His eyes had grown calmer, and a faint hint of cynicism seemed to touch his lips.
"Serica, let's speak frankly so we don't waste each other's time. To be honest, I've had not one iota of interest in your commission from the very beginning, nor do I intend to accept it."
"Wh-why not?"
Pre curled his thumb and forefinger into a circle and held them out.
"There's no such thing as a free lunch in this world. A commission requires corresponding, reasonable compensation. What can you offer me, Serica? Just so you know, I am a very, very, incredibly expensive individual."
"Are you talking about commission fees? I don't have a large sum right now, but I'll manage somehow, even if it means selling the mementos my parents left behind. And this bow, though a bit old, is quite valuable."
He frowned and cut her off curtly.
"Mementos!? Mementos, listen here! I am an extraordinary person whom even the Sword Saint admired. With that level of power, money follows naturally, so I have no lack of it. I have no business with you, Serica, so please, just go."
He picked up the greatsword again and moved as if to resume the work he had been doing.
However, I simply couldn't bring myself to leave his side. Unable to let go of my sole hope for overwhelming power, I silently continued to remain by his side.
'If it's not the power of a Sword Saint, there's no hope. Where would I find such a person right now?'
"Serica, I clearly told you I would absolutely not take on your commission. Do you still intend to remain by my side?"
"I absolutely won't interfere with your work; just let me stay nearby. Is even that not possible?"
His expression once again shifted to a wary gaze, as if dealing with a suspicious person. It was a look that seemed to ask, 'What benefit do you gain from doing this?'
But, despite that, the mere fact that he showed even a slight flicker of agitation comforted me, telling me that staying by his side right now wasn't entirely meaningless.
He desperately tried to hide his true feelings, but from his anxiously trembling eyes and awkwardly stiffened expression, there was no trace of the unique aura one might feel from a cold and ruthless person.
Fortunately, he didn't resort to force to kick me out of the smithy, instead immersing himself back into his work. That marked the true beginning of the task.
The moment his gaze shifted from me back to the massive sword, I could feel all extraneous thoughts instantly vanish from his eyes. Instead, the space seemed to fill with burning passion. It was then that I first realized a person's eyes could shine with such intensity.
For a long while, he meticulously adjusted the complex lines drawn on the blade. Finally, seemingly satisfied with the shape of the lines, he nodded and moved on to the next stage of work. He pulled out a piece of metal, small as a finger and with a rough surface. Gripping a carving tool tightly with both hands, he began to scrape the blade's surface, diligently moving his arms back and forth along the paths of the engraved lines.
*Scraaaape! Scraaaape! Scraaaape! Scraaaape!*
Under his touch, the metal of the blade was minutely ground away, and a grating, shrill sound echoed through the smithy. It was far from pleasant to listen to, but Pre continued to move his hands regardless. On and on... on and on...
***
I was engrossed in the work of modifying The Devil's Fang, crossing a certain boundary. That fleeting, terrible boundary where one easily grows tired of endless, repetitive tasks, gets lost in myriad thoughts, or simply gives in to extreme physical pain and ultimately gives up.
But in that moment, crossing that unknown line transported me to a strange world, detached from reality.
It was a surprisingly simple space. A world where only the sharply rising Devil's Fang, myself focused solely on that sword, and the fierce heat of the smithy, warming every single cell of my body, existed. In that simple world, I could experience extreme simplicity, engrossed in only one action.
The act of pressing the hard, rough file firmly against the sword's blade, simply pushing it straight forward, and then slowly pulling it back with all my might.
As I ceaselessly repeated that simple motion, at first, intense muscle pain crushed my entire arm. But the pain gradually dulled, and in its place, a hot, pleasant warmth slowly began to seep in.
When that hot energy circulated through my body and finally reached my head and chest, it transformed into a warm, ecstatic exhilaration that gently vibrated every cell. And by the time it circulated back through my entire body, I was already in a hazy state, as if my whole being was completely intoxicated by that hot warmth.
Once this ecstatic moment was reached, I dared not stop for even a moment. This was because the cooling heat would bring an immense sense of powerlessness and extreme fatigue, rendering me unable to move even a single finger.
In this moment, I simply reveled in the pleasant sensation of my skin growing comfortably warm in the high temperature of the smithy. I vividly felt the subtle movements and existence of countless muscle fibers in my arm, maintaining an ecstatic sensation as if surrendering my body to the flow of a great wave.
***
While I silently watched his work, the task continued without pause. The blazing sun in the sky had begun to dip westward, its intensity waning, but inside the smithy, where red-hot molten metal was continuously being refined, the heat showed no signs of cooling.
Nevertheless, his hands never stopped, firmly scraping the blade, digging deep into the blackened lines. Drops of sweat trickled from his forehead onto the superheated blade, instantly releasing a *sizzling* sound and a puff of white steam. The sweat running down his body mixed with the dried blood clinging to his wounds, thinning it into a red liquid that dripped onto the floor. The intense heat of the smithy quickly evaporated even the fallen sweat, leaving no trace.
*Scraaape. Scraaape. Scraaape. Scraaape. Scraaape.*
As time passed, his hand movements seemed to slow slightly, but his gaze remained fixed solely on the black line etched onto the blade. Surprisingly, his concentration didn't waver in the slightest. Instead, he delved even deeper, appearing to be completely absorbed in his own solitary world.
The person named Pre, when dealing with me, was somehow awkward, sometimes even unsettling, but in this moment, I was certain I was seeing his true, unadorned self. And I found that intense dedication to his work quite captivating.