Seiko slept with the iron bar pressed against his chest. It was a cold, reassuring weight. When he woke before dawn, with Acies already "standing" at the mouth of the cave, his first thought wasn't fear. It was potential.
Iron was good. It was strong—far stronger than the brittle knife his father had given him. But a metal bar, no matter how well tempered, was still only a bar. A symbol, not a tool.
'Today,' he thought, groaning as his sore muscles protested, 'I turn it into a tool.'
He spent the first hour of daylight gathering fuel. He and Acies worked in efficient silence. Seiko pointed out the thicker dry branches among the ruins; Acies sliced them apart with rapid Fury Cutters, turning hours of labor into minutes. Synergy.
Seiko reignited the pit forge. It was easier this time. He knew how to control his breathing through the ceramic tuyere, how to feed the charcoal until it reached the white heat he needed. The roar of the furnace became the heartbeat of his new world.
He slid the iron bar into the flames. "We'll need more food," he told Acies. "And I'm going to be… busy."
The Pawniard understood. It slipped silently into the plains.
Left alone, Seiko began the real work.
He was no blacksmith—at least not by trade. But he was an engineer. He understood stress, compression, and fracture points. When the metal glowed red-hot, he pulled it free and began hammering it against the flat stone that served as his anvil.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
The sound was sharp and rhythmic. He didn't strike blindly like the Heinar smiths. Each blow had intent. He was flattening one end, giving it shape—stretching the metal rather than folding it.
'Not a sword,' he thought, sweat dripping down his face as the forge heat scorched his skin. 'A sword is for soldiers. I'm not a soldier. Not yet. I need a survival tool.'
He was forging a broad, heavy knife—something between a machete and a butcher's blade. Sharp enough to cut flesh, heavy enough to split wood, strong enough to pry open stone. A "Master Tool."
He reheated the metal, blew through the tuyere, struck again. The rhythm became meditation—his will, his knowledge, imposed upon the world.
Acies returned in silence. This time, it brought back two Patrat. It dropped them neatly and resumed its post at the entrance.
The sun was high when Seiko finally achieved the shape he wanted. The blade was straight, thick along the spine, tapering into a spear-point. The tang—the part meant for the handle—was solid and broad.
Now came the part the Heinar always ruined: the tempering.
Instead of quenching it in water, which had shattered his father's steel, Seiko buried the glowing blade into a bed of wet clay he had gathered from the stream. The cooling was slower, more uniform. The metal hissed and shuddered as the crystalline grains aligned—hardening without turning brittle.
He leaned back, exhausted, as it cooled.
When the metal was cool enough to touch, he took the Patrat hide from the previous day, cut it into strips with the freshly honed edge (it worked!), and wrapped the tang tightly, forming a crude but functional leather grip.
He lifted the weapon. It weighed nearly a kilo. Ugly, brutal, and absolutely perfect.
He stood, testing it on one of the branches Acies had cut earlier. With a single clean stroke, the wood split apart.
Seiko laughed—a short, startled sound. Power. Real power.
That was when Acies clicked—not the soft warning sound, but a sharp, rapid, staccato rhythm.
Danger. Immediate.
"What?" Seiko said, tightening his grip on the new knife.
Acies didn't point toward the plains, but up the hill above them.
Seiko listened. The faint crunch of underbrush. A low, guttural snort. Then came the smell—wet fur, rancid honey, and something fouler beneath.
'No,' Seiko thought, blood running cold. 'The smoke. The hammering. We drew something in.'
A growl rolled down from above, deep enough to vibrate the rock beneath their feet. Then it appeared, hauling its bulk over the granite ledge that formed the cave's ceiling.
An Ursaring.
Not an ordinary one. It was massive—nearly three meters tall even on all fours. A long scar ran across its muzzle, and its eyes burned with an unnatural crimson light. An Alpha Pokémon.
The beast roared—a sound that shook Seiko's teeth. It saw the forge, the shelter, and the intruders.
"To the cave," Seiko commanded, voice trembling but clear. "Acies—inside! Now!"
They dashed into the narrow hollow—barely three meters deep. Acies planted itself between Seiko and the entrance, blades gleaming.
The Ursaring peered in. It was too large to enter, forced to crouch, roaring in frustration. One clawed paw thrust inside, fifteen-centimeter talons raking sparks from the rock wall.
They were trapped.
'Think, Seiko. Engineering. Strategy.'
Panic clawed at his chest. 'I can't fight that. Too big. Too strong.'
The Ursaring reared back and slammed a paw against the rock above them. Dust rained down. It was trying to collapse the cave.
"No," Seiko gasped. "No. Acies—its eyes! Look at its eyes! Hate!"
"Pawniard!" hissed Acies, crouched and ready to strike.
"Don't attack! It's too strong!" Seiko's mind raced. He had nothing. Only his knife, the dying fire of the forge, and the cave itself.
The cave.
'The entrance is a choke point,' he realized. 'It can't enter. Only reach.'
The Ursaring lunged again, ramming its paw through the opening. Acies darted aside.
"Acies! Listen to me!" Seiko shouted, thoughts blazing. "Distract it—move side to side! Don't let it grab you! When it reaches in, I want Metal Claw on the wrist!"
Acies understood. It moved, a blur of steel and shadow.
The Ursaring snarled and thrust its right paw forward. Instead of retreating, Acies lunged to meet it.
SKREEE!
The Pawniard's claws flashed, raking the softer underside of the bear's wrist.
The beast roared in pain, jerking its arm back, blood spilling dark and hot.
"Yes! Like that!" Seiko cried.
But now the Ursaring was enraged beyond reason. It no longer hesitated—it hurled itself bodily at the cave mouth, all its weight behind the charge. The rock groaned.
"No, no, no!" Seiko gasped.
The Ursaring forced its massive head into the opening, jaws wide, teeth flashing. It was stuck—but far too close.
Acies leapt onto the creature's back, claws digging for purchase but sliding off the thick fur.
Seiko saw his chance.
The Ursaring was wedged—its head inside, its body out. Its bloodshot eyes fixed on him.
He didn't think. He moved.
He seized his newly forged knife, the raw leather grip rough against his palm. With both hands, he stepped forward and drove it in.
Not at the skull. At the one vulnerable spot his knowledge told him to strike.
The eye.
The blade sank in with a wet, nauseating resistance. Seiko shouted, pushing with every ounce of strength he had.
The Ursaring screamed—a sound of pure agony, not rage. It jerked back violently, tearing its head free and flinging Seiko against the rear wall.
His head struck stone. The world blurred.
He heard the crash of the Ursaring colliding with his forge, the hiss of scattered coals, the metallic battle cry of Acies.
When his vision cleared, he crawled toward the entrance.
The Ursaring stumbled twenty meters away, one eye ruined, the knife still buried deep.
Acies stood on a rock, battered but defiant. The Alpha stared at them—fear and pain replacing its fury. With one final bellow, it turned and vanished into the tall grass.
Silence.
Only the wind, and Seiko's ragged breathing.
He sat trembling, covered in dirt and Ursaring blood.
Acies limped closer, its armor dented from the blows. It stopped beside him.
They surveyed the ruin—the damaged forge, the scattered tools.
But they were alive.
"I lost… I lost my knife," Seiko murmured, dazed.
Acies looked up at him, then did something unexpected—it bumped its head gently against his knee. A gesture of… camaraderie?
Seiko laughed, half-hysterical.
"We were dead," he said, staring at his bloodstained hands. "That was…"
He stopped.
He looked at his hands. At Acies. At the stream, the clay, the scattered iron.
'Arceus has given us this land,' he recalled from the teachings of his faith.
His father had sent him here to die. Instead, Arceus had sent him materials—and now, a test.
"We survived," he said, this time with conviction.
He stood, his engineer's mind already racing ahead.
"We'll repair the forge. I'll need another knife. No—a spear. And we're building a wall across this entrance."
Acies nodded, picking up a shard of fallen metal.
Seiko looked up at the sky. There was no divine sign. No voice. But he felt the confirmation all the same.