Given he couldn't summon a new spirit anytime soon, Shane decided to fix his weak Mana the old-fashioned way—by learning magic later and training it himself.
No idea what his natural talent was, though. He scratched his head and walked back to the inn shoulder to shoulder with Erza.
They ordered a hearty, meat-heavy dinner in the ground-floor restaurant. The sizzle of fat dripping onto flame mingled with the sea breeze—pure, smoky comfort.
"That spinning parry into thrust—how'd you come up with it?" Erza was wrestling a bone-in steak, words a bit muffled, eyes crinkled in contentment.
"Instinct," Shane said, stuffing in a big bite and savoring the burst of juices. "Your rhythm's so fast—without that I couldn't have kept up."
They ate and chatted, drifting from combat tips to which alley cat Millianna had fallen for lately—aimless, easy.
Erza had gone from clamoring to hit the road to simply enjoying life; she didn't bring up leaving again.
At the register, they took turns as usual; today was Erza's turn.
She took longer than normal. When she came back, her expression was… complicated. Shane glanced up, chalked it up to fatigue, and didn't pry.
Back in his room, he flopped on the bed. His body was tired, his brain buzzing—working through new arrow designs.
After a week, his "arrows" were three times tougher than the first batch. Thinking, testing, and inching toward perfection had him utterly hooked.
Once Mana climbed, maybe he could try forging a magic sword. The thought made him grin.
And that unusual passion for smithing led him to a clue about Saber's True Name.
He recalled the sudden familiarity he'd felt his first step into the forge. He suspected that odd affection was Saber's influence.
But after repeatedly checking himself, he was sure his love of smithing came from within, not from Saber.
Even so, a chill ran down his back. He was glad he hadn't summoned someone with an extreme moral axis.
"Fire… forging… a Phantasm that manifests weapons…" He rolled the elements around, the hazy Saber figure sharpening. "Looks like a spirit bound to the forge."
That discovery shrank the list of Saber candidates drastically.
In high spirits, he turned his head toward the corner piled with that week's "masterpieces," a small iron-gray hill of pieces of all sizes.
Looking at them sparked a new idea.
He automatically planned to swing by the forge for more billets tomorrow; his hand reached for the coin pouch at his pillow—
—and a weightless touch set off alarm bells.
He sat up and dumped the pouch on the bed.
Only a few tiny coins and some crumpled notes scattered out.
Broke.
The payout from the Tower hadn't been much, and he'd been eating and drinking well and buying scrap and billets nonstop. The wallet had run dry without him noticing.
He did the math—he didn't even have enough for a ticket to Magnolia.
"Nope!" He snapped awake. "Borrow from Erza, buy tickets, no more dawdling—we leave."
He got up early, rehearsing how to ask. He slid open the door—and someone was already there.
Erza. New outfit again—no action-ready black, but a blue belted dress with a white-lace collar. She looked… softer.
She clearly had business—Shane brightened. Perfect chance to ask for a loan and suggest heading out!
He cleared his throat, ready to speak—when Erza clapped her hands before her chest, bowed her head, and blurted, far louder than he expected:
"Please, Shane! Lend me some money! I don't have enough for a ticket!"
"Huh?!" He froze, eyes going wide.
A second later, a shared, soothing sense of "oh, you too" straightened his spine.
"Look at you, spending like water." He put on a stern face. "Where'd the money go? That was our travel fund, not your vacation budget. You've got to plan spending."
Erza's shoulders curled. "I… bought clothes. And, well, snacks and toys for Millianna, sometimes…"
Her voice shrank with every word. In the end she pursed her lips and took the scolding, wounded.
Only when Shane finished did she look up again, black eyes holding a last spark of hope.
He turned his head aside, dodged her gaze, and muttered, "…I'm broke too."
"Wha—?!!"
She shouted even louder than before, shock and betrayal writ huge. "You're broke and you lectured me? Shane, you idiot!"
She pounced, tackled him onto the bed—grabbing and yanking; the sheets twisted into a knot. They looked like two kids scrapping over the last candy.
…
After the chaos, they sat side by side on the inn's hard bench, staring at the door, big eyes vs. bigger eyes.
"What do we do now?" Erza whispered.
"W-we… ask Millianna or Grandpa Rob for a loan?" Even thick-skinned, Shane felt his cheeks heat as he said it.
"…"
Erza sank deeper into silence. Her standards were clearly higher than his; her cheeks burned, and she had no idea what to say.
Just as the two of them were about to solidify into statues of despair, a timid voice piped up beside them:
"Um… Shane-san?"
They turned to see Noel, the blacksmith's apprentice, wringing his hands.
"Noel? What's up?" Shane kept his tone steady.
Noel glanced at Shane, then at Erza's stony, stormy face, swallowed, and said, "It's like this… My master has a load of farm tools and ironware to deliver to the nearby city of Shirotaon. Usually caravans take it along, but the next won't go for days.
He's in a hurry… I—I told him you're a mage, sir—really strong… so he was wondering if you could escort the shipment? It's not far. Stay on the main road and you'll be there by noon tomorrow."
Shane and Erza's eyes lit up at once—like the starving spotting bread.
"Escort? Can we leave today?" Shane tamped down his excitement.
"Payment?" Erza echoed.
Noel flinched at their sudden fervor, stumbled back a half-step, and stammered, "I-if it's urgent, the wagon can be loaded and leave this morning! As for pay… Master said he can do 15,000 J. Would that work?"
Well below the going rate for a proper mage.
"No problem!" they both blurted, fast and loud, as if delay might make the offer vanish.
"We're in a big hurry," Shane stressed, leaning forward without meaning to.
"That's right—super hurry!" Erza nodded hard.
~~~
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