And so — the trouble dealt with, the group pressed onward.
However.
The Holy Emperor, who had been trailing along in the middle of the formation the whole time, now had her head bowed low, her hands wringing together tightly.
A wave of helplessness washed over her.
"Everyone's so capable..."
"But I... I don't feel like I've been any help at all."
"Standing here, I'm completely useless."
Hearing the Holy Emperor's quietly dejected words, Onigawara Rin turned her head from the front of the group and waved her hand with a cheerful grin.
"What are you talking about, Holy Emperor?!"
Kikakujou Mary walked over as well, reaching out to give the Holy Emperor a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"Don't overthink it."
"We're only on the tenth floor right now — the enemies showing up here are all small-fry from the upper levels."
"These floors exist specifically for Lv. 1 adventurers to get their bearings."
"Exactly."
"Don't think like that, Holy Emperor."
"Right now we're just on the tenth floor — the upper stratum. The monsters appearing here, goblins, orcs, imps, they're all mindless small-fry. Even back on our very first day, we still chopped through them fine, just with a bit more effort."
"The real challenge is dozens of floors below us, deep in the Dungeon."
"If we want to keep walking alongside Kami-sama all the way to the end, just hacking away at upper-floor monsters with our swords will never be enough."
"And besides — you're someone who has awakened two wide-area magic spells."
"When the party runs into real trouble down the line, when everyone's taken injuries, or when we need a last-minute power boost, it'll all fall on you to pull us back from the brink. What you need to do right now is follow along and get used to the environment down here. Don't put too much pressure on yourself."
"You're the irreplaceable core of our Familia."
Hearing that sincere encouragement, a faint blush rose to the Holy Emperor's cheeks.
"Thank you..."
"Speaking of which, though."
Hanasaka Warabi couldn't resist cutting in.
Her gaze dropped to Aihara Enju's boots, her eyelids staying half-lidded as usual.
"The monsters right now are still manageable, but as we go deeper, equipment wear is going to get worse and worse."
"Enju doesn't use a weapon — it's all in her legs. Relying on just those boots, sooner or later they're going to give out."
"That, I wouldn't worry about."
As she spoke, Onigawara Rin reached back with practiced ease and drew the named blade at her hip — Black Raven — in a single fluid motion.
Shing—
The long, dark blade slid free.
A cold gleam flickered through the misty air.
Just from the seamless forging craft and the oppressive edge radiating off that blade, it was obvious this was no ordinary weapon.
"After all, our weapons were prepared for us by Kami-sama."
"I'm sure Kami-sama has already thought about their weapons too."
"Before long, he'll definitely arrange specialized weapons or armor for them as well."
"So relax."
"As long as we do our part, Kami-sama will take care of everything else."
"Kami-sama personally handles weapons?"
"And looking at the weapons you're all carrying — they don't look like ordinary goods at all."
Tendou Kisara, walking along behind them, couldn't help but speak up when she heard this.
Her gaze swept sharply over the named blade Black Raven at Onigawara Rin's hip, and then over the [White Heron] that Inaba Tsukuyo was cradling against her chest like a prized treasure.
As a swordswoman who had trained all the way to the level of full transmission — the highest initiation her school offered — her instincts for weapons were razor-sharp.
The aura radiating off those blades was in a completely different league from anything you'd pick up at a roadside smithy.
"Heh heh, you wouldn't know about this, would you."
Hanasaka Warabi gave her scabbard a slightly smug pat.
"These weapons of ours — Kami-sama personally went to Orario's top-tier smithing Familia, and had the captain of [Hephaestus Familia] herself help us pick them out!"
Orario's top-tier smithing Familia?
Their captain?
Tendou Kisara and the Holy Emperor latched onto those key words.
In terms of their old world — it was the equivalent of going out to buy a self-defense weapon and having the chairman of a top-tier defense contractor show up in person to serve as your personal shopper.
"So... Kami-sama knows that many important people?" the Holy Emperor murmured to herself.
"He does."
Kikakujou Mary let out a quiet sigh as well, her gaze full of quiet wonder.
"And if it weren't for meeting Kami-sama — being brought out of our old world by him —"
"We'd probably still be sitting in school right now."
"How would we ever have seen a world as vast as this, or gained power that breaks all the rules we ever knew."
Hearing the veteran members speak of Kami-sama with such reverence, both Tendou Kisara and the Holy Emperor felt a quiet longing stir within them.
At the same time.
On the northeastern boulevard, inside Hephaestus's private forge.
Scorching, oppressive heat churned continuously through the sealed room.
The firelight from the walls reflected off the stone-slab floor, stretching the three silhouettes inside into long, wavering shapes.
Beside the work table.
Haimer stood before the massive furnace, a heavy custom forge-hammer gripped in his hands.
He wasn't wearing his black formal coat — just a pure white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
Arm raised. Hammer down.
Clang!
Clang!
The deep, rhythmic ring of metal striking metal echoed steadily through the workshop.
Every blow landed precisely on the exact stress point the ore needed struck, without a single ounce of force wasted.
Hephaestus stood on the other side of the furnace.
She held a long-handled pair of tongs, gripping the deep-layer ore — glowing a brilliant, burning red — with steady hands.
Matching Haimer's striking rhythm, she turned her wrist, continuously flipping the ore to a new face.
The coordination between the two of them was startlingly precise.
Not a single unnecessary word was exchanged between them — they read each other purely through the cadence of the hammer, knowing exactly where the next blow needed to fall.
Sparks flew in every direction.
They scattered against the stone-slab floor with a fine, crackling hiss.
However.
At the edge of this scene that could have been pulled straight from a craftsman's painting —
Specifically, right next to the bellows closest to the furnace —
Things were an entirely different picture.
Drenched in sweat.
Both hands locked in a death grip around the thick metal bellows handle, slamming it down with everything she had, then hauling it back up with agonized effort.
The handle was connected to an underground air chamber beneath the floor.
Every press sent a powerful surge of air blasting through the pipes and into the base of the furnace built from firebrick.
The flames shot up over two meters in an instant.
Her face had been roasted a deep, blotchy red by the heat, and her outfit — a half-top swimsuit with shorts — was completely soaked through with sweat. The red fringe of her bangs clung damply to her forehead, all dignity thoroughly abandoned.
"I'm tired! So tired!"
"I'm going to die of exhaustion! ! !"
"I quit, Haimer! ! !"
"I'm a delicate goddess, you know! ! !"
Loki screamed at the top of her lungs, even as she kept slamming the bellows handle with manic desperation.
"Why am I stuck in here doing hard labor working the bellows for you!"
"And just how heavy is this wretched thing?! My arms are about to snap off! !"
Loki wailed and gnashed her teeth, but not for a single second did her hands slow down.
Because.
The deep-layer ores inside the furnace had only just begun to show the first faint signs of softening.
If the heat broke now, then every ounce of effort she'd put in up to this point would be for nothing.
"Don't stop."
Hephaestus, long-handled tongs holding the white-hot deep-layer ore steady, gaze fixed on the way the impurities were shifting across its surface, couldn't help but toss that out without even turning her head.
"If the temperature drops, this ore is ruined."
She gave her wrist a slight turn, rotating the ore to a fresh stress face, falling back into step with Haimer's hammer.
"And you wouldn't want the materials your Familia's children worked so hard to bring back to be wasted like this, would you."
"I — I know...!"
Loki's face was red to the point of bursting, sweat streaming down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.
She clenched her teeth, both hands locked white-knuckled around the metal handle, and kept slamming it down with every last shred of strength she had.
Clang!
Haimer's arm swung down, hammer connecting.
Sparks burst against the firebrick.
"Of course."
"If you want to rest and have someone come take over, you can stop."
Haimer's tone was perfectly calm — not a hint of breathlessness — as the heavy hammer carved a blurred arc through the air and struck precisely against the beveled edge of the ore.
"The only condition is — do you still want those scrap pieces I promised for upgrading your Familia's weapons?"
"Because if not, you're welcome to go find someone out in the hallway right now."
At those words.
The motion of Loki pressing down the bellows seized up for just a moment — then she hauled the handle back up with even greater force than before, her expression on the verge of actual tears.
"I knew it! Haimer, you rotten bastard! I knew you two were in on this together!"
"Even Hephaestus has been corrupted by you!"
Loki howled her grievances at full volume — yet her hands not only didn't slow down, they sped up, and the flames inside the furnace surged higher in an instant.
Time passed slowly to the rhythm of steel ringing on steel.
Before long.
Half an hour had gone by.
Pssshhh—!
A thick column of white steam blasted upward.
The boiling quench liquid in the cooling tank gradually settled.
Haimer set the hammer down.
Hephaestus gripped the tongs, carefully pulled the finished piece free, and laid it on the black iron work table beside them.
The final step complete.
The work was done.
CLANG.
With a single loud crash, Loki let go of the bellows handle entirely, and collapsed without a shred of dignity onto the stone steps in the corner of the workshop, gasping in great heaving lungfuls of air, her chest rising and falling violently.
"Finally... finally done..."
Loki wiped the sweat from her face with one arm and found that both her arms no longer felt like they belonged to her — aching and trembling so badly she could barely hold them up.
She raised her head.
With some curiosity, she looked toward the work table, eager to see what these two had actually produced after all that effort she'd sweated herself into the ground for.
The result.
Her gaze traveled over Haimer's arm.
And fell on what lay on the black iron surface.
Not some massive sword that could slice through iron like paper. Not some imposing, awe-inspiring warhammer.
It was a pair of boots.
A pair of metal greaves that were extremely small in size — clearly made for a child.
The boots were a uniform silver-white, their surface bare of any unnecessary ornamentation. At the ankle and calf, they had been designed with segmented articulated joints, the material thin yet possessing remarkable flexibility.
And at the back of each heel, two tiny, almost imperceptible air vents had been embedded.
"Huh?"
Loki's eyes went wide. The aching in her arms completely forgotten, she pushed herself up off the floor and pressed forward to the work table.
"After all that — after burning through all that premium deep-layer ore — you made a little pair of children's shoes?!"
Loki jabbed a finger at the dark-red boots, her face a picture of pure disbelief.
"What are these even good for?! How many monsters is a shoe going to kill?!"
Haimer paid Loki's sputtering no mind.
He picked up one of the boots, letting his fingertip trail across the dark-red metal surface.
"These are for one of my children."
"That child has a unique constitution — her entire fighting strength is concentrated in her legs. An ordinary pair of shoes simply can't withstand the explosive force she puts into her kicks."
Haimer turned the boot over in his hands, flipping it to reveal the two hidden air vents in the sole.
"That's why these boots —"
"The primary material is membrane harvested from a [Calamity Wyvern] from the 56th floor, with an outer layer plated in a highly purified form of [Starfall Iron]."
Haimer set the boot back down.
"Beyond absolute toughness, their core function is to capture and hold the burst of kinetic force the wearer generates mid-air."
To put it simply.
"Wear them, channel enough leg strength at the right moment, and even with nothing to push off from, you can forcibly generate an air vortex beneath your foot in mid-air — a foothold made of nothing."
"Enabling consecutive aerial jumps, or even redirecting momentum in mid-air."
"And that's only the first feature."
Haimer tapped his finger against the two air vents at the heel.
"I also incorporated Magic Stone powder from [Flame Rock] into the interior, constructing a kinetic circulation structure."
"When the wearer drops from height and launches an attack, it absorbs the impact force of the fall and, the instant the kick connects with the target, converts it into a fiery explosion — dealing a second wave of area damage."
The moment Haimer finished speaking.
Whatever complaints had been on her lips, whatever aching had been in her arms.
An absolutely incandescent light erupted in Loki's eyes.
All those grievances about hard labor, all that agony in both arms — thrown straight out the window.
Whoosh!
Loki pounced like a starving tiger, lunging directly at Haimer.
Both hands clamped around his solid arm with an iron grip, her face thrust so close it was nearly touching the tip of his nose.
"Haimer~!"
"Hee hee! Now that you've finished a weapon for one of your children, per our agreement, time to put some real upgrades into my kids' gear too!"
Loki pointed at the leftover deep-layer ore scraps at the edge of the work table.
Haimer glanced down at the arm Loki had seized.
He reached over, pinched her by the wrist, and peeled her off.
"That's fine."
Haimer glanced around the forge.
"The thing is — if you want me to do the work, the person concerned needs to actually be here."
"I knew you'd say that — and they're already here, of course!"
Hearing this, Loki immediately thought of Ais and Bete, whom she'd dragged along.
Not caring one bit about the sweaty mess she was, she turned on her heel and strode at full speed toward the heavy copper door at the entrance of the forge.
"Ais and Bete should still be waiting out in the hallway right now!"
"Watch me go get them in here and let them see something worth seeing!"
With that.
Loki hummed to herself and stepped forward with supreme confidence, pressing both palms into the sensor groove on the copper door.
Rrrumble—
With a deep, grinding groan of metal on metal, the heavy door slid slowly apart on both sides.
Fresh air from outside rushed in immediately, flooding the scorching interior of the forge.
"Hey! Bete! Ais! You two, get in here —"
But.
Loki's boisterous shout had barely made it halfway out of her mouth.
Before the expression on her face froze solid.
Because.
The wide, straight corridor outside was utterly empty.
There was only a single slender figure.
A head of brilliantly gleaming golden hair. A body clad in the signature white dress with its light armor battle coat layered over it.
Ais — both arms hugging her own knees — was quietly crouched in the corner of the corridor against the wall, neat and still as a well-behaved little mushroom.
At the sound of the door sliding open, Ais slowly raised her head.
Those golden eyes of hers, guileless and quietly calm, looked up at Loki who had appeared in the doorway.
As for Bete — not even a single gray wolf hair was left to be found.
Loki swiveled her neck, sweeping left and right. Try as she might, she couldn't spot a second person anywhere.
"Wha?!"
"Where's Bete?!"
"Bete said it was too hot, so he went back on his own."
Ais delivered her report faithfully.
"WHAT?! ! !"
The look on Loki's face at that answer was like she'd just swallowed a live fly.
"That rotten, no-good mongrel!"
Loki planted her hands on her hips and stamped her feet furiously on the corridor floor.
"I'm in there killing myself with hard labor, and that bastard has the nerve to sneak off because it's too hot?!"
"Just wait till I get back — I'll rip that wolf tail right off and stuff it down his throat!"
Loki ranted and fumed, grinding her teeth with barely contained fury.
She was clearly not taking this well at all.
At that moment.
The sound of steady footsteps came from inside the forge.
Haimer walked out.
He glanced once at the still-fuming Loki, then shifted his gaze toward the corner of the corridor.
Hair the radiant color of sunlight, cascading over her shoulders.
Golden eyes, clear and lucid.
A white dress with gold-trimmed lining, layered with a light breastplate and arm guards, a slender waist and long, graceful legs.
Ais Wallenstein.
She truly lived up to her reputation as one of Orario's most celebrated ice beauties.
Haimer's gaze lingered on Ais for two seconds.
"Since that wolf-man isn't here."
"Have her come in first, then."
"?"
At those words, Ais blinked.
She blinked those golden eyes once, tilted her head with guileless puzzlement, and looked left and right at the empty corridor.
Confirming there was nobody else around.
Then she extended a slender finger and pointed at her own nose.
"Me?"
"Who else would it be? Get in here, quickly!"
Loki had caught on by now too, Bete's crime momentarily forgotten.
She darted over and grabbed Ais by the wrist, dragging her toward the copper door.
"Come on, come on, come on! This is a once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity!"
Loki's face was alight with excitement as she hauled Ais into the forge.
As the door rumbled shut again behind them, the searing heat of the forge enveloped both of them at once.
Ais furrowed her brow slightly — evidently not fully comfortable with this kind of extreme, dry heat.
But.
She still stood obediently in front of the work table, without a word of complaint.
Haimer walked around to the other side of the work table, picked up a dry cloth, and wiped his hands.
"What do you want upgraded?"
At Haimer's question.
"Her weapon, obviously!"
Loki answered without a moment's hesitation, giving Ais a hearty slap on the back — and shamelessly letting her hand linger just long enough to sneak a graze along Ais's slender waist, earning a slightly uncomfortable sidestep from Ais.
Loki pointed to the sword scabbard hanging at Ais's hip.
"This is a top-tier special armament — commissioned by the Guild at enormous expense and custom-forged specifically for her by [Goibniu Familia]!"
Shing—!
A clear, ringing note.
The long, slender silver blade was drawn free, its surface glimmering with an icy, deadly luster beneath the ruddy light of the furnace.
Haimer's gaze fell on the sword.
He didn't need to examine it closely.
With the ability of [Divine Appraisal], the sword's full nature laid itself bare before him in an instant.
— Desperate Sword.
A top-tier special armament forged by [Goibniu Familia].
Its cost: ninety-nine million Valis.
The primary material incorporated an extremely rare metal called [Hihiirokane] — in the understanding of every smith and adventurer in Orario, that meant an absolute property of indestructibility.
However.
Within the body of the blade, Haimer could see a web of fine hairline cracks, dense as a spider's silk.
These were stress marks left behind over time — the accumulated toll of bearing forces that far exceeded the weapon's own limits, again and again.
Others might not know it.
But Haimer knew — the Sword Princess possessed a rare skill known as [Desperate Avenger].
Even the Desperate Sword, which prided itself on being indestructible, simply could not withstand the extreme pressure of her power when she unleashed it to tear everything apart.
Its indestructibility was only relative.
And the elegant saber-form of the slender blade, to achieve its extreme structural integrity, had sacrificed a fair measure of raw cutting power — making it noticeably weaker than an average top-tier weapon in terms of pure damage output.
Haimer stepped forward, set the cloth aside, and reached out.
Ais paused for just a moment, then passed the Desperate Sword over to him.
The hilt settled into his grip, cool to the touch.
Haimer leveled the blade flat, black eyes carefully sweeping along the edge of the sword.
"The foundation is decent — but this sword has already reached its limit."
Haimer's finger flicked lightly against the flat of the blade.
"Its sharpness has already degraded noticeably. Given some time, one high-intensity use will dull it completely and permanently."
Hearing that blunt, dead-on assessment, Hephaestus — who had been standing off to the side, idly examining the red boots from earlier — looked up as well, a flicker of agreement crossing the lone red eye behind her eyepatch.
This was, in fact, precisely the headache that old man Goibniu had been losing sleep over lately.
Haimer set the sword down, leaned against the edge of the table, and reached over to pull several sheets of parchment from the wooden rack beside him. He snatched up a charcoal pencil and began sketching out rapid lines of notation.
"Since we're modifying it —"
"While there's still residual heat in the deep-layer ore we just processed, I have three options I can offer."
Haimer slid the parchment across the table.
"The first: melt deep-layer fire-attribute ore directly into the blade, dramatically boosting base destructive power — the trade-off being that it will alter the blade's weight distribution and flexibility."
"The second: fully restructure the interior of the blade so it can carry wind-attribute magic more smoothly — a specialization toward wind-element channeling."
Haimer's long finger tapped a point on the diagram.
"As for the third option —"
Before Haimer could finish.
"The third one! I want the third one!"
Loki bounded forward.
"Use the same concept as that Divine Weapon of yours!"
"That weapon that kills enemies and shatters their souls to devour their growth — it's just too cool!"
"Make Ais's Desperate Sword work the same way, and our Familia will cut through the deep floors like slicing vegetables!"
Hearing Loki's utterly harebrained demand.
Haimer's expression was blank.
He raised his hand without ceremony.
Closed it into a fist, middle and index finger knuckles extended.
And brought it down hard on top of Loki's skull.
Thwack!
A dull thud.
"Owww!"
Loki let out a pained shriek, both hands flying to her head, tears practically springing from her eyes.
"Loki, the next time you start running your mouth and throwing out thoughtless nonsense like that —"
"I'll drain every drop of your Divine Blood and use it to recast this sword. As a divine material it would at least make a top-tier component."
Haimer gave Loki a sidelong glance, his tone still perfectly mild — and yet the words themselves were the kind that made a person's blood run cold.
Loki shuddered from head to toe, immediately scurried behind Hephaestus clutching her head, and didn't dare show anything except two eyes peeking out pitifully from behind Hephaestus's shoulder.
Hephaestus, wearing an expression of profound speechlessness, brushed her off.
Ais watched all of this unfold, and blinked.
Haimer drew his gaze back, turning to look at Ais, who had been standing quietly the entire time.
"A weapon is only as good as how well it suits the one who wields it."
"This sword belongs to you."
"So — what do you want?"
Ais looked at the Desperate Sword lying on the work table.
In those guileless golden eyes, a subtle ripple stirred.
"I..."
"I want it to never break."
"I want it to stay with me — always — without ever being destroyed."
Ais spoke softly, her voice as clear as still water, carrying with it a bone-deep stubbornness.
"In that case."
Haimer's finger tapped steadily against the table.
"Pure hardness has its limits."
"As long as something has a fixed physical structure, any impact that exceeds its tolerance threshold will destroy it — that's an ironclad law of material reality in the Lower World."
"If you want to achieve that —"
"We can't cling stubbornly to the property of indestructibility. Let's think differently."
Haimer leaned forward slightly, his eyes on Ais.
"While I'm at it, let me ask you something."
"Would you like to try a sword that can repair itself — by slaying monsters?"
Ais blinked.
Self-repair?
A weapon that could repair itself?
"Is that really possible?"
"Of course."
Haimer gave a small nod.
"I can give it a circuit — one that continuously absorbs the residual Magic Stone energy from slain monsters to repair itself, and even evolve over time."
"A living blade that grows stronger the more it fights — sustaining itself through battle."
"As long as you keep slaying enemies in combat, the blade will automatically fill in and restore any damage to its edge."
"In short —"
"A semi-living weapon."
The moment those words landed, the entire forge fell into a brief, stunned stillness.
Even the roaring sound of the flames churning inside the furnace seemed to diminish.
Absorb Magic Stone energy through slaughter — and self-repair?
This near-insane concept — of breathing something like life into a dead object — was a frontier that even Hephaestus had never touched.
But the problem was, the one saying it was Haimer.
Which made Hephaestus unable to suppress her own curiosity.
Ais stood before the work table.
In her clear golden eyes, the reflection of Haimer's calm face was overlaid with the swirling orange-red furnace fire behind him.
"A sword that... lives?"
She murmured softly.
For someone as naturally unhurried as Ais, the complex theory of forging was perhaps difficult to follow.
But one thing she understood.
With this property — this sword could always stay with her. It would never be gone.
Thinking of this, Ais recalled the etiquette Riveria had once taught her, and found herself clasping her hands together in front of her, bowing her head slightly, bending at the waist in a proper, earnest bow toward Haimer.
"Please."
"Understood."
With Ais's answer received, Haimer gave a small nod and accepted.
He picked the heavy forge-hammer back up off the work table.
"Though since we're starting work, there's still the matter of the heat that needs to be dealt with first."
With that, Haimer turned his head, gaze traveling across the work table and landing squarely on Loki — who had just gotten hit and was currently curled up behind Hephaestus trying to stay very small.
"Loki."
Haimer spoke, his chin tilting toward the large metal bellows handle.
"Back to work."
If Loki's earlier stint at the bellows — forging the boots for one of Haimer's children — had been the labor of a conscripted prisoner full of grievances, then —
Now.
Hearing that what came next was upgrading Ais's Desperate Sword.
Loki's reaction could only be described as spectacularly enthusiastic.
"No problem!"
"Watch closely, Ais!"
"For your sake — so you can cut through the Dungeon and lay waste to everything in your path — today I will pour my very life into this bellows and burn that fire hotter than it's ever burned!"
Done with her speech, Loki made a point of wiping her nose dramatically in front of Ais, striking what she clearly considered an incredibly cool pose.
Then she threw herself at the bellows, clamped both hands around the metal handle with an iron grip.
"HAAAAAAHH—!!"
She let out an utterly unhinged battle cry.
Loki practically dangled herself off the handle, arms tensed, throwing the full force of every muscle she had into slamming it down and hauling it back up in a furious rhythm.
WHOOOM—BOOM!
The underground air chamber at the base erupted with a deafening roar.
A torrent of oxygen was blasted violently into the firebrick furnace, and the orange-red flames were instantly transformed into a state of searing, near-white heat — fire tongues shooting all the way to the top of the furnace.
The sheer effort was something else.
Haimer stared for a moment, then looked away in silence.
...
And so.
Sparks burst and scattered above the black iron work table.
The pure white dress shirt pulled taut across his arms as they moved, the outline of smooth, explosively powerful muscle barely visible beneath the fabric.
Clang!
Clang!
Sharp strikes and deep resonant thuds woven together.
Ais, who had been standing quietly off to the side, found her gaze pulled over without meaning to.
She watched the silver slender blade that had accompanied her for so long gradually turn red-hot beneath Haimer's hammer, even beginning to shift shape.
Haimer's focus had reached a state of total absorption.
The forge fire reflected in the black of his pupils.
Ais watched all of it.
Without quite noticing when it happened —
Her golden eyes, unblinking, had fixed themselves on the arc of Haimer's swinging arm, and on the blade that was gradually fusing into an entirely new form — and she had simply lost herself in the sight.
Time flowed past to the sound of hammer strikes.
Extreme heat combined with the sustained, high-intensity labor of continuous hammering.
Even Haimer's forehead had begun to glisten with a fine layer of sweat.
Sweat traced down along his jaw, dripped onto the stone floor, and evaporated in an instant into a thin thread of white steam.
Pssshhh—!
When the blade was plunged into the quench liquid and a great cloud of white steam erupted from the tank, the hammering paused briefly.
Hephaestus was adjusting the ratio of combined materials as Haimer had directed.
Haimer braced the hammer against the black iron table, straightened slightly, and let out a long, slow exhale.
Ais gradually came back to herself.
She looked at the sweat sliding down Haimer's profile, his face flushed from the heat of the furnace.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
He was clearly putting in this effort for her sake.
And here she was, just standing there doing nothing — that didn't feel right.
Ais pressed her lips together quietly.
Her voice drifted up through the waves of heat.
____
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