Chapter 43 A Smith’s Misalignment Won’t Set Right
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
When I stepped into the bath, Ethelena was already there, lying flat on the mat like a guard cat. Nothing happened.
I ended up enjoying a quiet soak by myself. She didn’t barge in with Torakuma this time, and once I settled into the water, I relaxed enough to hum off-key.
Long paperwork days end best with a long hot soak.
The heat pulled the fatigue out of my bones. I even thought about buying bath salts—or better, asking Torakuma’s family to trade some hinoki so I could build a cypress tub (T/N: hinoki = Japanese cypress).
I leaned my head on the rim and stretched out.
Keeping my hair out of the water was a pain, but I didn’t cut it; Ethelena liked to poke my tied hair like a cat batting a ribbon. She’s got a childish streak.
After twenty minutes up to the shoulders, fully warmed, I climbed out. Tomorrow, before we dive the Dungeon, my only real errand is handing Dalma-san his axe.
I might as well scrub the tub. With more people in the house, the ring builds up faster. A real pervert would call it “stock” from a pretty girl; I don’t have that kink.
Back in my room, I let my thoughts run until sleep. For Torakuma’s gear, I’ll make three pieces: cuirass, bracers, greaves, with a cloak on top.
I’ll cut extra slits for movement and weave orichalcum-silver thread into the fabric for defense. It also gives her a little cover from wandering eyes. She’s too trusting.
The problem is Ethelena. She grew—everywhere—and her old armor no longer fits. I tried to refit it, but we’re past quick fixes.
I kept worrying about the upper half and ignored the rest. That was dumb. Focus, Tatara. If I keep drifting into that territory, she shows up in my dreams—literally—using her Succubus power without meaning to.
Before she learned Sex Sorcery, on days I didn’t level up she often slipped into my dreams. I figure it was how a Succubus meets a basic need.
In dreams she pushes boundaries, and we had to set rules after one scare. We agreed on strict lines and stuck to them.
Anyway, the night passed without flags tripping, and I slept hard.
I told the old man to pick up in the morning, so Dalma-san should come early for his axe. I left my half-awake brain as-is, went to the workshop, and put Dalma-san’s axe into my inventory.
Before washing my face, I drained the tub, then gave up and took a quick shower. I rinsed off sleep sweat, cleared my head, and started breakfast. I’d spent yesterday home, tuning armor, so the pantry was empty.
Great. I still managed toast and scrambled eggs. I reached for the same instant potage as yesterday and thought, If I had miso and dashi, I could rotate ingredients and serve miso soup every day. No salad—every vegetable had died. I’ll handle house stuff this morning—food and a few supplies.
”Mm. Early again, Tatara.”
A voice came from behind me.
I turned to find Torakuma, already in plain clothes with her beloved katana in hand. No sweat yet—she was about to start her swings.
”Morning, Torakuma. More practice?”
”Mm. Morning. Just a light check. We dive the Dungeon.”
She didn’t plan to work up a sweat.
Her real show starts once we hit Ogre-class monsters and up. I need to plan her role until then.
”By the way—did Ethelena sleep with you?”
”Yes. We talked late. We had too much to say.”
”I see. As long as she had fun.”
She never had same-gender friends who stayed over. No wonder she’s giddy.
”She’s sleeping in my room. You can go wake her… but avoid, mm, doing anything there.”
”I’m not ‘doing’ anything.”
If that ever happens, it’ll be in her room or mine.
I headed to Torakuma’s room to wake Ethelena. Torakuma had given permission, so I knocked and called out.
No answer. I checked inside—empty bedding.
”…Ethelena?”
Torakuma had only just gotten up. Even with changing, that was under fifteen minutes.
If Ethelena woke, did she go to her own room? By the bed, her clothes for today were neatly set out—clean, unwrinkled.
I checked next door—Ethelena’s room.
Empty. The plush I salvaged from the Baral manor and mended sat lonely on the bed.
”Where did she… huh?”
I stepped back into the hall, scratching my head. Something faintly glimmered on the floor near the door Torakuma had borrowed—then continued in small dots.
”What is this… a liquid?”
It had a slight viscosity and looked very clear. I cast Appraisal out of habit.
Residual aura: “Succubus Trace”
Source: Ethelena Nelara Baral
”…Right.”
I followed the dots to my room. The door, which I’d shut tight, stood slightly ajar.
A muffled voice leaked through the gap. I peeked.
There she was—on my bed, face buried in my pillow, clinging to it like a lifeline. She’d half-kicked off her pajamas in her sleep, cheeks flushed, breathing deep as if the scent carried her somewhere safe.
”Mm… Ta…tara…”
She murmured my name into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.
She breathed in again and drifted farther. With a sigh, she tugged the blanket over herself and curled up, finally still.
I eased the door wider and stepped inside on my toes.
”Ethelena. Hey. Breakfast.”
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked up at me, realized where she was, then hid her face in the pillow again.
”…Morning.”
”Morning. You wandered. Succubus stuff?”
A tiny nod. “Sorry.”
”It’s fine. Just next time, knock.”
Another nod. The city mayor and Calmys-san would both blow a gasket if they saw this much chaos first thing in the morning.
I set the pillow straight, draped the blanket properly, and left her a moment to collect herself. Then I went to plate the eggs before they cooled.
I already knew where this was going the moment I kept watching. So I opened the door and stepped inside.
Ethelena’s glazed eyes found me. She stopped what she was doing and looked up with a bright, childlike grin that didn’t match the heat in the room.
”Tatara! Heh… Tatara!”
”Hey.”
She was fully gone to instinct.
”Do it with me,” she breathed. “A lot. Make me feel good, okay?”
She shifted, open in a way that left nothing to guess. Her intent was clear, and I’d long since reached my limit too.
I crossed the room. We closed the distance the way a spark meets tinder.
She welcomed me without hesitation, and my last bit of restraint snapped. We lost ourselves to it—fast, breathless, unwise.
The coil inside me had been wound too tight. Training with Sex Sorcery and keeping pace with Ethelena’s hunger had pushed my body to produce more and faster.
Two days shouldn’t break a man. For me, it did.
I clung to her and bit back a curse. “Damn it…”
She arched with a startled cry, and the world went white around the edges. I held her through it and exhaled, half-relief, half-surrender.
It wasn’t enough. Not yet.
I set my hands on her slim waist and moved again, steady this time, trying to spend the restless edge without losing myself. Focus. Don’t make this about anyone else. If I didn’t settle down, I’d start seeing targets where there shouldn’t be any—Torakuma included.
That crossed a line I refused to cross. She didn’t choose me, and I didn’t choose her. Using her because I was wound up would spit on that.
So I stayed with the woman who had chosen me, who met me with arms around my neck and a face wrecked by tears and a messy smile. Every thrust drew out a broken sound only I ever heard from her.
Possessiveness bit at me. I hated it. I let it pass like a wave.
”Tell me what you want,” I murmured at her ear.
She shivered. “I want you…
give it to me. All of it. Please.”
Not words she’d say when she was calm. They still hit something in me I didn’t want to name.
”Then I will,” I said, rougher than I meant to.
We held each other hard and let the moment take us. When it broke, she arched and accepted everything I gave.
I just told her to get pregnant. The Archangel said she’s more likely with me now that her growth isn’t hogging all her energy.
If that’s true, today might be the day. Ethelena trembled for a few seconds, then slumped against me, boneless.
”Good work, Ethelena,” I said, stroking her hair.
She laughed, ticklish and small, and hid her face.
When I finally pulled away, I sighed at the mess we’d made. She mumbled about it being a waste and—Succubus being Succubus—tried to fix that in her own way.
I gathered the sheets and covers for the wash. We stepped out together, and I paused.
”…Huh.”
”What’s wrong?” she asked.
”Nothing.”
The trail on the floor looked bigger than before. No, not bigger—new.
I filed the thought away and kept moving. Clean first. The “why” could wait.
I dumped the sheets in the laundry and started a load. I headed for the shower, but someone was already in there.
Probably Torakuma, rinsing off after kata. I thought I heard a soft, shaky sound under the water and decided to hear nothing at all.
We needed another shower room. I let Ethelena join Torakuma and took a hot, wrung-out towel to wipe down instead.
I scrubbed carefully where scent clings, then tossed the towel in the basket and went back to the living room. Empty.
About fifteen minutes later, Ethelena and Torakuma came in together. Neither had dried her hair well.
I’d run a dryer over both in a minute. Torakuma’s eyes looked a little puffy, and her flushed skin read like a different kind of heat. I ignored both.
”Let’s eat,” we said in unison.
We sat and started breakfast. I asked Ethelena to handle grocery shopping since I wanted to take care of house tasks this morning. She agreed right away.
I asked Torakuma to hang the laundry; she said she hadn’t really done housework—her family hired staff—but her eyes lit up, so I decided to teach her. Ethelena promised to show her after shopping. The air felt easy again, light with plans.
Tatia still hadn’t shown, so I started cleaning the bath. First, I misted the tub with cleaner from my custom foaming sprayer.
Unlike the stuff from my past life, this one carries every effect I could weave in: Purify, Cleanse, Sanitize, Sterilize, and mild Decompose. Grime lifted right away. I rinsed with the shower and scrubbed with a sponge until the tub felt slick and new.
The cleaner works, but it’s harsh. Leave residue and it’ll wreck your skin.
I once splashed a monster with it in the Dungeon by mistake—the skin sloughed off and you could see meat. Thankfully, water at forty degrees and up breaks the viscosity fast, so a hot rinse clears it. I told Ethelena, “If someone ever breaks in, throw this,” though she still doubts its punch since I never showed her.
I finished the tub, the mirror, the shelves, and the floor.
The water stains ran clean. I filled the tub so we could reheat it tonight and soak.
No sign of the old man, Dalma-san, or Tatia. I headed to the hall and mopped outside our rooms. I spread cleaner, ran the mop, wiped wet, then dry. The spots marked by… earlier…
still showed a bit, so I used my quick-dry wax. It cures in five minutes. With Crafting, this kind of work feels easy in my bones, and, weirdly, it’s fun. I told Torakuma and Ethelena I’d waxed the hall and to hold off walking there for five minutes. They answered with a quick “Okay.” I like people who listen.
I was about to grab a degreaser for the kitchen when the chime rang.
”Sorry to drop in so early, Tatara.”
At the door stood the city mayor, arms folded, a vein jumping at her temple. Behind her: the old man looking awkward, Dalma-san looking done with life, and Tatia, who didn’t seem to know what this was about.
”Uh, good morning. I get the old man, Dalma-san, and Tatia. Why you, Madam Mayor?”
The old man shot me a look that said, Is he serious? If he knew and still looked like that, I’d probably tripped another patent wire or development mess.
”Heh. Don’t play cute, Tatara. Explain this thing you sent last night.”
She pulled a stack of papers from her inventory—my research report on the Floating Stone.
”Right. You mean that.”
”Yes. This.“
She looked ready to blow, and I remembered I’d forgotten one key follow-up.
I pulled an item from my inventory and handed it over. She tilted her head, then her face changed color in real time.
”I forgot to report the finished unit. Performance is weaker than the ideal, so I named it ‘Lightfloat’ stone (T/N: ukimi-ishi; a lower-grade ‘Floating Stone’).”
”…Tatara. Inside. Now.”
I got steamrolled.
Dalma-san wore the face of a man who’d seen this pattern before. If he knew the mayor from the old party days, the reaction made sense.
”So,” she said once I’d led the three of them—minus Tatia—into the workshop, “why does last night’s report stop at theoretical proposal, yet this morning you’ve got a working piece?”
”It was a trial I expected to fail. It didn’t.”
”The notes predicted three extra-large mana stones or a soul core.”
”I can alchemize mana stones. Once I had the big ones ready, the rest… flowed.”
”Do not ‘let it flow’ your way into success. Reproducibility?”
”With a workshop like mine, doable. Without one, maybe if you’re a genius.”
”Are you able to reproduce it?”
”What does it say about the inventor if he can’t?”
”Right. You are a genius, then.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. The device doesn’t need a special bloodline skill—if you can stack multi-layered magic circles during Crafting, you can make it.
”I logged the run,” I added. “The bench recorder kept the data. I can submit it.”
”I’ll take it. We’ll see if anyone can repeat it.”
She accepted the bench data and the finished-unit notes. If they cart my bench design back to the capital, slap a ‘High-End Class Model’ label on it, and sell it for a fortune, then claim they still can’t make the product…
that won’t be on me. I explained multi-layered circles. The rest is study.
”Next,” she said, tapping the report. “Not the Lightfloat. This.“
She pointed at a margin note: a sketch and spec block for a super-massive mana reactor.
”Oh, that doodle? This?”
”Do not ‘that doodle’ me. Look at the materials list. Look at the projected output. What are you planning to do with this?”
”It’s a joke. A thought exercise. It’s not even buildable.”
”Of course it isn’t. If you did build and install one, the homeland would accuse Whirlwind of seeking independence and send the army.”
”…Wait. Seriously?”
I’d underestimated energy politics here.
On paper, the reactor’s output enough to power about 3,000 homes. Four units would power a city the size of Whirlwind—hospitals, factories, military bases—everything.
From catalog specs alone, it outmuscles the combined drives on a flagship. Ignore the fact that the materials are almost impossible, and you’re leaping several generations of tech at once.
And a lone crafter in a provincial city had drawn up the design and closed the theory. Of course the homeland would worry.
Then again… would they really fret over a crafter with average combat power?
This is a world where people slay gods.
”For the record,” she said, “I already filed to the homeland that this is absolutely not buildable and submitted the note. Their labs may still poke at it, but we also issued a statement that there’s no intent to rebel. Without that, who knows what happens.”
”Right. Patent filings don’t stop at Whirlwind, do they.”
”Of course they don’t stop at Whirlwind,” the mayor said. “If your patents hit the capital labeled ‘not reproducible,’ the labs scream, and the complaints land on my desk. Don’t test me.”
”I’m sorry. Really.”
”Good. Then listen.”
She looked furious, but I doubted she was that angry. She had to scold me in person because of her position.
”I figured you’d complain about the reactor’s… core principle,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “What principle.”
”It ties to this—and to the idea of artificially making a soul core.”
”…What?”
That reaction threw me.
”Hold it, Tatara. What do you mean, artificial soul core?”
”You didn’t see it from the process flow? It’s the same shape as a soul core.”
”You’re joking.”
She skimmed the theory section, cross-checked the notes, then covered her face with both hands.
”Why do you brush against the heart of soul cores as an afterthought.”
”Call it the law of mana gravitation. People rest, their functions downshift, and the body stores mana. Capacity tops out; overflow dumps back into ambient mana. Saints and heroes who receive power from the gods form a soul core inside because their capacity gets reinforced, so a new organ takes shape to hold it. That’s my read.”
”Will the capital’s labs notice?” she asked.
”If you missed it, they won’t.”
”Don’t overrate me. They gather the best minds in the country.”
”Funny. Unlike you, they still haven’t reproduced my techniques.”
For all her modesty, the mayor—once billed as Whirlwind’s top crafter—had independently reproduced my demonsteel, even if she called it a knockoff.
Patent royalties go through the royal institute anyway. If only her office pays me and not the institute, something’s off.
She exhaled.
”Fine. I’ll brief their director today with your report and throw a wet blanket on it.”
Her half-smile eased the knot in my chest.
”By the way,” she said, “what’s ‘gravitation’?”
Snake, meet foot. Right. Middle school here didn’t cover that.
”Uh… secondhand theory, so this’ll be rough,” I said.
Go-to move: blame hearsay.
I couldn’t drop the reincarnation card. I cast the talkative Archangel as my source.
I sketched gravity at a concept level and said I’d noticed a similar tendency in mana while analyzing the Floating Stone. The same pull exists in soul cores and god cores, and that’s why they keep running as power sources.
She raised her face, then pressed her hands to her temples. “Now my head hurts, not just my stomach.”
The old man snorted. “I shouldn’t laugh, but—”
”Rogas, you—!” she snapped, friend-sharp.
I let their bickering roll and turned to Dalma-san.
”Here you go,” I said. “Your order.”
”Oh? Oh! Sorry for the rush, kid.”
”It’s fine. A smith without his tool dries out.”
”Hah! Mouthy today.”
He tapped my chest with a friendly fist. I grinned back.
”Still,” he said, weighing the axe, “I asked yesterday and I’m picking it up today. Do I owe you a rush fee?”
”I don’t take those. I charge the posted rate.”
”Don’t cheapen your hands, kid. People will look down on you—and on anyone who swings your work.”
His tone sharpened.
I swallowed. If people treated my users—Dalma-san, the idiot, even Tatia—like they were lesser because I underpriced, I wouldn’t forgive myself.
”…You’re right. I’ll watch it.”
”You get a pass while you’re young—and not even out of the academy. That ends at graduation. Remember.”
”Got it. Thanks, Dalma-san.”
”Think nothing of it. Old men lecture. It’s what we do.”
He called it a bad habit, but the right kind of adult matters.
”Anyway,” I said, “this is my first commissioned weapon in demonsteel. Thirty thousand for the base job, and three million including the mithril and orichalcum work you asked through the old man.”
”…That’s still low. Mithril and orichalcum add three zeros at other shops.”
”Not for a single ingot’s worth.”
”Dalma,” the mayor cut in, “take the deal for now. Tatara knows why. Consider it an emergency discount.”
”So the kid’s involved too,” Dalma muttered, unhappy.
He didn’t like that a half-fledged student was in the line of fire. As a part-time instructor for the high school’s exploration track, he probably liked his hopefuls alive.
”I’ll focus on tool support,” I said. “My anti-personnel ability stays low.”
”Good. You’re not ready.”
Killing—best avoided. But this isn’t modern Japan with high ethics and a horror of death.
Someday, someone will force your hand. You keep the resolve ready, even if you don’t use it today.
Dalma tested the axe, feeling the balance. I walked him through the design goals while he built usage patterns in his head.
He especially liked the blade form that doubles as a hand guard; he smacked my back and praised it. I’d made the haft a touch thinner so he could wrap it to taste. He pulled a roll of grip wrap from his inventory and worked so fast my eyes lost track—under ten seconds to a fit he liked.
”Oh—one more thing,” I said. “The edge is mithril. Use it right and you can cut magic.”
”…Sometimes you look far away, kid.”
He stared at the blade, then nodded once and slung the axe across his back.
”Thanks. I’ll take it to the Dungeon and make it mine.”
”Do maintenance here. Tune it outside and you’ll throw the balance.”
”Yeah. Learned that the hard way with the last one.”
We traded lopsided, wolfish smiles.
After that, the old man transferred the three million, and the mayor’s group headed out.
I felt wrung out before we’d even set foot in the Dungeon.
Notes:
• Dalma – A massive, rugged Explorer with a burly frame and a presence that overshadows others, long considered a battle comrade of Rogas, Calmys, and the mayor. Straightforward and loyal, his trademark is entrusting everything to his allies—“makaseru otoko,” the kind who leaves even the forging of his great axe entirely to Tatara’s hands.
• Calmys – War God’s knight, Mayor’s guard chief, whip-master hiding as a swordswoman; sharp tongue, big-sister vibe to Tatara, grants him and Ethelena church protection.
• Rogas – Tatara’s father friend.
Please bookmark this series and rate ☆☆☆☆☆ on here!
Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
Leave a Reply