Chapter 81 The Blacksmith Forges with His Master
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
After waking up in the morning, I washed my face and headed to the kitchen. I rinsed the rice and set it to cook before starting on the miso soup. My mother-in-law had brought bonito flakes and dried kelp, so I decided to make proper dashi with them. First, I placed the kelp in water and began to heat it gently. Before it could reach a full boil, I turned off the heat, let it cool a little, then added the bonito flakes. When the pot nearly boiled again, I removed both kelp and flakes, leaving behind a clear, fragrant broth.
Next, I added sliced onions and potatoes to the dashi, letting them simmer over medium heat. I mixed white and red miso in a ratio of five to one, stirring until the flavor spread evenly through the soup. When the taste felt complete, the miso soup was done.
Now for the main dish. My mother-in-law had given me some salted salmon, so I decided to use that for breakfast. However, if I served it plainly, Ethelena and Dahlia might think I favored Japanese food too much. In that case, I’d just blend in a local touch.
I warmed olive oil in a pan, added butter and chopped garlic, and waited until the aroma filled the kitchen. Then I laid the salmon fillets skin-side down, pressing them lightly with a spatula as they sizzled. After a few minutes, I flipped them and poured soy sauce over the top. The smell of soy-sauce garlic butter salmon spread richly through the air—truly mouthwatering. Maybe next time I could coat it in flour or breadcrumbs and fry it instead.
As I was about to start on the side dish, I heard a soft rustling behind me. I noticed Ichika standing beside me, already whisking eggs. She wore an apron that looked handmade, and her fox ears pushed up the edge of her triangular kerchief in a strangely cute way. As she stirred the beaten eggs, she glanced at me.
”Master, can tamagoyaki be made with sugar, degozaru?” she asked.
”Eh? Ah, yes. You can season tamagoyaki with salt, dashi, or sugar—it’s good any way.”
”I see. I’m glad you’re not picky, degozaru.”
She smiled faintly at my answer, though she was still the same fox who hated vegetables. Lately, she had managed to eat them together with the main dish, but that didn’t mean she’d really overcome her dislike. Still, forcing her too much felt wrong somehow.
While I thought about that, she added sugar to the eggs and began to mix again. The glass bowl she used didn’t warm easily, so the sugar melted slowly, and she had to stir more times than usual. Once the mixture turned smooth, she oiled the tamagoyaki pan lightly and poured in a thin layer of egg. Tiny bubbles rose; she popped them gently with chopsticks, waited until it began to set, then rolled it. She moved the roll to one side, oiled the open space again, and poured in another layer of egg, letting it flow beneath the first roll. Slowly, patiently, she repeated this until a plump yellow roll took shape. In my past life, I would have pressed it with a board to even the shape, but hers puffed up a little—a charming, soft look.
”Master, don’t stare so much, degozaru,” she said, noticing my gaze with a wry smile.
Apparently, she had caught me watching. After moving the finished tamagoyaki from pan to board, she cut it into neat slices, then stuck a toothpick into one and held it up to my mouth.
”Here, master. Say ‘ahh.’”
Her golden eyes narrowed as she smiled, but there was no teasing in them—only genuine warmth as she offered me a taste. I opened my mouth, and she fed me the piece gently.
The layers of egg melted the moment they touched my tongue—soft and fluffy, with just a hint of half-cooked creaminess. The sweetness reminded me of the lunches I’d had as a child; I used to get so excited when this flavor appeared in my lunchbox.
”…It’s delicious,” I said.
”Really, degozaru? I’m so glad.”
Her voice carried deep relief. Why does she devote herself to me so completely?
Is it because I gave her a place to rest, or something else entirely? Someday, I hope she’ll tell me.
As breakfast came together, the house began to stir. Out in the garden, Yohira was practicing dance with my mother-in-law.
Ethelena had just woken up and pouted when she saw Ichika and me already finished with the meal prep. Dahlia was still asleep, and Hinagiku-san was nowhere to be seen. Amatsu-san stretched under the morning sunlight—it actually looked quite pleasant.
I sat on the sofa, watching this peaceful morning unfold.
Ichika slept with her head resting on my lap, and Ethelena, not wanting to lose, leaned against me as well. Despite her jealousy, she didn’t scold me for stroking Ichika’s head; she only slipped her hand into mine, intertwining our fingers.
Ichika, for her part, didn’t stir even when Ethelena moved closer. In the past, she would have woken the moment Yohira approached, but now she stayed completely relaxed. When Ethelena gently petted her head, Ichika accepted it in her sleep, her tail swaying lazily.
That was when Ethelena finally realized why I was letting Ichika use my lap—it was simply soothing. It might look like I was treating her like a pet, but for some reason, she seemed perfectly content with that. I just hoped it was fine.
”Ugh… I overslept,” came Hinagiku-san’s groggy voice.
She appeared wearing a T-shirt that said “Steady Pig” in bold letters, and from my angle, I couldn’t tell if she was wearing anything underneath. My body tensed instinctively.
Ichika’s ears twitched, and she stirred, sitting up at once. Damn—it looked like I’d disturbed her rest.
She blinked, looked from me to Ethelena beside me, and showed a brief look of surprise before giving a small, knowing smile—as if she’d guessed the situation from the way I was petting. Then her gaze swept the room, stopping on Hinagiku-san.
Her eyes sharpened, anger flickering within them. The next instant, she vanished from the sofa and leapt upward—nearly to the ceiling—before dropping down on Hinagiku-san from above, tackling her to the floor. For a brief moment, as Hinagiku-san fell, I thought I saw dark fur under her lifted shirt—but I’d rather believe I didn’t.
”Wha—!? An ambush? An attack? Wait, Ichika! What are you doing so early in the morning!!”
”You dare sleep later than Okusama, exposing yourself in such indecent clothes? Shame on you, lazy Chrysanthemum—degozaru!”
Ichika delivered a flawless argument. Hinagiku-san, realizing she had no counter to such painfully correct logic, fell silent, her words stuck in her throat.
”And what’s with that outfit, degozaru!?” the fox continued, voice sharp as a blade. “Didn’t master say yesterday that the words written on that shirt were pathetic!? And again, you’ve come out without underwear! Did you leave your womanly shame to die on the beach, degozaru!? Master is here, and so is Grandpa, degozaru!?”
It was an unstoppable storm of pure righteousness. Their positions had completely reversed since the early days—Hinagiku-san, once the scolder, was now utterly cornered.
”It’s comfortable and easy to wear! That’s why!” Hinagiku-san tried to defend herself, face flushing red.
”That’s not good, degozaru!” the fox shot back. “Master may hold Ethelena-dono, but he’s still not used to women, degozaru! If Hinagiku appears dressed like that, he’ll freeze up from tension and fear, degozaru! And Grandpa still has desires, degozaru! What if he gets excited and plucks Hinagiku’s flower right here, degozaru!? If something’s going to be plucked, let it at least be your chrysanthemum, degozaru!”
”Oh, that’s a cruel thing to say, Ichige…” came Amatsu-san’s irritated voice from outside—clearly, she had heard the commotion. For a fleeting moment, I imagined what would happen if that enormous weapon of hers ever got aroused. The thought alone made me hear a phantom voice in my head saying, *You’re one to talk.*
Hinagiku-san, pinned beneath the furious fox, could do nothing to resist.
Yet, since everything the fox said was true, I couldn’t bring myself to intervene. Maybe my mother-in-law could stop them; I certainly couldn’t.
”…Ichika,” my mother-in-law finally called, her tone calm but firm.
The fox girl froze, ears twitching.
”I’ll talk to Hinagiku later,” my mother-in-law said. “For now, step away and calm yourself by inhaling Tatara-san’s scent.”
”Wait—what?” I muttered. *Why does calming her down require sniffing me? And why is that somehow encouraged?* Despite my confusion, Ichika reluctantly backed off from Hinagiku and walked toward me, still frowning in dissatisfaction.
Without warning, she leapt softly into my arms, landing against my stomach with a light *poof*. I caught her by reflex, holding her close and patting her head. Her large tail swished back and forth, clearly showing her mood had recovered.
She really was like a big, affectionate dog. Everything about her was soft and warm—enough to make me momentarily uneasy in ways I shouldn’t be. Still, I was her master. I had no intention of betraying that bond—or Ethelena—for a fleeting impulse.
Meanwhile, Hinagiku-san stared at my mother-in-law with a face full of despair.
Judging by how she often taught dance and manners, perhaps she was also responsible for proper etiquette. Poor Hinagiku—she was doomed to a long lecture.
After that chaotic episode, we finally gathered around the table for breakfast. Tatia joined us, and together we began to eat.
”The salmon,” my mother-in-law said thoughtfully, “is an excellent fusion of local flavor and Hizuru’s style. Soy sauce and butter with olive oil—it creates a rich aroma. The salted salmon’s brine is a little strong, but overall, this dish beautifully bridges cultures. You’ve done well, Tatara-san.”
”Ah, I didn’t think that deeply,” I replied, scratching my cheek awkwardly.
She praised me simply but sincerely.
Hinagiku-san, usually the one to handle similar dishes, looked utterly defeated—her soul seemed halfway out of her mouth after the scolding she’d just endured. Her role had been completely stolen lately.
Amatsu-san ate quietly, balancing bites of salmon, white rice, and miso soup with disciplined rhythm.
She seemed a bit wary of the sweet tamagoyaki, though; after a brief glance, she gestured toward Hinagiku-san to pass hers over. So she did have a playful side.
Incidentally, both she and Tatia were using chopsticks I had crafted earlier.
I’d made several pairs for Yohira, and among them, a few happened to fit their hands perfectly. I was glad they found them comfortable.
”Still,” my mother-in-law continued, “the rice—Ichika made it, didn’t she? It tastes just as steady and well-cooked as ever.”
”Oh, that’s actually the automatic pot,” I said casually.
”…Pardon?” she blinked.
”I modified the rice cooker you gave me into a magic device. Ichika showed me her technique, so I replicated it. It doesn’t adjust for temperature or humidity like she does, but it guarantees consistent quality. The City Mayor already approved the design, so once the patent is filed, it can be sold—with proper licensing fees.”
My mother-in-law froze, eyes wide. Maybe I’d said something strange.
”Tatara-boy, could ya make one of them pots for me too?” Amatsu-san asked suddenly.
”They can be mass-produced. I can even make you one myself, though it’ll need mana to run.”
”Buyin’ it!” she declared with fierce enthusiasm.
In the end, we agreed on a trade—since I didn’t have local currency, she gave me the katana we had forged together yesterday instead. Honestly, if that blade were priced back in Hizuru, it might’ve been worth far more than the pot.
”Tatara-san,” my mother-in-law asked next, “could you modify other rice cookers too?”
”If they’re the same model, yes. If you want it based on someone else’s cooking, just bring them here. I’ll need to watch them cook once, but I can recreate the process.”
”Then I’d like to request that,” she said with a smile.
As payment, she offered cloth dyed in Hizuru’s traditional colors.
Depending on the shade, I might be able to make a kimono for Ethelena. Though, if I asked the price, I might faint.
”Already fitting right in by day two, huh, Mother,” Tatia remarked.
”This house has such an easy atmosphere,” she replied softly. “I’m sure even that person will settle in soon.”
”Father seems to have taken quite a liking to Tatara, doesn’t he?”
I nearly groaned aloud. If the Acting Head of the Family came to visit, my stomach would probably give out from stress.
”Tatara-dono,” Tatia asked, “while the two of them are here, you’re not joining the exploration team, correct?”
”Right. It’s a rare chance to learn Hizuru’s techniques properly. I want to study them so I can offer new weapon options to explorers who struggle with their current blades.”
I answered while nodding.
Some adventurers had trouble handling heavy slashing swords; if katanas suited them better, it might open new paths. If that knowledge spread through ‘Whirlwind,’ it could help many people.
Sensing my thought, Tatia smiled warmly, nodding again. She must have remembered her own bonds with weapons—the estoc she found in the dungeon, and ‘Andreia,’ the sword I forged.
Encounters with the right weapon could change everything. Expanding those choices could only be a good thing.
When I looked up, I saw Ethelena and Ichika discussing the sweet tamagoyaki.
Since both of them cooked, they were likely exchanging opinions to improve their dishes. Maybe I should join them soon.
Then, from the hallway, came a sleepy voice—
”Good… morning… everyone.”
With a sleepy yawn, Dahlia stepped into the living room.
She was wearing her maid uniform as usual, though her hair stuck up in several directions. Lately, her sleep seemed shallow—perhaps something was interfering with her rest.
”Dahlia,” I said, “make sure you eat a proper breakfast. I have something to give you afterward.”
”Yes, my master,” she murmured, half-asleep, as she began to eat slowly. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if she was awake enough to chew properly.
”What are you giving her?” Ethelena asked curiously.
”Oh, it’s not her original armor,” I replied, “but I made a temporary one last night. I plan to hand it over today.”
”Is that true!?” Dahlia’s drowsiness vanished instantly. Her golden eyes widened, sparkling with excitement. Clearly, anything related to magic gear could wake her faster than a bucket of cold water.
”It’s true,” I said, smiling faintly. “But first, finish your meal. You and the others are going into the dungeon today—test it there, and if you find any problems, report back.”
”Yes, my Master!” she answered brightly. Her pace quickened, though she still chewed carefully. At least her discipline hadn’t faded.
Once breakfast was done, I went outside with Dahlia. Ethelena and Yohira had volunteered to handle the dishes—Ethelena to make up for missing the cooking, and Yohira as part of her continuing homemaking lessons.
My mother-in-law watched Yohira fondly from the veranda, though it seemed she had no intention of teaching her to cook. I got the feeling that wasn’t Yohira’s natural strength.
For now, I turned to Dahlia and brought out the temporary Arcane Armor. I explained how, since her real armor could fly, this one used a hovering mechanism to simulate that feeling. Her eyes shone like gemstones. When I described the anchor gun attached to the arm and the laser pointer for aiming, she looked even more enchanted.
I was also thinking of making a training unit for real flight later that night, though it would be a difficult and dangerous project. For actual practice, I’d probably ask Hinagiku-san to supervise.
”Master, what is the name of this provisional Arcane Armor?” Dahlia asked suddenly.
”Eh? I haven’t thought of one.”
It was only a prototype, so I hadn’t planned to give it an official name. Honestly, I wished she wouldn’t expect naming sense from me.
”Even so,” she said seriously, “it’s your creation, your child in a way. Please acknowledge it.”
”No,” I said flatly.
”Then I’ll destroy the city.”
”Then I’ll destroy you.”
…That escalated fast. A full-blown exchange straight out of some grimdark anime. When I looked at her nervously, Dahlia was smirking like she’d planned the whole thing.
Was she… learning from other worlds in her sleep? With a Machine God that weird, I wouldn’t rule it out.
”If I die by your hand,” she said softly, “I’ll become a wound that remains in your heart forever.”
”You’re seriously messed up, you know that?”
”Master, either name the armor—or kill me. Choose.”
What was with this intense determination? Her resolve was way too real.
…Fine. ‘Alstroemeria,’ I said at last.
”Understood,” she replied with a proud smile. “Arcane Armor Alstroemeria—acknowledged. A wonderful name, Master.”
”It’s just the name of a flower,” I muttered. “Couldn’t think of anything else.”
The flower meant “longing for the future.” Since this was an unfinished prototype, the name felt right.
And no—it wasn’t taken from any mecha movie I knew. I preferred the black lily from that series anyway, though its meaning made it unfit for naming something like this.
After handing her the Arcane Armor, the rest of the party—everyone except me—headed off to the dungeon. Exhausted from the morning’s chaos, I stayed behind at my mother-in-law’s request.
”Well then, Tatara-san,” she said calmly, “let’s proceed with optimizing and reinforcing the defensive barrier. Amatsu, please assist us.”
Following her instructions, we began the work. First, we had to remove all the mithril pillars that served as the base points for the house’s barrier.
I equipped the Genbu Revised for efficiency and pulled them out one after another. Amatsu-san looked visibly impressed by the weapon.
My mother-in-law inspected each pillar’s engraved spell formula, pointed out sections for correction, and directed the adjustments. Each location required subtle tuning, so even with my efficiency, it took about three hours to complete.
I had to equip the Alchemist’s Egg midway to keep up with mana exhaustion, but by the end, my mind felt completely drained. When we finally finished, I nearly collapsed.
Still, the results were undeniable. Even someone as unversed in enchantment as me could feel the improvement. The barrier’s strength had increased noticeably, and the flow of spiritual energy had become smoother.
The air itself felt cleaner—lighter, calmer. It was… comfortable.
”This should do nicely,” my mother-in-law said.
”Lady, ain’t this a bit too much?” Amatsu-san muttered. I could understand his reaction—this level of precision was absurd.
”She’s just worried about Yohira,” I explained quietly. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t go this far to reinforce a house that isn’t even connected by blood.”
Or maybe she just couldn’t tolerate imperfect spellwork. That would make her a total perfectionist—and that idea scared me more.
”…Tatara-san,” she said, hiding her smile behind a folding fan, “I was simply irritated by the sloppy construction.”
That sounded suspiciously like embarrassment, but pointing it out would’ve been rude.
”Next,” she announced, “we’ll fix your forge. The mana drawn from the dragon vein is being wasted terribly.”
”Wait—what?”
She really intended to fix *that*? Was she serious?
”Give it up, Tatara-boy,” Amatsu sighed.
”…Should’ve kept my mouth shut,” I muttered.
We spent another hour adjusting the forge setup. It was shorter than the barrier work, but just as demanding.
While revising the spell circuits, Amatsu added a hand lever to the furnace, mimicking a bellows for easier operation. I caught her staring at me with an amused expression, while my mother-in-law simply smiled in quiet satisfaction.
”Well then,” she said cheerfully, “shall we begin today’s katana forging?”
”Lady, I’m spent,” Amatsu groaned.
”Same here,” I added. “Please… just thirty minutes of rest.”
After so much nonstop labor, we were both completely exhausted. Sure, my HP had recovered thanks to the Egg, but my mind was another story. From the look on Amatsu’s face, she seemed astonished that I, the younger one, could even say that—but if I couldn’t at least beat her in stamina, what did I have left?
As I’d declared, I recovered in exactly thirty minutes.
With the memory of yesterday’s work beside Amatsu-san still vivid in my mind, I began forging the katana once more. This time, the process was far easier—since the steel came from dungeon materials commonly found within Whirlwind, it was far more manageable than the refined tamahagane of yesterday.
The method I used was called oroshitetsu—a traditional way of swordmaking that didn’t rely on tamahagane, often done using old nails or scrap steel. I heated two types of steel in the furnace until they glowed red, then hammered and stretched them on the anvil.
While striking, I carefully divided the carbon content, separating the steel to be used for the core and the outer layers. Since the impurities were few, all I needed to watch for was the balance of carbon flow.
Before long, Amatsu-san took over the hammering. She still had more techniques to show me, gripping her beloved hammer with steady confidence. Each strike echoed through the forge—measured, alive. I focused not only on the rhythm of her movements but also on the flow of mana. She guided it not just through her body but into the hammer itself, correcting the invisible paths within the steel. I hadn’t noticed this yesterday, but now I understood—she wasn’t just shaping metal, she was refining its inner flow. This technique was crucial to my growth; I burned every detail into my memory. Perhaps sensing my determination, Amatsu-san glanced sideways at me and smirked, then swung her hammer even harder.
The work went smoothly. When it came time to prepare the clay for quenching, I was the one to mix it.
I created an original blend, combining finely ground mana stones—powdered enough to be used even with artificial orichalcum. I adjusted the mixture by eye, calculating based on the furnace’s heat and the steel’s color, then trusted my instincts as a crafter to finish it. Amatsu-san looked half exasperated at my improvisation, but I’d judge the results later.
When training resumed, I tried to apply the technique I had seen from her earlier. But with my still-rough mana control and an ordinary iron hammer, matching her delicate precision was a struggle. My mana output fluctuated by about 0.01%—a margin small to most, but unacceptable here. Sure enough, Amatsu-san struck me on the head and scolded me soundly. The internal flow of the steel, visible through Concept Appraisal, had warped slightly.
I’d have to fix it through more training. I couldn’t let such an imperfect blade ever be called one of her creations. Focusing my will, I sharpened my senses and refused to tolerate even the smallest deviation. Every cross-cut in the juumonji forging process, I made myself. As long as I had Amatsu-san’s guidance, it was fine to make mistakes—or take hits. I’d rely on Concept Appraisal and my crafter’s instinct to strike where I believed perfection lay.
Eventually, we completed the layers—core iron, outer iron, and the cutting edge—forming the classic hon-sanmai-zukuri. Amatsu-san showed me what the ideal katana form should be, her every move a lesson.
I memorized each technique without missing a single one. If this person was my master, then I wanted to become a disciple worthy of pride.
When it came time to shape the tip, the kissaki, she left it to me. I followed the image in my head and cut it as cleanly as I could.
Then, during hizukuri, I adjusted the width and curvature, keeping the arc shallow. I refined the form with files, then applied my handmade clay evenly using all the power of my Crafting skill. Because of the shallower curve, I thickened the layer along the spine slightly compared to yesterday’s.
The mana stones caused the clay to dry faster, and once ready, we placed the blade into the furnace. Amatsu-san told me to decide the timing for withdrawal myself. Through Concept Appraisal, I watched the heat flow inside the steel—785 degrees Celsius. That was the moment.
I pulled the blade from the furnace and plunged it into the water tank. A fierce hiss filled the air, louder even than yesterday’s. Steam billowed, and when it cleared, I lifted the cooled blade. Peeling away the hardened clay with Crafting skill, the pure metal surface revealed itself.
”…Beautiful,” came my mother-in-law’s soft voice. Even unpolished, the steel shimmered with a clarity that felt almost sacred.
Remembering Amatsu-san’s movements from the previous day, I shaped the tang and began fitting the hilt.
Throughout the process, I channeled mana into every tool, using Concept Appraisal to refine the inner lines until the blade was complete.
Though it hadn’t even been ground yet, its presence was striking—like a crescent moon gleaming in the winter night.
”…Tatara-boy, carve your name,” Amatsu-san said quietly.
”Ah—yes, Master.”
Realizing I’d been staring in awe, I quickly answered and inscribed my signature on the tang. Using Hizuru script, I carved “Apprentice Blacksmith Tatara,” and added the date on the reverse.
It was my very first katana—a blade born from Amatsu-san’s guidance, yet shaped through my own hands and will. My fire, my clay, my design—it was the sword I had long wanted to make.
I moved on to polishing. There were no dedicated polishers in Whirlwind, so both rough and fine polishing fell to me.
I guided mana through the whetstone and blade, careful not to distort the internal flow. Without compromise, I polished until I was truly satisfied—and when I finally looked at the blade, its beauty left me breathless.
”Well done, Tatara-boy. Your first true katana,” Amatsu-san said with a grin.
”This… this is my katana…”
”A fine one indeed. You’ve done well, my disciple.”
”…Eh?” Did she just—did she just acknowledge me as her disciple?
”Tatara-boy,” she said, laughing softly, “you’re my first disciple. Be proud of it.”
Her words blurred in my vision, and before I realized it, tears were sliding down my cheeks.
”I’m sorry… calling you ‘Master’ so easily…”
”No need for that. I’m honored. My first disciple—you make me proud.”
”…Wait, what do you mean first? You never had any before? You’re joking, right?”
Someone with her skill not having students—it sounded impossible. What a loss for Hizuru.
”Tatara-san,” my mother-in-law interjected with a faint smile, “for the record, it’s not that she refused to teach. It’s that no one in Hizuru has ever managed to learn Amatsu’s technique.”
”…What?”
”You’re the only one who has truly understood both her methods and her philosophy.”
”…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Somehow, I could already see my future—where people in Hizuru called me either a prodigy or a total monster.
—
As a little bonus—what if Tatara…
A young man sat cross-legged on a sofa, meditating in quiet focus. He looked to be in his late teens, a tall figure with long black hair and a well-trained body visible beneath his loose clothing.
In front of him knelt a girl with short, violet-colored hair. Resting her elbows on her knees, she cupped her cheeks in her hands and gazed at him with half-lidded eyes.
”Hey, Tatara. If you don’t get ready soon, we’ll be late for school,” she said, her husky voice cutting through the silence. The young man—Tatara—slowly opened his amber-colored eyes, his gaze drifting slightly unfocused. The girl in front of him, Ethelena, wore an oversized jacket, a thin shirt, and a pair of short shorts. As she leaned forward, the matching violet of her underwear flashed between the hems, instantly shaking Tatara’s calm.
”…Is that outfit meant to distract my focus, Ethelena?”
”Huh?—Wha—Idiot!” she sputtered, realizing too late where his gaze had gone. Though they had already shared a physical relationship, her reactions were still as shy and flustered as ever. Both of them insisted they weren’t dating, which only made their classmates more eager to tease, meddle, or even compete for their attention behind the scenes.
Breaking his meditation, Tatara stood and drew a cloak from his inventory. The soft robe shimmered faintly with mana reinforcement—his own modified version of the standard cloak worn by mages throughout the city of Whirlwind.
”Another day at the academy… what a drag,” he sighed.
”Stop complaining. You’re a mage, so you need to study how to handle yourself,” Ethelena scolded, already slipping on her boots.
The two were students in Whirlwind Academy’s explorer training program—a curriculum designed to prepare adventurers for dungeon expeditions.
”Honestly, those lectures are full of useless theory. No practicality, no innovation, nothing worth listening to.”
”I think that just means you’re the strange one, Tatara,” Ethelena replied, exasperated.
As they walked side by side down the path to school, their banter continued. Tatara Julon—known throughout Whirlwind as a prodigious young mage—was famous for both his intellect and his unorthodox methods.
Despite being human, and therefore limited in raw mana reserves, his efficiency and creativity placed him among the top five mages of his generation. Ethelena Nel-Baral, the girl who had lost her parents and been taken in by him, was no less remarkable—a magic swordswoman whose blade of condensed mana danced through enemies with dazzling grace. Her beauty and skill earned her frequent confessions at school, though the presence of Tatara beside her kept most suitors at bay—not that either of them realized it.
”Monsters like upper-floor goblins can be taken out with basic spells,” Tatara said casually. “As long as you focus your mana properly and aim to pierce the brain, they drop easy.”
”That’s only true for you, genius. Most people can’t control mana that precisely,” Ethelena sighed.
Tatara Julon—a prodigy who had reached the level that even centuries-old mages sought—was, in every sense, a monster in human form. His hatred of waste meant he had never even bothered to learn mid-tier spells.
For the first fifteen floors of the dungeon, that had been enough. He planned to study higher magic only when they faced a true boss.
”What I really don’t get,” Ethelena said, frowning, “is your skill setup. You’ve got ‘Magic Attack Increase,’ ‘Mana Boost,’ and ‘Hawk’s Eye’—that makes sense. But then ‘Hammer Mastery’ and ‘Crafting’? How are you still this strong?”
”Well,” Tatara shrugged, “maybe because I use Crafting to make my own gear?”
It was an absurd combination.
Any mage would normally crave skills like ‘Staff Proficiency’ or elemental enhancements—not weapon forging or hammer fighting. But Tatara’s level exceeded twenty, giving him two more unlisted skills beyond those.
”If someone rushes me, I’m fragile. That’s why Hawk’s Eye helps extend my range, and Hammer Mastery lets me fight back up close. Plus, making my own weapons with Crafting just makes sense. Don’t forget—it was me who made your sword.”
”Ugh… right. I’m… grateful,” she muttered, blushing slightly.
Tatara Julon—prodigy mage and eccentric creator of magic devices. The sword Ethelena wielded could compress mana to near physical density, and even he doubted whether he could recreate it perfectly again.
”Still,” he continued, “even with gear like that, I keep losing to that idiot.”
”Don’t call him that. He’s your childhood friend,” Ethelena chided.
”Yeah, and also my rival. I’ve been losing to him in mock battles since forever.”
”A mage losing to a melee fighter isn’t strange, you know!”
The “idiot” in question was Tatara’s long-time friend and rival—the current top student of the exploration course. Tatara always ranked second in combat practice, though his academic grades far surpassed everyone’s.
”This time, I’ll crush him with my converged Fire Arrow and Water Shot,” Tatara muttered darkly.
”…Your problem isn’t power, it’s restraint,” Ethelena sighed. She wasn’t wrong—Tatara’s biggest flaw was that he couldn’t go all-out against humans. Even his basic Fire Arrow had enough concentration to pierce through iron armor, making it banned during lessons. His sheer power—beyond normal limits—was what made him both feared and admired as a genius.
”Yo—mornin’!” someone called cheerfully as the pair entered the classroom. It was a blond boy with bright eyes and boundless energy—the same childhood friend they’d just been talking about.
”Yo, you two! Still as close as ever!”
”Morning—and shut it, idiot,” Tatara replied immediately.
”Good morning! And we’re not like that!” Ethelena protested, cheeks pink. Their banter drew chuckles from nearby classmates. The boy ignored Ethelena’s glare and looked straight at Tatara.
”C’mon, let’s team up again for today’s session!”
”Heh, fine by me. Just don’t cry when I make you eat dirt this time!”
Ethelena sighed, recognizing that same competitive spark between them as always. After slogging through another dull lecture—and ignoring a professor who invited him to join a joint magic study—Tatara headed to the training grounds.
His rival waited there, sword in hand. Today’s combat drill would be a one-on-one duel.
”Tatara! I bet on you, so don’t you dare lose!” someone shouted from the sidelines. Tatara only raised a hand in acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The arena was small—barely enough space to dodge. For a mage, it was a disadvantage from the start.
”I’ll win again today,” his rival smirked.
”In your dreams. I’m taking this one,” Tatara shot back.
At the instructor’s signal, both moved at once. Tatara opened with his specialty—simultaneously firing a Fire Arrow and a Water Shot.
Normally, no mage could cast two spells at once, but Tatara’s mind could construct both formulas simultaneously, using his left and right arms as dual conduits. When the instructors later analyzed his method, every professor at the academy was left speechless.
Notes:
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name.
• Amatsu – A master blacksmith and a female. Demonstrate forging skill to Tatara. The duel arises from Tatara’s request for guidance. Senior craftsman guiding Tatara. No kin known. Golden right eye and calm mastery define her.
• Hinagiku – A tengu woman as Ranka’s potential companion. She stays with Tatara’s group after travels. Joins household scenes only. Linked to Ranka by shared gluttony jokes. No direct tie to Tatara beyond cohabitation. Cheerful eater.
• Ichige – Fox youkai ninja who sneaks into the city illegally. Captured after Hinagiku and Julon subdue her during an immigration clash caused by her infiltration. Serves Torakuma clan but disobeys orders. Calls Julon “Master.” Clumsy and childish.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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