Chapter 98 Talent That’s Lost Its Way
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
I stored the freshly finished tuna-butchering knife into my Inventory and stepped out of the forge. The concept behind it was… weird, so I went to find Master to ask what it meant. It didn’t take long—she was on the veranda, sipping tea while watching that fool and Hinagiku-san train together. From the look on her face, she was studying them closely, reading their habits, maybe even thinking about what kind of katana would suit each best.
”Master, excuse me. I’ve got something I need to check.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What is it? Did you make another ridiculous thing again?”
Ridiculous, huh. Well, I can’t really deny that ever since she arrived, I’ve been churning out strange conceptual weapons at a crazy pace. Still, she could treat her disciple with a bit more care.
”I made a tuna-butchering knife, but a weird concept sprouted from it.”
”A concept… from a tuna knife? That some kind of joke?”
Even Master’s face went serious at that. I took Shinguro from my Inventory and handed it to her. She turned it over in her hands, studying the blade from every angle.
”You’ve given it another stupid concept, haven’t you,” she sighed.
Then she explained in her usual half-tired tone.
The first concept, Seafood Slayer, let the blade cut through anything that lived mainly in the water—fish, sea serpents, even the scales of a sea dragon. Anything else, though, it couldn’t cut at all. When she tried slicing my arm with it, not even a red mark appeared. Yeah… that’s insane.
The second one, Hymn to Life, made sure the target would always survive with at least one HP. Basically, a mercy-blessed weapon. Which meant the knife couldn’t even finish a live fish. But, if the target was undead—already a monster—it could somehow bring them back to life at one HP, making them edible again after finishing them with another weapon. Completely nonsensical.
Together, those two effects meant it could cut a water dragon’s scales but never kill it. And while it was effective against undead, it couldn’t touch them if they weren’t aquatic.
”I can still use it for tomorrow’s tuna cutting, but… yeah, not much else,” I said.
”As a knife, it fulfills its purpose. That’s a good thing,” Master replied.
True enough. If the weapon’s use was that narrow, it wouldn’t easily become a danger. Even if someone accidentally swung it at a merfolk prince or the guardian spirit of a lake, they’d live. Maybe my head would stay attached, too.
”Can Tatara even use that knife?” she asked.
”Sure. I don’t have the skill for it, but I’m good at cutting things.”
Calmys-san once said I had no fighting talent, but I handled cutting tools well. I just couldn’t bring myself to hit living targets. For cooking or chopping wood, though, I was precise.
Of course, when it came to swords or axes, things got… problematic.
”Why not ask Hinagiku for some sword lessons?” Master suggested.
”Thing is,” I said, scratching my head, “I’ve got pretty much no talent with anything but hammers.”
”That bad?”
”Better to show you.”
I took a plain iron one-handed sword from my Inventory. Instead of the usual wooden target, I set up a full steel breastplate in front of me.
”Well, seeing is believing.”
I told her that and raised the sword. My stance was strange—resting the blade on my shoulder—but it felt right. I locked my focus onto the armor, merging myself with the weapon, and swung with everything I had.
The armor split clean in two.
The sword shattered to dust.
That’s what always happened. Every time I used anything but a hammer, the weapon hit its limit and broke in one blow. Calmys-san was right: a man who destroys his weapon with every swing can’t fight. Sure, as a Crafter, I could prepare hundreds of spares, go one-hit-kill style—but that’d only get me to maybe the fiftieth floor. Beyond that, it wouldn’t pay off, especially against spirit-types.
”Yeah,” Master muttered, “you really shouldn’t be holding a sword.”
”It’s the same with everything else. Only hammers are fine. Even bowstrings snap on me.”
”That’s… impressive, in a painful way.”
She rubbed her forehead, clearly wondering if I was some kind of joke made flesh.
Then the fool called out from the yard. “Haven’t seen that trick from you in a while, Tatara!”
I looked over. “Hey. You done training?”
”Taking a short break. Heard you talking with your teacher, so I told Hinagiku-san we’d rest a bit.”
As he spoke, my mother-in-law appeared from the house, holding a jar of honey-soaked lemon slices from the fridge. She handed one to the fool, who thanked her and popped it into his mouth.
”I was watching too,” she said. “That’s a strange thing you’ve got. Has it always been like this?”
”Far as I remember, yeah. Since grade school at least,” I replied.
”…No, even before that,” the fool added, frowning.
Thinking back, he was right. I’d been like this since I was a kid. I didn’t start that way—something must’ve changed me. Maybe that’s why, even though my character body can learn any normal skill, I can’t acquire Sword Aptitude. The option simply vanished from the list years ago.
The only major event back then was when I forged the Archangel’s Sword. Could that really be the cause?
”Tatara-san’s weapons don’t break unless he uses them at full strength,” my mother-in-law suggested.
Master shook her head. “No, Okusama. It’s not that simple.”
She looked straight at me. She knew something.
”Tatara’s technique,” she said slowly, “is what I’d call a trial slash.”
”A… trial slash?”
Breaking a sword during testing sounded pretty stupid to me.
”Think of it as trial swordsmanship. He tests a weapon’s limit the moment he grasps it.”
”Isn’t breaking it the opposite of testing?”
”Not exactly. Tatara isn’t bound by concepts or skill limits. He can keep forging identical weapons endlessly. So, he breaks the first one to learn its limit.”
”Then why does he keep breaking them afterward?” my mother-in-law asked.
Master’s mouth twitched. “Maybe… he’s just clumsy.”
…So that’s the grand conclusion. My weapons break because I’m clumsy. Simple, clear—and incredibly depressing.
”And why doesn’t the same happen with kitchen knives?” my mother-in-law asked.
Master took a sip of her tea. “Because a kitchen knife isn’t a weapon.”
The warm breeze drifted across the veranda, carrying the faint scent of lemon and steel. Somewhere in the distance, the fool laughed, and the echo of shattered metal lingered in my hands.
So that’s it—my body’s trained to treat anything judged as a weapon in a way that breaks it. The only blades I can safely handle are those the world doesn’t classify as weapons. Good thing that paper knife I reforged from my parents’ hammer wasn’t judged as one. If I’d shattered that, I probably would’ve quit being a Crafter… maybe even quit living.
”Why are hammers fine then?” the fool asked.
”Probably because I was born suited for them,” I said.
That’s likely the truth. I’ve never once broken a hammer. To test the idea, I’d have to learn another weapon-skill, but maybe it’s time to try. My stats are higher now, and my parents’ old warhammer could finally rest. It’s a shame I learned how to forge katanas from Master but can’t wield one myself. Maybe I could make a naginata next and learn the spear skill instead.
While we talked, Hinagiku-san returned from the restroom. I instinctively glanced to make sure there wasn’t any toilet paper trailing from her tracksuit—thankfully, there wasn’t. Why was I even relieved by that?
”By the way, Tatara-san,” she asked, “can you actually use that tuna knife?”
”Let’s see…”
I was still watching her and the fool practice forms when my mother-in-law, sitting beside me, asked the same thing. I took the tuna knife from my Inventory and gripped it lightly, feeling the balance. As usual, a sensation welled up from deep in my chest—no rejection, no resistance.
”It’s fine,” I said. “I can tell it’ll handle perfectly.”
”Even without swinging it?” she asked, curious.
”Yeah. I think it’s connected to what Master called my trial swordsmanship. Somehow, I just… know how to use things.”
Maybe it was a side effect of my Crafting and Appraisal skills combining—my body naturally figuring out how to handle a tool by understanding its structure. Of course, the downside was that I tended to break weapons in a single swing.
”Wouldn’t it be better to test it first?” she asked gently.
”I know, but I want everyone to enjoy tomorrow’s tuna while it’s still in perfect shape. The flesh should be tight and fresh, not soft from the heat outside. The taste’s best that way—sharp edges, clean cuts.”
”Why do you slip in such mouthwatering thoughts so casually?” she muttered.
I couldn’t help explaining anyway. With a good knife and the freshest fish, the slices stay beautifully shaped on the board. The texture’s firm, the fat melts on the tongue, spreading flavor like warm silk. As I said it, my mother-in-law’s expression twisted into quiet despair. Right… probably not smart to talk about perfect sashimi right after dinner.
”Maybe I should make another sashimi knife too,” I mused. “I could hand-grind the leftovers into toro, mix them with vinegar rice and minced onions—make a nice negitoro bowl.”
”Please, Tatara-san,” she said, frowning, “stop making it sound so delicious.”
”Even without wasabi soy sauce, I could do ginger soy or garlic soy for flavor changes. Maybe add an egg yolk on top for richness…”
”Stop, Tatara-san. I’m already fighting the urge to drink. Talking about seafood this good makes me crave sake.”
”If we grill some big clams over a net,” I continued, ignoring her plea, “we could fill their shells with sake and soy sauce—oh, and scallops with butter soy, that’d be amazing.”
She sighed. “Are you even aware you’re saying these things out loud?”
”Maybe I could make broth with the tuna bones—no, better to simmer them with vegetables and red miso instead.”
”Please, Tatara-san, calm down and focus on the conversation.”
”What about the innards? Maybe I can marinate them in sake like shutō—not enough time for full fermentation, but they’d make great gifts if I pickle them properly.”
”Yes, gifts—wait, that’s not the point!” she snapped.
”I could pair them with cream cheese,” I went on, thinking out loud. “Though even if time passes slower inside my Inventory, aging and storage times don’t match. Maybe you could keep it in the fridge for me?”
”A mix of shutō and soft cheese… we’ve never tried that before,” she said, half intrigued.
”Ah, I’ll buy some salted fish guts and cream cheese later and have everyone try it. Might as well grab some jars while I’m out.”
”Are you trying to start a midnight feast, Tatara-san?”
”Well, we’re out of Hizuru sake, but maybe I could buy a whole cask of distilled spirits from the brewery.”
”Please, Tatara-san. Listen to me, Tatara-san!”
”Alright, decided. Mother-in-law, I’m heading out shopping.”
”…Fine. Take care, dear,” she sighed.
My throat felt dry after all that food talk. I drank the rest of my tea before standing up.
The brewery was near the market district, tucked against the city wall where the sun rarely reached. Massive container-like buildings lined the area—one of them was the distillery.
It wasn’t just big because people here loved to drink. It also doubled as a church for the god of alcohol—a deity worshiped as both blessing and warning. Alcohol could ruin lives, sure, but it could also draw out truth through drunken honesty or cleanse wounds with its purity. Used right, it healed; abused, it destroyed. A divine trial if there ever was one.
”Excuse me,” I called out as I stepped inside.
A dwarf supervising the work looked up, his red face breaking into a wide grin.
”Hey! If it isn’t Tatara, the one who donated the distiller!”
Yeah… I still hated that nickname. He was the head of this whole place. In the original game, buying his liquor triggered a “fun” event—you could get the heroine drunk, see her rare scenes, or worse, use it to take advantage of certain female NPCs. The fact that it was booze blessed by the god of alcohol just made it more absurd. Still, I’d chosen those options back then, so I wasn’t in any position to judge.
”I was officially commissioned for that job,” I said. “Donating it was just part of the contract.”
”Ha! The god of alcohol himself gave me a Divine Oracle to hire you, you know. Even though you were still a student back then, I knew you were the real deal!”
”Please don’t shout that like it’s something to brag about.”
”So, what brings you here today?”
Normally, I only bought cooking sake, so this was unusual enough to raise eyebrows.
”I’ve got some people who’ve taken care of me—they’re heading back to their country tomorrow. I want to send them off with a small party, let them taste this city’s best sake. But since I don’t really understand alcohol… I was hoping for your help.”
The dwarf snorted, slapped my back hard enough to sting, and laughed.
”Good, good! I like that spirit!”
”They’re serious drinkers,” I added. “If I pick something bad, I’ll never hear the end of it. Maybe they’ll even spread word about your brewery back home.”
”Hell yeah! I like the sound of that!”
He turned to the workers and shouted, “Hey! Tatara’s here—let’s show him what our brewery’s made of!”
”Wait—don’t you think yelling like that might confuse them?”
”Are you kidding me!?” someone shouted.
”A guy who doesn’t even drink got hooked on our booze!?” another cried.
”Hahaha! The god of alcohol truly blesses only the finest brew!”
”They’re getting way too hyped,” I muttered.
Whatever the brewmaster said, it somehow got through to everyone instantly. Maybe that’s just the way of drinkers—their spirits link through shared instinct.
”So these folks leaving the city tomorrow—Tatara wants them to taste our finest! Let’s show them what we’re made of!” the brewmaster bellowed.
”Show them what, exactly?”
”Doesn’t matter, let’s do it!” someone yelled back.
”…They get it,” I sighed.
”We’ll drown those drinkers in our god’s sacred booze!”
”How did you even—”
”This is the moment to spread faith! Let them sink deep into our god’s wine!”
”Okay, that last guy sounds like his wounds reopened,” I said under my breath.
Why did these guys all sound like they’d caught some dramatic teenage fever? It hurt just listening.
Still, they moved fast—within moments, bottles of every kind of liquor appeared. Red and white wine, whiskey, gin, brandy—an entire bar lined up before me. Each one had a rich aroma that even I could tell was something special. I couldn’t taste the difference, but I could imagine the quality.
”These all smell amazing…”
”They taste even better, Tatara!” one dwarf said proudly.
”I can only tell if they’re sweet or bitter, young or aged,” I admitted. “Like, this whiskey smells strong, probably has less aged blend in it.”
”That’s more than enough, lad!”
He wasn’t wrong. At Whirlwind, the longer-aged liquors mellowed out, losing their sharpness but gaining strength. The catch? The smoother it tasted, the more likely it’d floor you. Self-control was key—or you’d wake up regretting your choices.
”So,” the brewmaster asked, “which ones are you taking?”
”All of them.”
”…What?”
”All of them,” I repeated. “If anything’s left, they’ll take it home—but honestly, they might finish the lot.”
He blinked like I’d just spoken another language. This world’s alcohol ran strong, but the Oni didn’t exactly get drunk. Acting Head of Family once joked—or maybe didn’t—that Yohira’s alcohol tolerance was about a whole lake’s worth.
The brewmaster stared at me, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter.
”Ha! So you’ve got some real drinkers to entertain, huh?”
”Then we’ll need more than this!” someone yelled.
”Let’s load it by the barrel! If foreigners taste Whirlwind, they better remember our name!”
”Glory to the god of drink! Let our craft echo beyond the sea!”
I couldn’t help but smile as the whole room turned into a storm of laughter and clinking bottles. Then, a huge, muscle-bound worker I didn’t recognize came over and handed me a bottle, his beard twitching with a grin.
”Here! Couldn’t make much of it, so it’s our hidden gem. Enjoy it!”
He clapped my shoulder so hard it rattled my bones, then strode back toward the stills. Rare, he’d said. The god of alcohol’s creed included hosting a feast after each batch, sharing what was left after the offering. That man had just given me part of that precious share. I could only bow my head in thanks—and promise to honor it with a drink.
By the end, I’d bought eight full barrels of liquor, plus two large bottles of red wine and a cider. The wine was for cooking—I had a small favor in mind to ask Ethelena tonight. The cider, though, was made from apples grown on that fool’s farm. When I saw the producer’s name, I couldn’t resist.
The brewmaster laughed when I told him the orchard belonged to my childhood friend. “Then thank them for their delicious apples!” he said. I’d be sure to pass that on—the fool’s parents would be happy to hear it. No feeling beats the quiet pride of being recognized.
On the way home, I stopped at a shop and bought about a kilo of beef tendon. When I finally returned, the fool and Hinagiku-san were sitting in meditation. Oddly enough, both had katanas resting across their laps.
”I’m back,” I said.
”Welcome home, Tatara-san,” my mother-in-law greeted me warmly.
”Thanks. Uh… what’s this about?”
”They’re practicing zazen while holding their beloved blades,” she explained. “It helps them feel the weight through their whole body, not just their hands. The goal is to notice even the smallest imbalance.”
”Huh. So it’s not some kind of sword-communing ritual, then,” I said, half-disappointed. I’d definitely seen that kind of thing in a story somewhere.
”Yohira doesn’t need this kind of practice,” she continued. “He’s already one with Temaribana. It’s a rare harmony.”
”Because I forged it for him?”
”Yes. Temaribana moves with him now, not the other way around. That’s what true swordsmen dream of achieving.”
I wasn’t a swordsman, but if she said so, I believed her.
After a while, the two finished meditating. I handed them a pitcher of water and two cups.
”Thanks, Tatara,” the fool said, his voice steady but tired.
He dropped a slice of honey-soaked lemon into his cup, poured water, gave it a swirl, and took a drink. Probably refreshing after meditation. Maybe I should make more tomorrow—some people might like it with their sake, too.
”This throat-cooler hits just right,” he said. “After exercise, straight’s fine. After sitting still like this, cold water makes it perfect.”
”You sound like a sommelier,” I said. “What if we tried adding figs or cinnamon?”
”Sounds good, but not for post-training. Might be better as snacks for the kids.”
”Fair point. Hey—your family free tomorrow?”
The thought struck me suddenly. I owed them a lot, and it’d be nice to have them join the send-off. Most of them hadn’t met my mother-in-law or Master yet, and it’d be a good chance for introductions. Plus, the more mouths for that tuna, the better. Wasting fresh fish would be a sin.
”Maybe,” he said after thinking.
”Good. Bring them to the farewell. We’ll have plenty of food, grill stuff, the works.”
He frowned in thought, then nodded.
”I’ll tell everyone. The kids who’ve met your Master might come. My brother and older sisters… maybe not.”
”Your parents?”
He grimaced. “Actually, they might already be on their way here—to greet Hinagiku-san’s boss.”
”Please,” I groaned, “don’t make such terrifyingly realistic predictions.”
The fool’s parents were the city’s number one power couple—and complete maniacs. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they showed up to a home party in tuxedos and a gown. Subtlety wasn’t in their vocabulary.
”Anyway, any foods they can’t eat?” I asked.
”No allergies or anything. But if my old man gets drunk, he gushes about Mom three times harder than usual.”
”That’s… concerning. I bought a lot of sake for Master and my mother-in-law.”
He sighed. “I’ll keep watch.”
”Please do.”
Three times worse than usual? That wasn’t threefold affection—that was four times the chaos. If even seasoned onlookers called his sober flirting “too sweet to handle,” then the drunk version might be a public hazard.
Dinner passed in quiet warmth, and afterward I worked side by side with Ethelena to prepare for the next day. By the time we finished the food prep, the clock was brushing midnight. She’d been on an exploration earlier, and her HP bar was clearly at its limit—she went straight to bed the moment we were done.
I, however, slipped into the forge. Two knives waited to be born beneath my hands—sashimi blades, thin and flawless, meant for tomorrow’s tuna. The ringing steel sang low and even in the silence, each spark marking the calm before celebration.
When dawn arrived, we began the farewell banquet to see off my mother-in-law and Master. Just before the start, Mother-in-law asked me to activate the teleportation gate.
The air shimmered. On the other side of the gate, the familiar view of the Torakuma estate came into focus. From that glowing threshold, two towering men stepped through.
One was a stranger—dark kimono, twin katanas at his hip, posture sharp and still. Probably the sword instructor she mentioned before.
The other man was much taller—easily over two meters. I’d seen him before, but never in the flesh.
”…Why are you here, Acting Head of Family?” I asked, stunned.
He smiled faintly. “My wife asked me to escort the craftsmen we’re sending back. It’s also a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Tatara-dono.”
I stared, wondering how someone of his rank could move around so freely just because we had a teleport gate. Maybe that was the true luxury of power—mobility without hesitation.
Notes:
• 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.
• 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.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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