Once classes were over, Soren immediately left the campus and headed toward the shopping district.
The late afternoon sun was still hanging over the academy city, colouring the roofs with a faint orange glow.
Soren walked alone.
His cloak swayed behind him as he cut across the main street, hands in his pockets, thoughts already ahead of his feet.
He was heading to a familiar place.
[Hammond's Hammer]
The backsmith owned by Hammond.
It had been a while since he had last stopped by.
Between the Arden estate, the Goblin King's Nest, the Verdant Hollow, Freya's diary, and the mess of club creation, he hadn't had much time to think about his gear.
But now he had a duel coming up.
A proper one.
With Alex.
'If I'm going to fight him, I can't half-ass it,' Soren thought as he turned down a side street.
He remembered their last duel clearly.
How he had held the upper hand almost the entire time.
How he had controlled the flow of the fight, how he had pushed Alex back again and again.
And then…
Alex had used his [Divinity] once.
Just once.
And everything flipped.
Soren still remembered the bitter taste that had been left in his mouth.
The self-loathing afterwards.
The way he had turned that feeling outward, blaming Alex for using his trump card.
The way he had distanced himself from Olivia because he felt betrayed.
Looking back now, he could admit it; he had been acting stupid.
Soren didn't like making excuses, but at the time, he really couldn't help it.
He had been trapped in this world for months already back then, trying his best to avoid the main story, trying to survive quietly on the sidelines.
He had suffered through things no ordinary twenty-first-century person should ever have to experience.
Then one day, Alex appeared and threw down a challenge.
A duel.
A public one.
It had shattered the fragile distance Soren had been desperately trying to maintain.
And then, when he lost despite everything he had done, the way Olivia acted as though she never did anything wrong had felt like another betrayal stacked on top.
Back then, he had still been drowning in survivor's guilt, his confidence rotting away with every day that passed.
His emotions were a mess, and his sense of self was barely holding together.
To put it simply, he had been in the worst state.
Now, though, things were different.
He turned another corner, boots tapping against uneven stone.
Soren and Alex were friends now.
At least, that was what Soren believed.
He had been hesitant to call Alex that for a long time.
The idea of truly accepting him as a friend had made something twist uncomfortably in his chest, but after everything that happened over summer break…
How Alex had stood by him, how he had quietly watched over him, how he had protected him without demanding anything in return.
Soren couldn't deny it anymore.
He was grateful.
Deeply.
And it wasn't just Alex.
His survivor's guilt had eased.
His fear of "breaking" the story had loosened its chokehold.
He had accepted his friendships with everyone.
He had made a decision that could very well tear the original plot apart in the future.
That gave him anxiety, but he forced himself to keep going nonetheless.
His shackles weren't completely broken, but he could take at least a single step forward.
And that was enough, for now.
So, right now, he had decided to go all out against Alex.
No more holding back because he was afraid of the story shifting.
No more half-hearted attempts.
He wasn't confident he would win; he wasn't stupid.
Alex was the protagonist, the hero.
Even in this world, that hadn't changed.
But Soren would still try.
He would use everything at his disposal, push Alex as far as he could, and, at the very least, make sure Alex wouldn't walk away unscathed.
'Besides, I already have a plan,' Soren thought as his lips curved faintly.
He finally stopped.
A warped wooden sign hung above the door in front of him.
[Hammond's Hammer]
He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
"Hey, old man. You in?" Soren called.
There was shuffling from inside.
The metal slit in the door slid open a crack, revealing a pair of tired eyes.
"Hahh… It's you," came a gruff voice.
"Did you just sigh at me?" Soren narrowed his eyes.
"No, I would never do that, Miss Soren, you must be mistaken," Hammond replied smoothly, his tone suddenly polite.
Soren's eyebrow twitched.
"I'm pretty sure I told you last time, I'm a guy."
"Is that so? Well, don't worry, I don't judge here. I'm just a blacksmith, after all."
Soren pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I'm not asking you to judge, I'm correcting you," he muttered. "Whatever. I've got something I need you to do, so let me in."
"Fine, fine. Door's unlocked," Hammond said, closing the slit.
Soren pushed the door open and stepped into the workshop.
The familiar scent of hot metal and oil hit him immediately.
The air was warm, a few furnaces still burning in the back.
Tools were scattered across workbenches in what looked like chaos, but Soren knew there was likely some kind of logic that only Hammond understood.
The old man himself was behind a scarred table, wiping his hands on a rag.
Soren walked over, raised his left hand, and opened his inventory.
The space above his ring finger rippled.
He reached in and began placing items onto the table one by one.
"I need you to appraise these. The glove and the seed are relics. I don't really know about the rest."
When he finished, the table was full.
There was the simple leather glove from the Goblin King's Nest.
The seed from the Verdant Hollow, faintly pulsing with life.
A few pieces of armour and weapons looted from monsters and fallen adventurers
And finally, the heavy axe the Goblin King himself had used.
Hammond stared at the pile for a long moment.
"…Well, for starters," he said eventually, "all those crappy weapons are worthless. Toss 'em or something."
Soren looked at the rusted blades and chipped handles.
"Yeah, I figured."
He swept them back into his inventory.
"And the rest?"
Hammond picked up the Goblin King's axe with a grunt and turned it over, inspecting the edge and the metal.
"The axe seems normal. No special skill, but the materials are decent. If I repair it, polish it up, reinforce the handle, I can probably sell it for a pretty penny."
"Take it then. I don't need it," Soren said.
"I won't say no to free stock," Hammond snorted, putting the axe aside.
His gaze shifted.
"About these two, though…"
He reached for the glove first, then the seed.
"I can appraise the glove right now," he said, fingers brushing over the leather. "But this one…"
He turned the seed in his hand, brow furrowing.
"…This one'll take a bit."
"Doesn't matter to me, I'll wait here," Soren replied, pulling a chair from the corner and sitting down.
"Alright, but don't bother me unless you want me to take longer."
"Got it," Soren said. "Just get to work. I'll pay you when you're done."
Hammond grumbled something under his breath, but he didn't argue.
He sat down at the table, set the glove and seed in front of him, and began his work.
To anyone else, it probably looked like Hammond was just staring very hard at the items.
Soren couldn't help but find the sight a little funny.
A short, bulky old man hunched over a tiny seed, face serious, eyes narrowed.
But he knew better.
Appraising relics wasn't easy.
Soren could buy [Appraisal] from the system if he wanted to.
He had considered it once, but just like with [Alchemy], he had ultimately decided against it.
Even if he did buy the skill, it would only ever be at a basic level; he could identify common items, sure, but for complex relics and rare materials, he would never match a professional who had spent their whole life honing that craft.
That was why he had contracted Lev as his exclusive alchemist.
That was why he came to Hammond for gear.
He wasn't trying to do everything alone anymore.
Soren leaned back against the chair and exhaled.
The workshop was quiet now, aside from the faint crackle of the furnace and Hammond's occasional click of the tongue as he concentrated.
Soren looked down at his hand.
He flexed his fingers once, then closed his eyes.
'Mana Enhancement,' he thought.
It had only been a couple of hours since he had finally awakened it.
Even so, he could already feel it becoming more natural.
He drew in a breath.
Mana slid through his circuits in response to his will.
He guided it up from his core, through his circuits, across his shoulders, into his arms, then down to his fingertips, spreading the rest throughout his body as evenly as he could.
Whoosh.
A faint pressure wrapped around him.
His skin tingled, muscles feeling a little denser, a little sharper, as if someone had quietly turned up the volume on his body.
The glow was minimal, barely visible.
'It's easier to keep active than I thought,' he realised.
He remembered Yuli.
The first time Soren had seen Yuli fully awaken his mana enhancement, the power had been overwhelming.
Each strike had cracked the earth, and each step had left a mark.
But after a few hits, Yuli had been exhausted, his body pushed dangerously close to its limit.
Soren took a slow breath.
His own mana enhancement was nothing like that.
It was weak.
Far weaker than Yuli's.
But he could maintain it.
It was stable.
Where knights usually favoured explosive bursts of power, massive boosts for a short time, Soren's body seemed to have chosen a different path.
A weaker, more efficient reinforcement.
He had been able to keep it active for far longer than he had expected during practice, and even now, sitting here in the workshop, the strain was minimal.
For him, that was perfect.
An explosive finishing blow would be nice in some situations, but his fighting style didn't rely on brute force.
He already had [Breeze] for explosive movement.
He had [Hemokinesis] for high damage and control.
With Bloodrop and Labrys, he had decent, if somewhat lacking, defence.
What he needed most was consistency.
A steady boost that he could rely on over the course of a fight.
Weak but long-lasting mana enhancement fit that perfectly.
And, as a bonus, the weaker variation made it easier to train; he could keep it active more often without burning himself out.
Soren's lips curved slightly.
"…Not bad," he muttered.
He let the enhancement fade, the faint pressure peeling away from his body.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell on Hammond again.
Sweat was trickling down the old man's forehead as he stared at the seed, brow furrowed deeply.
His hand hovered over it, fingers twitching slightly as he probed it with mana.
Soren watched quietly.
He knew from experience that this was the part of the appraisal you couldn't rush.
Hammond's expression twisted.
Then, suddenly…
Bang.
The old man slammed his hand down on the table.
"Dammit!" Hammond exploded. "Why do you keep bringing things like this here?"
Soren flinched slightly at the sudden outburst.
"…Is something wrong?" he asked, though the answer was obvious.
"I can't figure this damn thing out," Hammond growled, glaring at the seed as if it had personally insulted him. "First that axe, now this. It's a pain in my ass. Can't you bring more normal things like the glove?"
"You're the one who accepted the contract, weren't you?" Soren shot back.
"That's only because—!!" Hammond snapped, then cut himself off, teeth grinding.
Soren tilted his head.
"Whatever, just tell me what you figured out."
Hammond let out a long, deep exhale, shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Fine, let's start with the glove."
He picked it up and turned it over in his hands.
"It doesn't have a name. It's nothing fancy. But the skill is simple enough. It can increase your strength momentarily. It's a weak relic, so don't expect miracles."
Soren nodded.
The way Hammond described it, it did sound unimpressive, but for Soren, just hearing the effect was enough to spark satisfaction.
A short burst of increased strength.
For someone who fought like him, that was more than useful.
"I'll take it," Soren said.
"I figured," Hammond replied dryly.
"And the seed?"
Hammond's expression darkened.
"…I don't know," he admitted. "I can't figure out the name. I can't figure out the skills. All I know is that its structure is perfect for absorbing mana."
Soren frowned slightly.
"That's it?"
"That's it," Hammond said, clearly annoyed at his own limits. "I pushed my luck trying to read it. Any more and I'll just burn my circuits for nothing."
Soren looked at the small seed lying innocently on the table.
'So it really is special.'
"That's a shame," he said aloud, letting out a small sigh. "Well, at least there's some information there."
He picked up the glove and the seed and slipped them back into his inventory.
Then he reached into his bag and brought out a small pouch, placing it on the table.
"Here's your pay. I'll come back whenever I have more for you to appraise."
Hammond picked up the pouch and weighed it in his hand, the faint clink of coins sounding out.
"I'm meant to be a blacksmith, you know? Not just an appraiser," Hammond muttered.
Soren paused.
He reached back into his inventory and pulled out Labrys.
The dull handaxe gleamed faintly under the workshop's light.
"Can you make something better than this?" Soren asked, holding it out.
Hammond stared at the weapon.
Silence hung in the air for a few seconds.
Then the old man clicked his tongue and looked away.
"…I'll appraise whatever you bring."
"I thought so," Soren said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He turned toward the door and placed his hand on the handle.
"Later," he said, pushing it open.
The evening air spilt into the workshop, cooler than before.
Soren stepped outside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.
————「❤︎」————