The construction site had begun to take on a life of its own.
What had once been an empty stretch of land near Mondstadt's gates was now alive with movement and purpose. Workers moved steadily around the freshly poured foundation slab for the first floor, carefully smoothing the surface and checking measurements. Wooden scaffolding framed the perimeter, standing ready for the next stage of construction, while ropes and pulleys rested nearby, prepared for when materials would need to be lifted. The rhythm of labor gave the area a sense of organized energy, each worker calling out adjustments and confirmations as confidence in handling the new materials grew.
"At the center of it all lay the first-floor slab of reinforced concrete, freshly poured and leveled, forming the solid base for the structure above."
Henry stood a short distance away, observing the completed first-floor slab. Its surface was smooth and level, the steel reinforcement bars perfectly set beneath, now locked firmly in place. It formed a solid, unyielding base, ready to support the structure that would rise above.
Korg approached him, wiping sweat from his brow as he glanced back at the structure.
Henry gave a small nod, stepping closer to inspect the slab himself. His eyes moved across the surface, checking for inconsistencies, but there were none worth calling out.
"Good," he said. "Then we move forward exactly like this."
Korg let out a short breath, clearly pleased with that answer. "We'll keep watch while it sets. No one's going near it unless necessary."
Henry straightened, his attention lingering on the structure for a moment longer before stepping back.
With the first-floor slab completed and properly set, the site settled into a temporary pause. The workers moved confidently on their own, and Henry no longer needed to oversee every small decision. What remained was ensuring consistency, refining the process with each phase as construction continued.
Henry allowed himself a rare moment of stillness, the hum of the site around him continuing without needing his constant input.
His thoughts shifted almost instantly.
Wagner should be done by now.
The forge greeted him with heat, sound, and the steady rhythm of work that never seemed to stop.
The repeated clang of hammer striking steel echoed through the space as Henry stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of burning coal and heated iron. Sparks flared near the anvil where Wagner stood, his movements practiced and precise, each strike landing with controlled force before he finally set the metal aside.
Wagner wiped his hands on a cloth before looking up, noticing Henry's arrival without surprise.
"You came at the right time," he said, nodding toward the side of the forge. "Just finished your weapon."
Henry followed his gaze.
Resting against a reinforced stand was the claymore Wagner had promised him—Whiteblind.
The weapon stood out immediately, not because of excessive decoration, but because of its distinct construction. The blade was broad and angular, its deep silver surface broken by clean, coloured lines that gave it a structured, almost engineered appearance rather than something traditionally forged.
Near the center, a circular mechanism-like design was embedded into the body of the weapon, framed by gold accents that contrasted against the blue. The guard extended asymmetrically, forming sharp, wing-like projections that made the weapon look both sturdy and deliberate, as if every piece had been placed with purpose rather than ornament.
Henry stepped closer, his focus narrowing as he took in those details more carefully.
"This is the one?" he asked.
Wagner gave a short nod, his tone carrying quiet confidence. "I built it to match what you asked for. It'll hold up under pressure."
Henry reached out and wrapped his hand around the handle, lifting the claymore from its stand with ease. The weight that would have burdened most wielders barely registered to him, allowing him to focus entirely on how the weapon moved rather than how heavy it was.
He adjusted his stance slightly and gave the blade a slow, controlled swing, watching how the length carried through the motion. The balance revealed itself quickly, the distribution of weight centered well enough that the blade followed through cleanly without forcing him to correct his posture.
He shifted his grip and followed with another swing, this time faster, letting more force flow through the motion. The weapon responded without resistance, the arc remaining stable even as the speed increased.
Wagner watched in silence, his expression showing quiet approval.
Henry stepped toward a thick wooden post set near the forge, clearly meant for testing. Without asking, he raised the claymore and brought it down in a controlled strike.
The impact landed with a heavy, solid force, the blade driving deep into the wood. The post shuddered under the strike, the force traveling through it rather than dispersing, which told him more about the weapon's structure than the cut itself.
He pulled the blade free without effort and examined it closely, his eyes moving over the edge and along the body of the weapon, paying attention to how it had handled the impact.
"Feels reliable," Henry said, his tone thoughtful as he adjusted his grip again.
He moved through another sequence of strikes, this time chaining them together—horizontal, reverse, then a downward cut—each transition flowing smoothly into the next. As he increased the pace, the blade didn't lag behind or pull against his movement, instead keeping up with the speed he was capable of applying, its structure holding firm even as the force behind each swing increased.
"It holds together well," Wagner said, watching closely. "That kind of speed would twist a weaker blade out of line."
Henry gave a small nod in agreement. The weapon didn't restrict how fast he could move—at least not for him—and that consistency allowed him to apply both speed and strength at the same time without needing to correct his motion midway. In actual combat, that mattered far more than raw sharpness.
[You should thank me for this. This modified serum also granted you superhuman strength in addition to the regeneration.]
Henry's grip adjusted slightly on the handle as the voice cut in, familiar and uninvited as ever.
Yes, Orianna. Thank you for the Deadpool serum, he replied inwardly, amusement coloring his tone.
He lowered the claymore, resting it against his shoulder for a brief moment as he considered it more seriously. The weapon suited him, there was no doubt about that, but handling it well and mastering it were two entirely different things. Raw strength made it easier to use, but it didn't replace technique.
If anything, it made proper control even more important.
That thought led him to the next problem almost immediately.
He needed someone to teach him.
Not just basic swings or improvised combat, but actual claymore techniques—how to move efficiently, how to control spacing, how to conserve energy even when strength wasn't a limiting factor. Eula would have been the obvious choice, but she had been occupied lately, and approaching her for training wasn't something he could rely on right now.
Fortunately, there was another option.
Someone skilled , disciplined and helpful.
Noelle.
"It'll do," he said at last.
Wagner crossed his arms, glancing at the blade before looking back at Henry. "Take care of it, and it won't fail you."
Henry dismissed the claymore into his system space after one last look, committing both its form and handling to memory. The weapon wasn't something he needed to adapt to in terms of strength, but rather something he could refine his technique around.
After settling the payment, he exchanged a final nod with Wagner and stepped out of the forge. The heat faded behind him as he returned to the open streets of Mondstadt, the noise of the city replacing the steady rhythm of hammer and steel.
With the immediate task complete and time still left in the day, Henry considered his next move. There was no reason to let the momentum go to waste, especially now that he had a weapon worth testing in real conditions.
His thoughts turned toward the Adventurers' Guild.
It seemed like the most natural place to go next.
---
Please give stones.
Don't make me create a reminder post.
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