Morning came with thin, pale sunlight.
Beneath Twilight Manor, there was an underground workshop dedicated to equipment maintenance.
The air was thick with the smell of machine oil and rust—an atmosphere Shirou Emiya knew better than almost anything.
"Analysis… begin."
Between his fingers he held a shard that glowed with a faint, eerie blue. It was a high-purity fragment of mithril, lent to him by Riveria as a teaching sample.
He didn't lift a hammer.
He didn't light a furnace.
Shirou simply closed his eyes, and pale emerald magic circuits flickered at his fingertips.
Structural Grasp.
Inside his mind, the metal's properties expanded as if magnified to infinity—molecular arrangement, hardness, toughness, magical conductivity. Information unfolded like a blueprint.
"…Incredible."
He opened his eyes and murmured, "The ore in this world is like living tissue. Especially drops from the Dungeon—there are natural 'mana veins' inside."
Unlike the cold, dead steel of his original world, Orario's metals felt alive.
It also explained why this world's magic swords were so expensive—and so powerful.
Because they weren't just tools.
They were half-lifeforms.
"If I can incorporate the traits of this 'living metal' into the Noble Phantasm vault of Unlimited Blade Works…"
A feverish light flashed in Shirou's eyes.
The obsession of a craftsman.
Kanshou and Bakuya were reliable in hand, but against something on the level of the Black Goliath, their hardness was already starting to feel strained. If he could rebuild them using top-grade minerals from this world—adamant or even orichalcum…
"…Not enough material."
He looked at the pile of discarded scrap on the table and sighed.
Even the best chef couldn't produce a banquet without premium ingredients.
"I'll buy some."
He patted the pouch of valis he'd received from the Guild yesterday. Most of it had already been handed over to the Familia as lodging costs, but Finn had insisted he keep a portion as spending money.
So Shirou decided to try his luck at Orario's largest weapons market.
…
Babel Tower, the heart of Orario.
The colossal tower that pierced the sky had a bustling commercial district at its lower levels—and the most famous place of all occupied an entire two floors:
The official shop directly operated by the Hephaistos Familia, with the forging goddess herself overseeing it.
The moment Shirou stepped inside, a wave of heat rolled over him, mixed with the cool, sharp scent unique to metal.
Inside the display cases, finely made weapons glittered under magical lamps.
"Forty million valis?! Is this greatsword made of gold or something?!"
"Idiot—that's a masterpiece with orichalcum mixed in! Even if it wasn't personally forged by Lady Hephaistos, it's still a work by Lady Tsubaki!"
Exclamations rippled through the crowd.
Shirou didn't bother looking at the finished weapons. With Unlimited Blade Works, a single glance was enough to replicate most of what he saw—though the copy would be degraded.
Instead, his gaze locked onto a corner of the shop labeled:
Raw Ore Trading Zone.
Unpolished minerals were stacked there in heaps.
"…Hm?"
Shirou stopped in front of an inconspicuous deep-red ore.
It was only fist-sized. A dull gray crust clung to its surface, making it look like a lump of discarded cinder tossed into a discount basket.
But in Shirou's analysis, a brutal flame burned inside that stone.
"A companion ore of Hihiirokane… There's a lot of impurity, but the purity of this fire-aspected mana is outrageous."
Without thinking, he reached out to touch it.
"Good eye, kid."
A slightly husky, magnetic woman's voice sounded behind him.
Shirou turned.
Standing there was a woman in a crisp white shirt and black slacks—efficient, sharp. Her short red hair blazed like fire. A black eyepatch covered her left eye, while her right was a deep ruby red.
She clearly kept her presence restrained, but the pressure that seeped out of her bones—like a sleeping volcano—made Shirou's magic circuits scream warnings on instinct.
Hephaistos.
Goddess of forging and flame.
"You're… Lady Hephaistos?" Shirou inclined his head in polite greeting.
"Shh."
She lifted a finger to her lips. "I'm just doing a routine inspection today. I don't want a commotion."
She stepped beside him, picked up the gray, crusted stone, and tossed it lightly in her palm.
"This 'Crimson Lotus Ore' has been sitting here for three months. Even the high-class smiths in my Familia hate it—too many impurities, too brittle. One strike and it crumbles into powder. Why would you choose it?"
Her single eye fixed on him as if trying to see through his skin.
"Because it's breathing."
Shirou's answer made Hephaistos pause.
He pointed to several hair-thin cracks on the surface. "These aren't flaws—they're pores. Vents for internal energy flow. Yes, the impurities are heavy—around thirty percent—but if you follow those pores and peel the impurities away like performing surgery…"
"Peel them away?" Hephaistos arched a brow, a hint of amusement curling her lips. "Easy to say. This ore's melting point is insanely high. If you toss it in a furnace, the impurities melt first, then mix and ruin everything. Unless you've got fire control precise enough to vaporize the impurities in an instant."
"I don't have that kind of fire control," Shirou admitted, shaking his head. "But I have another method."
He met her gaze calmly.
"One that doesn't require fire."
"…Doesn't require fire?"
Hephaistos blinked, then laughed like she'd heard a joke. "Boy, are you trying to provoke the forging god? How do you forge without fire?"
Nearby staff and customers began to gather, pointing and whispering.
"Who's that punk? Running his mouth in front of Lady Hephaistos?"
"No fire forging? What, is he going to rub it into shape with his bare hands? Hahahaha!"
Facing the laughter and the goddess's skepticism, Shirou didn't flinch.
"If you don't mind… could you sell me this ore? I'd like to try it right here."
"No need."
Hephaistos tossed the ore back into his arms, folded her arms across her chest, and let her presence bloom.
"You can use that forge station. If you can process it in front of everyone—without a furnace—then the ore is yours. But if you're just putting on a show…"
A cold glint flashed in her ruby eye.
"…then my shop won't welcome liars again."
"Deal."
Shirou carried the ore to the public demonstration forge in the center of the shop.
He drew a slow breath and set the stone on the anvil.
No hammer.
No bellows.
Shirou closed his eyes, hands hovering above the ore.
"Trace—On."
In an instant, twenty-seven major magic circuits roared to life inside him. Emerald light—like circuitry on a circuit board—ran down his arms and wrapped the deep-red ore.
Structure — Complete Analysis.
Material — Reinforcement.
Form — Reconstruction.
"This is—" Hephaistos's casual expression hardened into stillness.
With her divine sight, she saw the impossible.
Shirou's mana didn't stop at the surface—it penetrated straight into the ore's molecular structure. Like an ultra-precise surgeon, he controlled his magic as countless microscopic scalpels, carving and cutting impurities from within at a terrifying speed.
"ZZZZ—!"
Black smoke rose from the ore's surface—impurity powder being forced out under crushing magical pressure.
The gray crust began to glow from inside with a fierce, brilliant red.
"It's… changing shape?!" a staff member yelped.
Without a single blow, the Crimson Lotus Ore began to stretch and flow like clay.
Sweat beaded across Shirou's forehead.
Directly interfering with matter at this level was brutally expensive in mental strain.
"Imagine… its shape."
"Not just a sword—Crane Wing."
"A blade that doesn't hesitate… a blade that will always return to the hand."
With a low shout, Shirou brought his hands together—then tore them apart.
Clang—!
No metal struck metal, yet a clear sword-chime rang through the air.
The red light faded.
Floating between Shirou's palms was a short sword—entirely crimson, formed in a graceful arc, its blade covered in tortoise-shell-like mana patterns.
It was Shirou Emiya's soul armament—
Kanshou.
But this Kanshou wasn't a temporary projection.
It was a real, physical blade, remade from this world's top-grade ore.
A wave of scorching heat burst outward from the sword, forcing the onlookers to stumble back.
"Haa…"
Shirou dispersed his mana and caught the blade as it dropped. The metal still held warmth, but it no longer burned. He turned and offered the hilt toward the forging goddess—who stood utterly frozen.
"Done. I adjusted the shape a little, but the impurities are completely removed."
A dead silence filled the shop.
Hephaistos's hand trembled as she accepted the short sword.
As a goddess, she understood its value better than anyone.
Perfect.
So perfect it was almost obscene.
The internal structure was dense to the point of having no bubbles at all. Magical conductivity had reached an unbelievable hundred percent. Worse—far worse—the blade felt alive, shivering faintly in her grip like it had a will of its own.
"Microscopic-level reconstruction…" Hephaistos whispered.
She raised her head and stared at Shirou like he was a monster. "No hammering, no tempering—and you still achieved the effect of a thousand strikes. Who the hell are you?"
"Shirou Emiya."
He gave that familiar, honest, almost foolish smile. "A Loki Familia rookie. Just… a half-baked craftsman."
"Half-baked?" Hephaistos let out a bitter laugh. "If this is 'half-baked,' then the kids in my Familia ought to jump off a roof from shame."
She inhaled deeply, forcing down the tremor in her voice. Then she produced a black-and-gold card inlaid with a ruby and held it out to him.
"You win."
"This ore—and this blade—are yours. And this…"
She tapped the card.
"This is the Hephaistos Familia's Godsmith Card. With it, you can use any top-tier forging room in any shop under my name. All materials are half price."
"That's too valuable—" Shirou began.
"Take it."
Hephaistos cut him off. In her single eye, a blazing fire burned.
"But I have one condition."
"What condition?"
"Next time…" She stepped closer, the scent of sulfur mixed with perfume drifting from her. "Next time you make something like this—let me stand beside you and watch."
"I want to know where your limit is."
Around them, the adventurers' eyes nearly popped out of their skulls.
That was the proud forging goddess—requesting, personally, to observe a human rookie's smithing?
Shirou stared for a moment, then tightened his grip on the short sword and the card, and nodded with solemn sincerity.
"It would be an honor."
-------
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