The castle garden was a sanctuary of calculated beauty, where white marble paths wound through emerald hedges like veins of ivory through a living heart. Noa, Vionette, and Elina stood in a tight triangle upon the grass where they had only just arrived.
Noa turned to the small, black-haired girl with a look of sudden, frantic inspiration, his purple eyes gleaming with a mischief that usually preceded something expensive or painful.
"Elina, turn back to your dragoon form again for a sec," he said, his voice hopping with a restless energy that made him look like he'd drank ten cups of espresso in a row.
Elina tilted her head, her big amber eyes blinking in pure confusion as she smoothed out her dress.
"Huh? Why? We just got here, and I was looking forward to a snack. A big snack. Maybe a cake?"
"Just do it!" Noa urged, waving his hands around like he was trying to shoo a stubborn fly. He scrunched his face up, his mouth pulling down in a mock-desperate pout that made him look more like a petulant toddler than a world-class warrior.
"Trust me, it's for a good cause! A very sharp, very pointy cause!"
"Okay, okay… geez. You're so demanding. I'm starting to think I'm the only one doing any work around here," Elina huffed, though she was clearly just playing along with her friend's antics as she stepped into a clear patch of grass.
A bright, obnoxious light erupted from her small frame, and for a second, the garden looked like a flashbang had gone off in a closet. When the spots finally cleared from Noa's vision, a massive, obsidian-scaled beast was leaning its snout toward him, her hot breath ruffling his hair.
"What now—Eiiik!"
The dragon's majestic roar turned into a high-pitched, undignified squeak. Noa had lunged forward and was currently yanking on a thick leg scale with the singular focus of a man trying to open a stubborn pickle jar during a famine.
"What are you doin—Eiiik! IT HURTS! Stop it, you thief!" Elina shrieked, her massive tail thumping the grass in a rhythmic tantrum that threatened to uproot the nearby hedges.
Noa looked up, sweating from the effort, and flashed the most painfully innocent, wide-eyed smile he could muster.
"Just two more, I promise! You've got plenty to spare! Think of it as a very aggressive spa treatment!"
Vionette stood back, covering her mouth as she giggled at the sheer absurdity of the sight.
"Oh my," she teased, watching Noa struggle with the giant lizard like a determined tick. "This is child abuse, you know? Or at least dragon harassment."
"Child abuse my ass!" Noa grunted, finally popping a scale loose with a wet, satisfying thwack. He nearly fell backward from the force of it. "She's older than the two of us combined! If anything, I'm the one getting a workout here!"
With a triumphant Clap-Clap-Clap, Noa dusted off his hands and gave the disgruntled dragon a cheeky salute.
"All done! You can shrink back now," Noa shouted, giving the massive, disgruntled dragon a cheeky salute as he clutched the bag of freshly looted scales.
Then, his gaze snagged on something that made his playful smirk falter for a split second. "Hey, that wound is still there."
He was looking at the jagged gash on the dragon's chest and the splintered tip of her horn. Even though Elina was a creature of mythic power, the damage was still weeping a faint, ethereal light.
As Elina compressed back into her cute human form, she rubbed her leg and glared at him with the intensity of a thousand suns.
"Thanks to a certain someone, it got worse." she muttered, her lip twitching downward in a genuine pout.
Noa's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he clutched the bag of scales, backing away slowly like he was expecting a localized fireball to the face.
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
Vionette stepped in, patting Elina's head to calm the simmering dragon-girl.
"We're sorry about that, sweetie," Vionette joined in, stepping between them to offer a genuine apology for Noa's aggressive pruning session. "Let's get some treatment for that wound first."
She reached out and patted Elina's head. Instantly, the dragon-girl's eyes drifted shut in pure enjoyment. The fearsome beast of war was gone; Elina leaned into the touch like a puppy being petted, her amber eyes sparkling as she tried to hug Vionette like she was a soft nap pillow.
Vionette looked at Noa, her expression turning into a knowing, playful smirk.
"I'll send you the shop location through [A Match Made in Hell]. Go get that sword ready before the war starts."
"War? Who? Where? Why? Is there food there? Do the enemies carry snacks?" Elina snapped back to reality, her head pivoting between them with predatory interest.
"I'll tell you everything on the way to the infirmary," Vionette laughed, gently pushing the girl toward the castle spires.
"Well then, I'm off!" Noa shouted, already halfway down the marble path with his bag of loot slung over his shoulder, his heart light and his eyes set on the forge.
***
Noa moved through the streets of Arveth—Crimvane's capital city—with a heavy bag slung over his left shoulder, his right hand buried deep in his pocket. The noon sun sat high and indifferent in the sky, pinning his shadow directly beneath his feet like a dark puddle of ink.
As he walked, he felt it—the shift in the atmosphere.
"That's him, right?" a voice whispered from a nearby fruit stall.
"I think so?"
"Definitely. Look at his eyes."
Everywhere he turned, the city was watching him. Gazes peered from behind half-constructed walls, through the steam of outdoor kitchens, and from the shaded interiors of houses.
On Earth, Noa was used to being watched—he was a creature of the spotlight, but that spotlight had always been fueled by disgust, teeth-clicking, and the hurried closing of doors. People used to avoid his path as if he were a walking plague.
But this was different. The air didn't smell like disgust; it smelled like curiosity. There were no bad whispers, only the hushed, breathless tones of a people looking at a young man.
"That's the man in the rumors." an old woman murmured.
"Her majesty's partner…"
"He looks so cool." a group of children chirped, following him at a safe distance.
"Handsome too." a young woman added, her face flushing as he passed.
The children looked at his relaxed stride and saw a legendary warrior; the women looked at his sharp features and saw a romantic lead; the men looked at the sheer, casual strength in his frame and set new goals for their own training.
Noa had become the living myth of a kingdom that desperately needed something to believe in.
An unintentional smile began to form on Noa's lips—a genuine, soft curve that felt foreign to his face. Surprised by the sensation, he stopped mid-step, lifting a hand to his lips to check if the muscles were truly betraying his neutral mask. He stood there for a long breath, accepting the warmth of the city's gaze, before closing his eyes and letting the smile bloom fully.
As you said, Vionette, making a kingdom really might not be bad.
He raised a hand and gave a casual, sweeping wave to the civilians, watching as the crowd erupted in a flurry of excited waves back. For a moment, Noa—the man who had once razed a city for a whim of entertainment—felt like a black flower that had suddenly, impossibly, bloomed white.
…
Inside the city's industrial district, Vionette's mental voice guided him toward a building that stood like a bastion of industry.
The shop was a titan of brick and reinforced concrete, nearly twice the size of the surrounding houses. Its walls were etched with glowing runes designed to contain the ferocious heat generated within. Above the heavy iron-bound door, a simple sign swayed in the wind: Blacksmith Marnok.
Noa stood before the entrance for a long moment, hands on his hips, his grin widening as he felt the vibrations of the forge through the soles of his boots. He pushed the door open, and the world changed.
The scent hit him first—the sharp, metallic tang of burning iron mixed with the sweet, heavy aroma of sawdust. The interior was a forest of steel. Weapons, shields, and suits of armor hung from the walls like the trophies of a hundred wars, yet the space was meticulously clean, much larger and more organized than the cramped, soot-stained dens Noa had imagined.
CLANG!
The sound of hammer hitting steel wasn't just a noise; it was a physical shockwave that vibrated in Noa's teeth.
"Who are you? What do you want?" a voice barked from the depths of the shop.
Noa turned toward the heat. There, perched beside a literal waterfall of molten lava that cascaded into a stone basin, sat a dwarf. He was no taller than Elina. His vanilla-colored hair was tied back, and a long, braided beard hung to his chest. Goggles rested over chocolate-brown eyes that flickered with the reflection of the flames.
Just like the dude I expected. Noa thought, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I want to make a sword," he stated simply.
Marnok looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on Noa's lean frame.
"Tsk. Just a sword?" the dwarf spat, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
He felt his hopes, which had been piqued by the stranger's entrance, deflate.
"Whatever. Leave the materials over there and come back in two day—"
"Hey, old man," Noa interrupted, his voice rising to match the roar of the forge. "Can you even work with these?"
With a violent heave, Noa swung the bag from his shoulder. As it hit the floor, the contents spilled out in a magnificent, terrifying heap. Crimson scales clattered like coins of the damned, and in the center lay a massive dragon horn—a dark, spiraled monolith that was larger than the dwarf himself.
Marnok froze mid-turn. His eyes widened, reflecting the dark luster of the dragonic remains. For a second, time seemed to stop as the master smith processed the sheer quality of the harvest before him.
"I'll say it again," Noa said, his dark purple eyes glowing with a density that seemed to swallow the light of the lava.
"Make me a sword. A god-killing sword."
A feeling Marnok thought had died years ago began to erupt in his chest—the fire of true inspiration. It was the thrill Vionette had promised him. His heart began to race, his lips curling into a wide, jagged grin as the excitement burned through his veins like liquid fire.
"Ah… a man with fire in his heart," Marnok whispered, walking toward the horn and running a trembling hand over its jagged surface. "So… she really told the truth."
"So, you wanna do it or nah?" Noa grinned, knowing the answer was written in the dwarf's eyes.
"Hell yea! Let's make the sword!" Marnok roared back.
Without another word, the dwarf cleared his workbench, sweeping his current project—a half-finished blade—to the floor as if it were nothing but scrap metal. The air between the two men crackled with a shared, reckless ambition as they prepared for the forge.
…
Clang—Clang—Clang!
The struggle began immediately. Marnok attempted to soften the crimson scales using the standard forge-fire, but the heat of the royal coals was a joke to the dragon's hide. The metal-like scales didn't even glow; they remained cold and defiant, mocking the blacksmith's hammer.
"It's not enough," Marnok grumbled, sweat pouring off his brow in rivers, his braided beard damp with effort.
Noa, sitting on a nearby crate with his head tilted, watched the futile struggle.
"What is?"
"The heat! It's not bending! This metal hasn't even realized it's in a forge yet!" Despite the failure, Marnok was laughing, his eyes blazing with the joy of a challenge that finally matched his skill.
"Heat, huh?... Heat…" Noa's eyes glazed over for a second before snapping back into focus with a realization. He remembered a heat—a flame that evaporated a city. "If we're talking about flames, I got just the thing."
"Yes! I knew you were the man! Ok then, bring it right away!" Marnok shouted, pointing toward the door.
"Yes, sir!" Noa leaped to his feet, exiting the shop in a blur of motion, his own heart pounding with the excitement of the weapon yet to be born.