The day's deployment had ended, and Kalem found himself seated in his cart, sorting through materials and notes. His hands moved instinctively, sketching sigils onto parchment while examining the structural integrity of a few prototype designs.
His recent battles had exposed some weaknesses in his weapon rotation. While his resonance blade techniques were strong, prolonged use drained his stamina at an alarming rate. Meanwhile, weapons like his chain sickle chipped too frequently, forcing him to repair them after almost every major encounter.
"This should go well with this… now let's move to another one," he muttered, adjusting a rune pattern on one of the papers.
"Here you are."
A voice interrupted his work, and Kalem glanced up.
"Oh, it's you."
"That's all I get?" came the dry reply.
Standing a few feet away, arms folded over her chest, was Briar, an Ilvaar smith and one of the few artisans Kalem had come to respect since arriving in Gehenna. Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a flicker of amusement in them.
Kalem smirked slightly, setting down his notes. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking in."
"Checking in?" Kalem raised an eyebrow. "You don't strike me as the type to casually drop by."
Briar shrugged, her gaze briefly flicking over his legs. "Well, good thing I did. I heard you nearly destroyed yourself yesterday."
Kalem blinked, then scowled. "Garron's exaggerating. I was just exhausted. Otherwise, why would I have been sent on today's deployment?"
Briar snorted. "That doesn't mean you didn't push yourself too hard."
Kalem waved off her concern. "It's nothing serious."
Briar gave him a long, skeptical look but didn't press further.
After a few more minutes of casual conversation, she sighed and turned to leave. "Since you're still breathing, I'll assume you'll be at the forge tomorrow?"
Kalem nodded, leaning back against the cart. "Yeah. I've got a day off. Might as well make good use of it."
Briar chuckled. "Try not to wreck yourself before then."
Kalem rolled his eyes as she walked away, though he knew the concern was genuine.
The next day, Kalem stood in Briar's forge, the familiar heat and scent of burning coal wrapping around him like a second skin. Sparks flew from the anvil as other smiths worked tirelessly, the rhythmic clanging of hammers forming a steady chorus of creation.
Kalem walked over to Briar, who was already working on reinforcing a greatsword's core. He set down a bundle of weapons beside her.
"Here's today's rent," he said, gesturing toward the swords and daggers he had brought.
Briar wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and glanced at the collection. She picked up a dagger, testing its balance.
"As sharp as ever," she muttered. "You really don't hold back, huh?"
Kalem shrugged. "It's part of the deal. I use the forge, and in exchange, you get some of my work for sale."
Briar nodded, tossing the dagger onto the worktable. "Yeah, yeah. 60:40 split as usual. I just still don't get it."
"Get what?" Kalem asked, moving to his own workbench.
"How the hell do you forge that many things and still have energy left for your personal projects?"
Kalem smirked, already setting up his materials. "Because I'm young."
Briar paused, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Are you calling me a hag?"
Kalem glanced at her and then, with the most deadpan expression imaginable, said, "No, of course not. After all, you're still in your fifties… though your appearance suggests thirties."
Silence.
Briar's eye twitched.
Kalem could feel the air around her shift, her grip tightening on the hammer.
"You little—"
Before she could finish, Kalem dodged out of the way just as her hammer swung down, narrowly missing his shoulder.
"That was a compliment!" Kalem protested.
"Not when you say it like that!" Briar snapped.
Kalem grinned, quickly moving to his own station. "You should take it as flattery."
Briar sighed, rubbing her temple. "I swear, kid, one of these days, I'm going to throw you into the forge."
Kalem simply chuckled, already heating up his first batch of metal.
The rhythmic clang of hammers striking metal filled the air. Around him, the other smiths of Gehenna worked tirelessly, reinforcing weapons, forging new armor, and repairing the damage left by the constant battles against the horrors of the abyss.
Kalem focused on his chain sickle, one of his most versatile weapons but also the one that suffered the most damage in combat. Unlike his resonance blades, which relied on mana and energy efficiency, the chain sickle was a weapon of attrition—one that chipped away at enemies, but also at itself.
He pulled the sickle from the quenching barrel, steam hissing into the air. Examining it under the forge's light, he clicked his tongue in irritation.
"These things surely chip a lot," he muttered, placing the weapon back onto the anvil. He grabbed a hammer, adjusted his grip, and brought it down with precision, shaping the metal back into form.
Once satisfied with the structure, he set it down carefully, taking a deep breath. The next part was just as important—if not more so.
"Now, let's cast the runes."
Kalem placed the chain sickle in front of him and began etching the runes, each stroke deliberate, each symbol designed to enhance durability and minimize wear.
This time, he'd make sure it lasted.