One day after returning from the battlefield, Kalem sat alone in his cart, his mind churning with ideas.
His fingers traced over a worn leather-bound notebook, sketching schematics for new weapons.
Until his next deployment, he was free to experiment.
"Good thing they aren't here," Kalem muttered as he drew water rune schematics, thinking of his old academy friends. "They'd pester me with warnings again."
A smirk played at his lips as he continued his notes, his focus shifting back to the sample of Bone Devil ichor sitting in a reinforced glass canister beside him.
The strange, black substance pulsed faintly under the dim light of his cart's lantern.
Kalem carefully unsealed the container, tipping a few drops into a basin of clear water.
The moment the ichor touched the liquid, something unexpected happened.
Instead of diluting, the black substance expanded—twisting and writhing like an ink-stain spreading across a scroll.
Kalem frowned, watching as the black ichor increased in volume without losing any of its corrosive potency.
"What the hell is with this lack of dilution?" he muttered.
He grabbed a wooden stirring rod, dipping it into the basin.
Hiss!
The moment it touched the ichor-infested water, the wood melted into sludge, its form completely devoured by the acid.
Kalem's grip on his notebook tightened.
"This explains why it kept flowing even after the Bone Devil was killed," he murmured.
That meant—
"If this stuff gets into a water supply," Kalem thought aloud, "it could spread indefinitely."
His stomach tightened slightly.
This wasn't just corrosive material.
This was something worse.
Shaking his head, Kalem sealed the canister again.
There was still more testing to be done.
But for now—
He had a smithy to visit.
At Briar's Smithy
The forge was alive with movement, the rhythmic clang of hammers against metal filling the air.
Kalem entered the workshop, dropping a bundle of weapons onto the counter.
"Here's today's rent," he said, as usual.
Briar, standing behind the counter, raised an eyebrow. Her furred tail flicked once, a sign of mild exasperation.
"Again, Kalem? Too much as always."
Kalem simply shrugged.
Beside her, Garron leaned against a stack of crates, arms folded.
"How the hell are you already back to work after a life-threatening battle?" Briar asked.
Kalem looked at her, puzzled. "What else would I be doing?"
Briar's ears twitched. "I don't know… recovering? Sleeping? Drinking like a sane person?"
"Leave it," Garron muttered, rubbing his temples. "It's no use trying to make sense of him."
Kalem turned his gaze toward Garron, suddenly curious.
"By the way, how do you two know each other?"
Briar and Garron exchanged glances, before Briar let out a soft chuckle.
"Your weapons," she said, tapping the blade of one of the swords Kalem had brought in. "The ones I sell? They've been a blessing to rank-and-file soldiers."
Kalem blinked.
"Blessing?"
Garron nodded. "Didn't I tell you? Your weapons sell well."
Briar leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "The Legions and Battle Orders get their weapons straight from the Forge-Keepers, the best in Gehenna. But rank-and-file soldiers? They have to make do with whatever they can get."
Kalem furrowed his brows. "Is that why people keep their distance from me on the field?"
"Not exactly," Garron admitted. "It's more that they respect your abilities enough to give you space."
Kalem stared at him.
"Since when does anyone respect me?"
Garron sighed. "It's not about respect in the way you're thinking. It's because you don't boast about your power. Most warriors who are strong? They make sure everyone knows."
Kalem frowned. "But I'm not that skilled."
Garron scoffed. "Skill? Maybe you're not a master swordsman, but that doesn't matter when any weapon you pull out just kills the thing in front of you."
Kalem considered that for a moment.
Then he lifted his smithing hammer.
"Alright," Briar said, watching him carefully. "What are you making this time?"
Garron groaned. "He's probably trying to weaponize the Bone Devil's acid and make something that can one-shot it next time."
It was a joke.
But when Garron's gaze landed on the sealed canister of ichor Kalem had placed on the workbench—
His expression shifted.
His humor drained away in an instant.
"Wait."
His eyes narrowed.
"Are you serious?"
Kalem tilted his head, confused. "What?"
"Don't 'what' me!" Garron snapped, stepping closer. "You said you were going to use that stuff for research, not weaponization."
Kalem blinked. "I am. I just… might also make something useful."
Garron rubbed his face. "You do realize what happens if this spreads uncontrollably, right?"
Kalem gestured toward the canister. "It's contained."
"For now!"
Before the argument could escalate, Briar cut in.
"Relax, Garron," she said, waving a hand. "Legions already make use of weapons like this. He'll be fine."
Garron wasn't convinced.
But after a long sigh, he dropped the argument.
For now.
Kalem turned back to the forge, his fingers flexing around his hammer.
If the Bone Devil's ichor could not be diluted, then perhaps…
He could turn that flaw into a weapon.
Something that would not spread uncontrollably—but instead be directed.
Controlled.
A tool.
His mind whirled with possibilities as he began sketching his next creation.
Something that would ensure that if another Bone Devil ever surfaced—
—it would not survive.