"I mean…"
Daon pressed a hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples as if battling a sudden headache.
Then the lecture began.
"Mm-hmm."
She brought up every single "failed" creation she had seen back at my forge, all the way down to the dagger neatly wrapped and resting by her bedside like a prized treasure.
Reading off a status window visible only to her, she passionately sang the praises of my craft, measuring each piece against standard Hunter gear.
But…
"I see."
None of it truly reached me.
Because through my eyes—and mine alone—they were nothing more than failures.
Or perhaps incomplete works destined never to be finished.
"Hup!"
Nodding absently along to her voice, I pushed myself up from my seat.
My tail, soft and fluffy, drifted upward as I moved.
Traitorous as ever, it swished back and forth through the air with an eager whoosh, completely betraying my true feelings.
It wasn't as if her words made me all that happy, but…
"Nnn…"
I snapped my head to the side, trying desperately to hide my beet-red face.
As my gaze shifted, Daon's room came into focus: A modest single bed with a tiny nightstand beside it.
A small lamp cast a warm glow over the wood, and right beside it, mounted carefully against the wall, was…
"Death Moon."
A proud masterpiece, forged by my own hands.
The moment I spoke its name, my tail miraculously stopped swishing.
Of course I knew it was there; I had noticed it the very first moment I met Daon.
But standing there, lost in thought as I gazed at it up close, the truth hit me with absolute clarity.
As I thought. All the others really are failures.
Death Moon felt completely different from those failures I had spat out like chewed gum.
The same steel.
The same artisan.
The exact same forging process.
Yet why was it so vastly different?
Lost in thought, completely oblivious to the passage of time, I stood staring blankly at the curved sword.
"…"
A soft rustling sound came from beside me.
Snapping out of my daze, I turned around.
"Why are you just staring at it?"
Daon stepped up beside me, looking toward Death Moon where it hung neatly on the wall.
As she reached out and carefully unmounted my masterpiece, a burst of light spilled forth.
It was a radiance I had never seen before—a deep, glowing crimson blood.
It must have bloomed because her body had fully attuned to the sword after using it for so long.
A sudden shudder ran through me, sparked by the resonance and warmth radiating from that light.
"Fuah."
How could I even describe this sensation?
It resembled pleasure or satisfaction, but it was still somewhat different.
Holding Death Moon, Daon stepped toward me and offered the hilt of the red blade.
"Please go ahead. Touch it."
At her invitation, I looked back and forth between her face and the weapon in her hands.
"…No."
It would be a lie to say I didn't want to feel the masterpiece born of my own hands once more.
Even so.
"That isn't mine anymore."
"I-I'm sorry?"
I couldn't afford to cling to lingering attachments.
Death Moon was already a finished weapon that had left my hands.
Spinning around as I spoke, I left the bedroom and headed toward the living room.
"Haaa…"
Stepping into the room alone, I let out a long, heated breath.
A scatter of tiny sparks danced erratically in the air with my exhale.
I think I'm starting to understand a little now.
The emotion I felt, watching Daon hold Death Moon, was likely fulfillment.
My limits.
All the time and failed creations I had cast aside.
A single weapon forged by honing all of that.
The fulfillment of seeing a weapon created exclusively for Daon shine so brightly in her hands.
"I think I get it."
Daon flinched at the low whisper I uttered under my breath.
To be exact, I heard her subtle gasp echo from the master bedroom, where she still stood.
There was a clear reason why Death Moon hadn't turned into a failure.
Looking back now, the blood-red sword and those discarded pieces hadn't been made from the same materials in the first place.
And I wasn't talking about the grade of the steel.
Death Moon's most essential material was…
A person's life.
I had listened to the story of Daon's life and watched her wield that dagger for so long.
That deep, prolonged obsession.
When those two elements converged, perfection was born.
Walking slowly toward the sofa in the corner of the living room, I sank into its comfortable leather, gently opening and clenching my palm.
It felt as though the warmth from the forge when I crafted Death Moon still lingered in my hands, even after all this time.
"Lord Dan…"
Daon stepped softly out of the bedroom, cradling Death Moon in her arms as she called out to me.
Faint confusion, tinged with an apologetic look, lingered in her eyes—as if she hadn't quite grasped what I meant earlier.
Relaxing my twitching ears back, I leaned my head against the headrest.
"It found a good master, so that's enough."
If I—or anyone else—were to wield that sword, its true power would never manifest.
Because that was just the kind of weapon it was.
Because that was how it was forged.
"…Pardon?"
A faint chuckle escaped me at her bewildered stare.
Could I ever make another like it? If I forged a weapon around someone else's life instead of Daon's… would the result give me that same feeling?
"I'm hungry."
That burning thirst and hunger gnawed at my chest.
"Ah! Just a moment! Food… something to eat…"
Misinterpreting my muttered words, Daon immediately hurried to the kitchen and began rummaging through the refrigerator.
"Not that, me—"
I stopped myself short.
Would it be so bad to eat something?
I didn't actually feel physical hunger yet, but I could certainly taste it.
Besides, wasn't there a saying that even the finest sights are best enjoyed on a full stomach?
Leaning back against the cushions, I quietly waited for Daon.
* * *
After glancing through the refrigerator and cabinets, Daon hurriedly put on some clothes and went outside.
Roughly thirty minutes later, she returned home, both hands full of stuffed grocery bags.
"Please wait just a moment!"
"Okay."
Chop, chop, chop.
Before long, the rhythmic beat of a blade striking the cutting board echoed from the kitchen.
What is she making…?
Curiosity surged, tempting me to go peek, but that wasn't what was important right now.
After pacing back and forth and shifting restlessly on the sofa a few times, I finally gave up and flopped back down into my seat.
"Hmm…"
My mind drifted back to the dilemma at hand.
When forging something, raw materials always came first.
Yet the environment and the blacksmith's mindset played a part too.
Still, I don't exactly want to recreate the atmosphere of that old forge…
It had been suffocating, and above all, recreating it out here seemed virtually impossible anyway.
As I cycled through these endless questions and doubts for a long time…
"Food is ready."
Daon stepped out of the kitchen and set a bowl filled with something rich and brownish onto the dining table.
After all, even the finest sights are best enjoyed on a full stomach.
Smelling the mouthwatering aroma, I leaped from the sofa and bolted straight over.
"What's this?"
"It's galbi-jjim. Please wait a moment—I'll bring the rice."
The second Daon turned her back, I squared up to the giant chair like a warrior sizing up a formidable opponent.
A massive bar stool sat parked at a table towering far above my head, seemingly crafted with utter disdain for basic human anatomy.
Whoever had designed the monstrosity had paid zero attention to reasonable proportions.
In short… it was a little high.
"Hmph!"
With a grunt, I leaped up, hooked a foot onto the bottom rung, and squirmed with all my might until I finally managed to land my butt on the seat.
Daon returned a moment later, setting two bowls of white rice onto the table.
Steaming white clouds billowed up, briefly obscuring my view.
"Ahem."
Clearing my throat to mark the monumental occasion of my first meal in ages, I raised my spoon.
I lifted a chunk of braised rib nearly as big as my face and shoved my first bite into my mouth along with some rice.
"I made plenty, so please take your time eating."
Nodding, I chewed on the galbi-jjim and rice together.
The tender shreds of meat fell apart effortlessly, and the rich glaze struck a perfect harmony with the warm rice.
"Is it to your liking?"
"It's… not bad."
Moving my jaw felt slightly awkward because I had no idea how long it had been since I last ate, but the flavor was undeniable.
Chopsticks proved far too difficult to use, so I devoured the meat frantically using only my spoon.
Before long, the bottom of the bowl began to show.
Given that my body didn't feel physical hunger, I had expected to only eat a little, but…
"You… ate everything?"
In fact, I didn't feel full at all—I just kept devouring piece after piece with no end in sight.
"It was tasty."
Leaving Daon staring in stunned silence at the empty bowl, I hopped down from the oversized stool and strolled over to the window.
Outside lay a modest yard, charmingly arranged in its own cozy way.
"Where is all that food even fitting in a body that small…?"
Against the comforting backdrop of her muttering and rattling dishes, I began envisioning the layout of my second forge.
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