One week later:

Constantine strode down the village road. Dogs barked around him, children shouted, and chickens clucked. He passed several bamboo houses, his gaze lingering on the solitary stone dwelling on the street.

As he drew nearer, the clanging of metal grew louder, accompanied by the pungent scent of smoke. "Again, this…" he muttered. Following a narrow stone path around the house, the noise intensified until he rounded a corner into a small yard.

Piles of firewood and coal lay stacked beneath wooden shacks. The clanging ceased, and a short, burly man with dark, curly hair and a bushy mustache emerged. Clad in a leather apron smeared with soot and grime, his muscular arms bore the marks of old burns. His sharp grey eyes assessed Constantine.

“What do you want?” the smith growled, his voice as rough as his appearance. “I told you I can’t make those parts you asked for, and I don’t have that magnetite you mentioned. I’m just a village smith. I can make nails, horseshoes, or repair your tools—”

Constantine interrupted, “I know. You said it the last time. I need something simpler.” He drew a pouch from his belt and tossed it to the man. The smith reached for it but fumbled, the pouch slipping through his fingers and hitting the ground with a dull thud. He quickly bent down to pick it up. “Melt tin and mix this powder into it.”

The smith opened the pouch, his expression puzzled. He peered at the contents, then back at Constantine, his mustache twitching. Constantine thought, ‘This smith isn’t skilled enough. The city is too far, and I’m not ready to go there yet.’ He sniffed, smelling alcoholic odour reeking of the man, ‘And also an alcoholic.’

“Where’s the nearest town?” Constantine asked. The smith scratched his bristly chin, thinking. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Winded Town, where our Lord lives. It’s a day’s journey there and back, maybe two. There are also some nice whores.”

“Thanks,” Constantine ignored the last part and replied while frowning inwardly. ‘Can I leave my wolf alone that long?’ He wasn’t worried about food and water, but the wolf might wander off. ‘It’s afraid of light. It won’t go out in daylight. If I return before sunset, it should be fine.’

The smith grunted, “I’ll have the alloy ready by evening. It’s simple enough. No need to pay beforehand; afterward is enough,” he added, dismissing the idea of prepayment as if it were an insult. Constantine nodded and left, thinking, ‘I can manage this. My stamina is excellent, better than that of most athletes. I should be able to run the whole way. With some mana, I’ll be even faster.’

As he departed, he thought of the pouch he left with the smith, ‘I wonder if inserting mana-conductive material from the rabbit horn might allow mana to jump between them without dispersing.’ His eyes glinted with curiosity, wanting to know the answer. There were simply too many variables; the excess heat might destroy the mana conductive properties of the material, the mana might not be able to leap between the particles as he hoped for, or something else might not work.

Yet, he had to wait for the smith to finish his sample to test it out. Walking, he closed his eyes briefly, tugging at the warmth behind his stomach. It was swirling like a vortex, concentrated into a single blob of fire. Smiling, he nodded. 'It is slowly stabilizing. I no longer even need to pay attention to it.' It was like muscle memory—the act of compressing and concentrating, which initially required his full attention, was now running in the background.

'Soon, I might start using my mana again without disrupting it and undoing my work.' Due to him compressing his mana, he didn't dare use his mana over the past couple of days. The swirling mass was too unstable, and he worried that if he tried to move mana too much, it might undo his work.

The next day:

Lying on a cot lined with animal furs, Constantine ran his fingers over a sludge of tin alloy. His breath held in anticipation, his fingers tingling with impatience. Not wanting to build his hopes too high, he exhaled and murmured, "It’s just a test, a silly idea that might work or might not."

The ruby-eyed wolf curled up on the floor beside him lifted her head, her eyes curiously observing the piece of tin. Constantine chuckled and whispered, “I see we share this curiosity.” He reached out to scratch behind her ear. “Well, let's see what it does.”

Commandeering his implant, he prepared for the experiment. 'Record the experiment of mixing known mana-conductive materials into mana-dispersing material,' he instructed.

Tapping into the swirling mass of mana in his solar plexus, he skimmed a bit of the blob's top layer and guided it into his hand. Grasping the tin tighter, he unleashed it. His fingers tingled as the air shimmered around both his hand and the metal. He felt the metal pulse with energy, dissipating and evaporating, his control over mana vanishing.

However, it wasn’t instantaneous as before; he could feel it swirl and flow for a few moments. His heart raced with excitement even as his smile faltered in dismay. 'It works; mana flows through it, but there is a huge loss,' he thought. Considering a parallel from mundane physics, it was like sending electricity through a high-resistance wire, like those in heaters. Most of the electrical energy was lost in the transfer.

'It is useless for gaseous mana,' he sighed, his cheap alloy unable to support his needs. But his smile remained. 'However, for liquid mana, it might work. Like increasing voltage to overcome high resistance.'

He froze, eyes widening in sudden realization. 'Thinking of mana concentration as the equivalent of voltage is quite an interesting idea, albeit definitely not accurate.'

A sudden pressure on his hip made him turn. The wolf was poking him with its snout. He scratched her head absently and said, “You’re right, I’m getting off track. I need to focus.”

His thoughts wandered to the cultivator slaughtering the fire bats. He waved his saber, glowing and shining, cutting through the monsters without any resistance. 'I might as well start investing in some equipment myself. Not just research tools. I need weapons to protect myself.'

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He looked at the dagger hanging off his hip. It no longer felt adequate. It wasn’t even a proper weapon. Taking a piece of parchment and a bottle of ink, he started drawing, his gaze absent, his mouth warping into a wide grin. 'Combining this low-conductive metal with the dust of thunder-rabbit horns, some basic runes, and perhaps a core holder, I could potentially design a magic weapon.' Although he would rather spend his coin to further his research, he knew that if he didn't have the ability to defend himself, it would be all for naught.

His grin widened further. He didn’t like the idea just for its value as a weapon to defend himself but also as an interesting project to verify a couple of his discoveries.

His hand flew across the parchment. His eyes flickered, and his heart raced. 'I might as well commission it in Winden town, and I can also look for some cheap monster parts.' His grin widened so much he could feel the pressure on his muscles. 'Hell, I don’t even have to buy those parts. I just need the merchant to let me browse through them, and I can scan and record the patterns with my implant.'

A chuckle escaped him. He would enjoy this trip.

Two days later:

Walking down the road, Constantine hummed. Muddy water splashed beneath his shoes, and his robe swayed gently in the wind. Ahead, a stone wall loomed larger with each step, pointy roofs occasionally peeking over its edge. Even at a glance, the walls were decrepit and not even tall. Moss had overgrown them, and segments of the wall seemed to be crumbling into piles of boulders.

‘This place is a shithole. Is it mismanaged by an incompetent fool of a lord, or is it simply poor?’ Constantine wondered, eyeing the state of the regional town overseeing a few surrounding villages, including the one he called home.

Distracting himself from the boring walk, he tugged at his mana. He felt it swirling within his stomach, thicker and denser than before, its warmth guarding him against the cold air. Reaching for the warmth, he felt it stretch and flow—slower now, thicker and heavier. If it had once felt like pure air, now it felt like the humid air before a storm.

‘It has been over a week, yet there is no sign of the core forming,’ he thought. Albeit he wasn't disappointed as cultivation wasn’t fast, nor were the arcane arts; they required patience. ‘At least it’s… more… humid. There is a change.’

As he reached the wall, he paused in line behind a small throng of people and carriages. The line moved slowly, and he shuffled forward, careful not to step on anyone’s heels. ‘Hopefully, the craftsmen here will be enough,’ he thought, glancing at the rotting walls with doubt. He took another step forward, the crowd gradually advancing. And someone to manufacture my core holster and weapon. Maybe even get parts for my voltmeter.’

Anxiety gnawed at him as he moved closer to the gate. His palms sweated—it was too similar to the day he escaped the city. ‘What if they put a bounty on me? What if the guards recognize me?’ He shook his head, quickening his pace. ‘With my magic, I could probably take an entire squad of those guards if it came to close combat.’

His thoughts were interrupted by a rough voice. “The entrance fee is two large coppers for non-citizens.” A guard in a shabby gambeson stood before him, a saber weighing down his belt. A scar ran across his bald head, and his black mustache drew attention to his bored, disinterested expression.

Constantine handed the coins over, his expression calm. The soldier grunted and waved him off. Inhaling in relief, he crossed through the gatehouse into a small square. Stone and wooden houses surrounded it on three sides, the air thick with the smell of roasted meats and the chatter of people around him.

‘Smith, I need a smith,’ he thought, scanning the signs hanging from adjacent buildings. His eyes eventually landed on a sign showing a hammer and anvil. Quickly, he navigated through the crowd, moving swiftly.

Stepping inside the smithy, he was greeted by the cramped store. Iron tools and weapons adorned the walls and weapon racks.

A burly blacksmith, muscles rippling under his soot-stained apron, glanced up from his desk. His eyes were sharp and bored. His face was young, maybe in his thirties. A rugged beard decorated his face, and his arms bore tattoos of intricate designs. “What can I do for you? A sword? Maybe an axe? No, you don't look like those types. Your hands are thin,” he asked, voice gruff but not unkind.

Constantine approached, pulling a rolled-up parchment from within his robe. “I have a blueprint,” he said, unrolling it on a nearby table. The design was a simple bracelet, with an adjustable core holster integrated into its body. Seeing the design again, Constantine forced himself to keep his expression calm. ‘A weapon. A great weapon for me.’ He still lacked a core of his own, depending on consuming monster cores to cast spells. It was a great weakness, one which the bracelet aimed to amend. ‘With this, I will always have a core at hand, camouflaged as a simple ornamental trinket.’

While Constantine pored over his design, the blacksmith leaned in, eyes narrowing as he studied the blueprint. “Those moving parts will require great precision,” he muttered. “It will require a bit more work.”

“I am willing to pay a premium,” Constantine replied firmly, though he felt his heart pound with excitement. It was a necessary investment, one that might save his life. He barely contained his eagerness, and a touch of impatience crept into his voice.

The blacksmith straightened, a broad smile breaking across his face, pride evident in his eyes. “No need,” he said, making Constantine furrow his brows in suspicion. In the world, good offers often hid ugly surprises.

The blacksmith continued, “Quite an interesting trinket. Albeit I can’t fathom why anyone would need a jewel socket to be adjustable, hollow at the bottom, and with the possibility to replace the gem in it, I do like it. Most of the time since I left the city, it's been horseshoes, the same swords and spear designs over and over again, and farming tools. This will be a welcome change.”

Constantine remained cold to the outside, but inside, his heart was beating in shock and surprise. ‘He guessed it all just from that short glance at the blueprint?’ He had expected the smith to be able to read his scheme, as that was its point, but this was too fast. ‘Not even a minute. Must be quite skilled and experienced to do that,’ measuring the craftsman with his gaze, he analyzed, ‘But why would someone with enough skills to ascertain this so quickly move to this shithole?’

While Constantine contemplated, the blacksmith kept reading the schematic, his eyes darting from one corner to another, a smile dotting his disheveled, bearded chin. “Fun or not, I require a portion of the payment upfront to cover materials and initial labor.”

Constantine reached into his robe to produce a small pouch of coins. “But I need it done accurately. Can you do it?”

The blacksmith inspected the pouch, a satisfied look crossing his face as he felt the weight. “This will do nicely. Come back in a week. It’ll be ready.”

Constantine nodded, relief washing over him. “Thank you,” he said, his mouth morphing into a sleek grin, “Oh, I have one more request.”

He took down his sack from the back and said, “I need you to make me a spear. ”

“Why don't you pick one? It will be cheaper.” The smith pointed at the nearby rack. A dozen spears peeked out, neatly lined side by side. Constantine shook his head, his hands sweaty. He hesitated, unsure how the smith would react to his odd request, ‘Hopefully not suspicious enough for him to report it to someone.’

Constantine hesitated momentarily. He wondered if the smith might find his requirements suspicious. He gulped down, “I need something very specific—a bit ornamental, one might even say. Also, I need you to add something to the metals you will be using for my items. You see, I, as an apprentice scholar, am studying the use of alternative alloys. Wondering how some small adjustment might affect them.”