The figure of the Mashell calmed down at last. His energy and light subsided as he glanced at the emblem that was floating around him.
“What a messy thing to see. I don't like this, but I have to. Don't I?” He mumbled as he watched the sky with thoughtful glances.
This went for a couple more minutes before he decided to leave at last. Another nova exploded within him, as a core. Before the stars would discover anything, he disappeared into the cosmos at inconceivable speed.
He could guess the small implicating topics of the massage he had discovered. All of them were of an utmost bothersome kind.
The Diary of the Body and its content was one of them.
For "The Ones", it was their work and material that meant their fate in the past. It went deeper than that. To the times, when they converted the demons which lurked in the human hearts into the ones which they thought could change.
Over time, the failures of every teacher made it quite clear to them about certain underlying truths.
That was, the death of the demons was also a form of change. They would no longer have to worry about their problems in the universe. Be it fate, rules, and changes that followed such principles.
Before they would know it, such changes will sooner or later become obsolete. After all, the second person who followed the trials as a teacher was successful after countless years.
In that distant past, the situations of the Diary changed some stands between certain members. There were conflicts everywhere in the universe, and The Ones were no different. The hearts of men or Immortals are ever-changing. With wars and death, Immortals could also fall off their lofty lives.
It also cleared more doubts about the helplessness's presence and death. Some would give up, as it is not too important for them and their lives, but not The Ones. When you have the power to change the flow of the part of the universe, it would become more complicated to see the ordinary things.
The One's neutrality in matters regaining the Immortal lands organizations became a spark in discussions throughout the generations. Yet, hardly anything changed.
Stale. Dull. Sinister. Mysterious. Wonderful. Calm. Indifferent.
Such were the words that described the state of the universe.
In truth, the words were meaningless in the sight of the Immortals, who were legends for mortals.
Their lives were like a fly to them, which no mortal would even consider thinking about. It was a concept far too different from the Immortal ways.
Although, to the surprise and hypocrisy, The Ones had ancestors too. They were once mortals, with lives mattered, since they gave birth to them. However, at this point, it could mean millions, or billions of years of changes and generation, or straight-up new births of planets.
This knowledge was lost in the old history, or hidden, since it involved newfound pride for lofty Immortals.
Some would wonder what power can do to people's hearts. Some could believe in other things, and before they know it, they would become indifferent, arrogant, and evil on a short notice.
The world of cultivation was such a place. Constant struggle and conflicts, while everything under the universe's watchless presence, were happening in a constant flow of time.
Yet, it could sound like that, but the struggles can give birth to something greater. A new star, or an Immortal that would shake the heavens, and people within them. With countless opportunities for the common folk, some people could embark further into their paths. They could also become someone who could wait for their opportunities.
Allan could be considered someone like that as well.
Now, awaiting and not getting used to this much was on his mind. His willingness and sincere wish to get back to his past life were strong. He didn't have any issue with changing his core beliefs, as the power can defile fate, or so he thought.
Personal strength? He could have that. He could also want to go back to his previous life, but what about that? To the shop of his father, the bar of mister Thomas, and his own forging experiences which could be gazed by his father? He wished for that, but it would never come back from the past.
It would never go back, as the past had already happened. Even if he came back, what would be there? Occupied land by the Nation of Dawn? Destroyed city of Waan? Grusha kingdom, which was devoured or being close to that by another hegemon? All of this was possible, but Allan would never find a chance to get the answers for them in his current position.
For things that had happened to him since his disappearance from his world, he hoped to uncover them over time. Yet, these wonders assured him that there was still a chance for him. The strangeness of the encounters that had appeared in his life ever since were leaving him with a new fate. One, which could shake the heaves if he will be brave enough to do so.
Embarking on a path that could be called forceful, it wasn't the worse thing that he would do. What cultivator would not call it that? Going by the principles of immortality, humility, hard work, or truths? Allan knew a change was coming while grabbing it is one thing and continuing afterward was another.
1 hour moved on, and Allan felt like he experienced days' worth of sleep.
He woke up by the pokes of Sarey who was poking his face if he was alive.
“Wake up, sleeping boy.” The sweet voice sounded in his ears once again. This was much more pleasant than barking Clayton to get into the shop.
“W-what? It has been one hour already?” he sleepily answered.
“Yes, I even put the needles away.”
“I see...” Allan, after noticing no obscurities on his back, sat up and stretched his shoulders and back.
“Are you feeling well?” Sarey asked. This time, there seemed to be no issues. It was hard to say if she felt relieved or disappointed.
“Never felt better.” He answered.
“Bullcrap! You were like a walking dead. Tired and spent. Do you think this sort of treatment can cease any tiredness?”
“It does not? I always felt good from each therapy for what you did to me.”
“You are weirdo...” Sarey muttered as she pinched him some more. Bruises were still there, but he seemed much more lively than before, so it all could act as a therapy of his core.
Tense and tired muscles would become softer for an hour, according to the pages that Sarey studied for the 100th time. Fibers would relax and accumulate to calm their movements through the insertion of the needles. It went according to the scroll that 36 gave her, but it looked like it was much more efficient than she assumed. That, or Allan's body, was strange and let the needles act differently than they should.
Sarey was skeptical at the moment, but there was nothing she could do for now. She was feeling like this for who knows how long. Perhaps since the moment, Allan appeared in her life, and she forced herself upon him for whatever reason.
Feeling rejuvenated, Allan jumped from the bed and felt his whole being. His earlier stress on his limbs and especially his legs were gone as well. He only could feel the tingling motion of pain across his knuckles. Knees, elbows, hips, and hands.
“Nah, I feel better. Since we are done, I will move into the forge. There is a lot of work that needs to be done.”
“Hmph! Go then.” Sarey folded the scrolls and tossed them away. No longer caring if anything was wrong or good. Results spoke for themselves, and Allan was clearly better.
Taking his staff, which rested by the same position on the wall, Allan moved into the forge. Excitement about the plan in his mind, he couldn't wait to get his plan to come to fruition.
He decided to do one thing for the rest of the day. Make rough metallic blades of the spearhead, polearm, and one special double-edged sword he never did before, but always wanted to. This was already within his mind for the last couple of days. Ever since the moment when Zigmund gave him the mission of presenting 8 more blades for him to see.
It was as simple as that, so that made his work much more complicated, but exciting at the same time. If he did the 10 same-looking swords, it would be easier, but making different kinds of weapons was fine as well.
Walking into the courtyard, there were still shimmers of the sun with its few last strands. In a bit, it would leave behind the horizon. Zigmund was still napping by a tree. He found no issue with it, as the weather was great.
Allan did not even notice his presence as he walked into the building where was his forge.
Founding everything clean, it felt like a while since the last time he was forging. He couldn't understand why, but not like it was a bad thing. It could be his expectations that led to this.
Allan found the same things in the furnace's corner. Fuel was not damaged that much from the occurrence of that ball of fire. He loaded wood and charcoal into the furnace, and the fire was soon starting within.
It was a brief moment since he didn't want to waste any time. Checking the boxes of materials through his touch and tries, the boxes were scorched, and some barely held their content.
Alas, he soon found the materials he needed for his task for today.
Black Mithral, and ingots of Ingreore. Those two were also materials he saw before, from their names alone. Both held similar properties and were popular for forging any kind of equipment. One was deep black, and the other was bright as silver. Allan wasn't seeing it, but he knew it was the case from his memory.
His mind had a full plan of the entire material aspects of his forge. While some boxes were damaged, the materials were not, so that was at least some good news.
Allan already had a clear picture of the stuff he wanted to do. For the spearhead, he could use a simple design. Sharp tip, with a flatter body. But, those things can change from simple ones to more complex ones. The reason was the retrieval of the black whetstone. With it he could try some more complex designs, so the changes were due at the last moment.
Hexagonal-shaped body with points that would pierce anything. A General-like kind of spear, with weight, and utmost grace. Considering his experience, there will be an addition of a crescent-shaped blade. It would be like a quarter of the moon on its cycle blade on the side of the spear. It would make the spear more intricate and personal.
With this detailed work on the spear, the rest of the two pieces would be simpler. A polearm would be a bigger kind of blade with a long wooden handle. Curvature and tip were most important on this type of weapon, like the weight which had to be considered as well.
Polearms were known for their curved shapes and cleaving power. Allan knew a lot of designs, so that left him with many choices to choose from. Any man who would wield this weapon needed the strength of many men. If one swung it with not much power, they would fly with it as well.
Of course, it depends on the wielder, as well as the body of the blade itself. Weight distribution, and quality of the handle, had to be considered for the user. Swinging it around and returning the blade was important, but not much for the blacksmiths. Soldiers would figure it out themselves.
Allan knew it from his own experience, so he acted according to it. The body of the polearm's blade would be made from the Ingreore as well as the 3rd choice of the blade for today. Black Mithral was for the spear alone.
As he was finishing contemplating the work, the fire was ready at the right temperature.
Holding nothing back, Allan put the thick plate of the already processed Black Mithral inside the furnace.
The scorching temperature inside was quite big, as he guessed it was good enough. It all went without a need for his sight, but that was thanks to his experience.
Afterward, he found the last piece of the hammer that Sarey managed to find. She left it laying on the table. Fortunately, it was hidden in some far corner, so no damage was done to it, unlike the majority of the other equipment.
Allan was getting ready for some work and, as he was turning around some path, he stumbled on something in particular. Sword fell from the table and almost pierced his feet.
“Damn. It is not that great to move too fast in this kind of limited environment.” Allan cursed, as he caught the blade before it almost pierced his feet.
Catching it with his free hand, he found a sudden familiarity within this piece. Allan couldn't help but smile and laugh.
“Not so heavy now, aren't you?”
In his hand was the blade Clayton hid inside the hammer emblem. In all this time, it moved from his mind, as the black whetstone and soul-fire were the most important for him. This blade, he kind of forgot about it since he had so much on his mind.
Unsheathing it, he held it with his right hand up.
“No, this is still quite heavy. Wait, what is this...?”
Allan tried to move his hand. He changed the stance and center of his gravity from the tip of his core towards his hand, hips, and torso. It was as if the blade was listening to some kind of command. The gravity was working against him as the blade's weight gradually turned stranger. Sometimes heavy, other times lighter.
“If I put a lot of strength into my arms, shoulders, and hand, it acts... strange. As if whole body weight is behind it. It will increase within specific postures and stances. I wonder if it's the feeling, or the blade itself is acting up as its weight is heavy.” Allan wondered, and couldn't help but imagine what kind of force was necessary to swing it at any kind of thing or being.
When he held it, with the center of gravity on his hips, the blade felt heaviest. With this posture, he wasn't putting any strength towards the blade itself. That answered something, but not everything.
He felt like he could swing it fine, as the unfamiliar sword felt better as he changed his stances. He wondered why it happened, as it had never felt like this before. It seemed to him that the material or something different made this blade different from anything he held before.