Elliot and his teacher were walking over to meet the blacksmith… slowly, the old man was really taking his time, shuffling his feet as the hummed quietly, seemingly happy.

“Hey, uh, why don’t we do the thing where you teleport? Might be easier on your back old man.” His teacher snorted at the proposition, “It’s a huge mana waste, not to mention the commotion it would cause. The only reason I used it then was because it took you and me away from the crowd.”

Elliot paused in thought, “Hey, teacher, how good is my control compared to yours?” The old man laughed “You think your control is better? That’s idiotic, your control is like that of a cup with no cracks, extremely impressive for someone your age, but still only just at the start. Mine would be like an engine constantly pumping mana within itself. It allows for extreme control in spells.”

Elliot was shocked, he thought that mana control was his cheat, who’d think the old man had him beat by such a large amount. The old man noticed his downtrodden face and scowled. “Idiot, just the control you have now could take the average mage 80 years to complete. If any mage found out you were dissatisfied they would have you skinned alive.”

Elliot scratched his cheek in embarrassment, was he that easy to read? “If they’re so old to get to that point then how old are you, sir?” the teacher bonked him on the head. “First of all, you will call me teacher. Second of all, that’s a rude thing to ask a sorcerer, especially the types that try to keep their youthful appearance.”

His teacher scowled, “none of them know the attraction that only comes with age. I’m around 230 years old, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” Elliot stopped walking in shock, causing his master to bump into him. “Why stop, boy? What’s the problem?” Elliot didn’t know how to respond to his nonchalance… “You’re… so OLD!” Smooth. His teacher didn’t seem to mind, however.

“It comes with strengthening your mana core. You definitely will live to my age, hell you might live much longer at your current progression.” Elliot was perplexed… wasn’t life beautiful because it was short? What was the point in life if everything held less meaning because of it? Why would-

Before the entry level philosophy in his head caught wings, Gerlad slapped him on the back, bringing him to the surface again. “Don’t dawdle, we’re almost to your sword.” Elliot shook himself out of his thoughts, whatever would come he would deal with later. Once they reached the blacksmith’s workshop his teacher pulled a pouch out of his robes.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t rip us off, you do have a habit of angering people, my dear student.” Despite the insult, Elliot felt warm in his heart when his teacher finally started referring to him the same way he did Hannah and Tiffany. They found the blacksmith just sitting, admiring the now complete sword, with a decorated handle that seemed to add an extra foot to the sword.

“Boy… you weren’t exaggerating its size…” even his master seemed shocked at the size of the sword the blacksmith was admiring. The blacksmith heard this and turned around to meet them, “You really did help wonders while creating this sword. You did say you’d tell me later but I can’t wait, how did you help the impurities?” Elliot opened his mouth to speak but it was quickly covered by his teacher’s hand. “That’s a secret my student is not at liberty to say.” He glared at Elliot, who had just remembered the promise to not tell people of his control.

  The blacksmith noticed the tension and laughed loudly. “The little bastard would be the type to not think before he talks. How are you, Gerald? Still being a babysitter to those two? It seems you’ve even added a new child to the family.” His teacher chuckled, waving his hand dismissively, “At least I have a reason to raise them, what’s your excuse for taking in the boy?”

The blacksmith returned to a stoic face, scratching his beard. “He was so crap at using the sword that I took pity in him.” The blacksmith said, without missing a beat. “You should have seen it, him coming in unannounced like he owned the place, just to ask me for a decorative weapon that wouldn’t even be useful fending off birds.”

Elliot was getting red in the face, it was bad enough when one was taking shots at him but both of them speaking about him was enough to make him want to crawl in a hole. He wasn’t that bad, was he? His teacher thankfully helped him out.

  “You’re free to go, boy. Take the sword. I’ll discuss payment with my colleague here.” Elliot nodded and quickly ran out the door, only to run back in a second later to retrieve the sword. Gerald sighed. “Seriously Deitre, what did you see in the boy to give him such an amazing weapon?” He threw the bag in his hands at the blacksmith, caught it, and put it aside. He didn’t even check the amount, he knew Gerald wasn’t the type to pay dishonestly.

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“The same thing I’m sure you see in him now. The boy doesn’t think like us, and he pulls us along into thinking his way. He’s kind hearted, and knows how to speak. He was meant to lead… I can see it.” Gerald laughed mockingly but didn’t deny it.

“You… aren’t planning to teach him the sword are you?” Deitre hung his head… “I don’t know, I don’t want to make the same mistake again. Is this your attempt to persuade me?” Gerald shook his head, he knew better than to ask favors from the old man. “I don’t want you to do it for the boy, Deitre… I want this for you. I haven’t seen you out the forge since-”

“Quiet… you don’t think I’m not aware of that? It’s the only thing that clears my mind. You should know as well as me what losing people does to you.” Gerald grimaced, he knew his friend was just angry at him for touching a sore spot, so he didn’t hold it against him. “I didn’t get better with time, you know that. It was the kids who healed me, who made me a better man than I was before.”

Gerald looked at Deitre with kind eyes, kinder than anything he’d shown before. The eyes of a father, reminiscing about his daughters. “Those two were the best thing to happen to me, though I could never tell them that.” The blacksmith was shocked, the light-bringer, known for being a cold and ruthless slayer of deformed, was getting sentimental.

He sighed, while Gerald had grown into this, he had instead stagnated. His weapons weren’t getting better for years, not until the boy came along. He knew he needed passion for his job but he only worked with cold and mechanical precision after he lost his son. It was eating away at him, and he knew it.

But still.

“Three years. Three years of sitting on my ass and wallowing about something I can never change now… how pitiful is me…” Gerald only kept his face neutral, not denying or agreeing. “Time moves on, hell, I’ve seen it go by from all the extra wrinkles on your face, old man.” The Blacksmith rose from his seat, he was tired of not growing, of not living life the way it was supposed to be lived.

He picked up his heaviest hammers with one hand, a difficult feat even for him... “Ask the boy if he wants my help. It is not as it matters, though.” He brought the hammer down onto a nearby table, creating an arc of fire that cracked and burned the air. It left him surrounded with nothing but flaming pieces.

“BECAUSE WHO WOULD REFUSE ME? I DARE THEM TO SHOW THEMSELVES!” Gerald looked in shock, before rising with a grin. His arms were outstretched, knowing full well the state of excitement Deitre was in. They were powerful, and the world would bow before them.

“NO ONE FRIEND, NO ONE WOULD DARE REFUSE OUR DEMANDS.” Both men were basically shouting with laughter, shaking the village, and Elliot, still trying to carry the sword back, couldn’t help but feel the rumbling.

And he shuddered. “That’s… definitely not good."

He made himself go faster, away from what he could only assume was either a herd of t-rexes or his teacher and the blacksmith having a shouting contest. Either way, he knew he wouldn’t survive the encounter. Once he got home he started admiring the sword, it was a completely straight, double-edged greatsword.

The sword had a handle about two feet long and segmented in the middle by a bump, with a black cloth wrapped around it. He gripped the sword’s handle and attempted to pick it up…

Oh no.

While he could have dragged it back by shifting his weight, using it for a proper swing was a completely different process altogether. He saw his imp staring at him blankly, trying to lift a sword about the same size he was. He couldn’t help but think it had judging eyes. His thought process seemed correct as he saw the imp smirk.

“Hey you stupid imp, you think you can do much better? You haven’t been any help since I summoned you, you were supposed to make me stronger but all you did was get assaulted by children. I suppose I couldn’t order you to make me stronger could I?” The imp’s smirk stopped, replaced by the same eyes he got whenever he was given an order.

It suddenly pointed its finger at Elliot, a small circular magic pattern was inscribed into the air. “Hey, wait, I was kidding you know! I wasn’t actually mad at you- ack!” Elliot was shot in his chest with a dark bolt of energy, it only stung a bit though. “What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m sorry about calling you a prick but there’s no need to resort to violence! Geez…” While Elliot was chastising his summon he all of a sudden felt a throb in his chest.

“What the hell?” He loosened his robes to look at the wound, only to see a black orb implanted, black lines spreading out towards the rest of his body. “Hey... HEY, what’d you do to me you stupid imp!” The imp tilted his head in confusion, then pointed to the sword still haphazardly scattered across the floor.

Elliot's small brain whirred around for a second, remembering how his teacher told him the darkness attribute allowed demons to strengthen their users. “Hey, was that a strength spell?” The imp shook his head no, then pointed to his chest where his heart was. “Am I stronger though?” A nod, and then another point towards the sword.

  Enough with the charades, Elliot was going to test this strength out himself. He grabbed the handle from the floor and attempted to raise it. He found it a bit easier than before. Once properly held in his hands Elliot attempted to fully raise it from the floor. With a heave and another throb in his chest, Elliot felt the sword slowly but surely raise.

He started laughing when he realized the throbbing in his chest was the orb consuming his mana. It was still heavy as hell, but Elliot thought he could almost swing it at this rate. That thought was quickly shut down as the mana capacity quickly became empty.

The sword slipped out of Elliot’s sweaty hands, impaling itself a foot into the floor… a foot away from either of Elliot’s feet. Elliot fell on his back in exhaustion and fear. Note taken, don’t pick up the sword again until he was absolutely sure it won’t slip and cut off a limb. “That thing sure is sharp...”

…Maybe he’d try just one more time, though.