Escape (1)

The sound of something clattering to the floor made me flinch.

“Hic…!”

A single dagger glowing with light had fallen at my feet. For a moment, I froze in shock. I raised my arm to shield my face, but no threat came. My defensive posture felt almost ridiculous.

“A-are you… giving this to me?”

I peeked up through my fingers, voice trembling. The master of the forge, radiating shimmering heat haze, gave a slow nod.

I cautiously lowered my hand and picked up the dagger. Its blade caught the glow of the molten furnace, gleaming a deep, bloody red.

The instant my fingers touched the dagger, the status window flooded with information.

“Hah…”

My career had been short. The only equipment I had ever used were E-class and D-class items. Even so, I could tell instinctively. This weapon’s attack power and speed far exceeded the average. Every single option attached to it was overwhelming.

The grade didn’t show, but compared to the weapons I had seen daily while lurking on the auction house, this dagger’s performance was on another level entirely.

“Y-you’re really giving this to me… right?”

Communication with the lava being who had created the dagger worked. Every time I asked, he nodded without fail.

I looked back and forth between the dagger in my hand and the giant figure of lava dozens of times.

If I take this outside and sell it at the auction house…

Hundreds of millions. Maybe even billions.

“U-ugh…”

A heated breath slipped from my lips. It wasn’t fear. It was excitement.

The lava being, shaped roughly like a person, met my gaze, crossed his massive arms, and nodded again.

From the very beginning until now, he had shown no intent to attack. On the contrary…

“M-my name is Lee Daon.”

If I had received a favor, the least I could do was introduce myself. That was all I could manage.

I lowered my head in embarrassment. At that moment, the lava rippled.

It was the first time I heard his voice. It wasn’t so much a voice as a deep, resonant rumble.

At the same time, the system displayed a message before my eyes.

A chill ran down my spine.

Lee Daon. Daon.

It was a name I liked. If I were to give it meaning… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠perhaps something like “warmth of kindness”?

Daon, who had been staring blankly into space, turned her gaze back to me.

“Um… may I ask your name?”

An unexpected question.

My name…

No matter how long I thought about it, I couldn’t remember. It had been that long.

“I… I see…”

Daon seemed to be pondering something for a moment. Then, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as if she had made up her mind, she looked straight into my eyes again.

“Then… how about ‘Lava’?”

A name had been utterly useless to me until now. There was no one to call me, and nothing to be called for.

But now that I wasn’t alone, having something to be called by would be convenient.

If Daon had come here for the same reason I had…

It looked like we would be together for a very, very long time.

I felt, for the first time in ages, the sensation of a heartbeat. I waited for Daon to speak. Of course I had no heart, so it was only an illusion. Even so, the fluttering pulse of anticipation felt surprisingly pleasant.

More time passed.

Daon rummaged through the mountain of discarded weapons I had abandoned for a long while, only to wear a constantly disappointed expression.

“Um… Lava, sir. Are there any named weapons here?”

When Daon heard my question, she let out a small “Ah” and explained the status windows she could see.

Apparently, the performance of the weapons I had made appeared with brief descriptions. It wasn’t particularly surprising. After all, the strangest thing had been waking up in this bizarre forge after dying in the first place.

“Well… they say if I receive a weapon that has a name, I can leave this place.”

At Daon’s hesitant words, my eyes snapped open wide.

I can leave.

It was a thread of hope I had abandoned long ago. My body trembled faintly. My heart simmered with an excitement that felt almost like anticipation.

“……Probably.”

Daon hesitated for a long time before answering. I thought I understood what that hesitation meant.

Even so, her words kept echoing in my ears.

A named weapon.

I had created countless pieces of equipment, but I had never given a single one a name. I simply couldn’t grow attached to weapons that didn’t satisfy me.

I muttered to myself and lifted my head. Daon was looking down, chewing on her lip.

She can’t lie.

It didn’t bother me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then slowly opened them again. Or rather, I felt as if I had. I had no eyes, after all.

“R-really…?”

I didn’t bother answering her question and simply returned to stand before the furnace. The red lava that heated the forge rose in temperature according to my will.

“This isn’t it!”

Clang. Another failed work was hurled to the floor. The impact shattered the lump of iron and its handle into pieces.

My insides bubbled and boiled. Literally.

The iron fragments piled on the floor melted for a moment, then fused back together and hardened once more.

“I-I’d be fine with anything…”

Daon had been standing behind me all day, clenching her fists in encouragement. I bit my own lip at her words.

The first name I would ever give, after refusing to name countless weapons before now. Naturally, it had to be a masterpiece.

I let out a long breath and walked back toward the furnace.

“Why don’t any of them satisfy you…?”

There were countless reasons I could have given Daon’s question. The aesthetics weren’t beautiful enough. The blade wasn’t perfectly sharp. And above all, I couldn’t imagine Daon wielding any of them.

What was the single missing element that encompassed all of this?

I recalled the sole purpose of the weapon I was trying to forge right now.

A custom weapon. One made only for someone. For Daon.

“Yes? Okay.”

I carefully observed Daon as she stood nervously before me. Calloused palms. A round face. Short bobbed hair. An ordinary appearance that sparked no particular inspiration.

“About me? There’s nothing special… what would you like to hear?”

Daon, who had been thinking hard, began to speak.

Her story started from her early years. A warm family. A home that wasn’t wealthy but lacked nothing. Stories of everyday life that had seemed like they would last forever.

“…It was when I was in middle school.”

I listened quietly as Daon’s voice suddenly grew heavy. The appearance of the first Tower. Her parents caught up in the disaster. The death benefit that followed. The days she had spent alone after losing parents who left behind not even remains.

“Then, by some stroke of luck, I awakened…”

The equipment she bought with loans. Her first climb. The troll she encountered on the fourth floor. The all-too-human betrayal. The fall. The forge.

In terms of time, it was long. In terms of summarizing a person’s life, it was short.

When Daon finished speaking in a calm tone, she was smiling.

“That’s all. Did it help?”

I had managed to form some kind of image. What came to mind was blood. Lost family. Deep resentment toward the world. But a fleeting image wasn’t enough. What mattered most was the aura of the person who would wield the weapon.

I immediately raised my arm and pointed toward the graveyard of failed works.

Daon nodded at my words and gripped the dagger I had given her in a reverse hold.

Inside this forge, one never felt thirst no matter how long without drinking, and one never grew tired no matter how long one swung a hammer.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

The sound of Daon’s dagger slicing through the air continued without pause for a long time.

For a very long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time.

My consciousness, which had briefly slipped away, returned.

…What was I doing again?

Ah. I was swinging the dagger. That’s right.

But how long have I been doing this?

Hours? Days? Years?

I emptied my mind and simply swung the blade. Whenever I met Lava’s gaze, it somehow felt like the right thing to do.

In the forge where only the sound of the blade cutting the wind could be heard, a now-unfamiliar noise reached my ears.

Hiss.

It was the sound of footsteps. The sound of Lava’s molten body melting the iron fragments piled on the floor with every step.

“……”

I tried to say something, but after such a long time of silence, only a dry wheeze came from my throat. As if I had forgotten how to open my mouth, I could only move my parched lips.

A short remark came from near the furnace. I swung my arm out of habit, my gaze fixed on his movements.

The countless failed works piled on the floor rose into the air at his gesture, tangled together, and flew toward the furnace. As they passed through his rippling body, red lava surged and churned, but he paid it no mind. Silently, he reached his hand deep into the furnace.

An absurd amount of steel.

Yet moments later, what emerged from the furnace was merely a handful of molten iron, as if the sheer mass had been meaningless.

The molten iron shone brilliantly. The dazzling light flooding out turned my entire ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠field of vision white.

He grasped the sloshing molten iron with both hands and began to knead it with all his strength. The scorching heat radiating from him was so intense that even the iron chains hanging from the ceiling began to melt.

Once the iron he was kneading had cooled enough to take the rough shape of a blade, he lightly picked up the hammer resting on the anvil.

Clang—!

Light burst from everything in my sight.

With a single hammer strike, fierce sparks flew in every direction and danced wildly. Each time the hammer rang out—a sound that was both like a scream and like a hymn of joy—the shape of the molten iron changed.

It gradually took on the form of a blade.

Little by little.

The handful of essence created by melting every failed work eventually formed into a long, elegant blade.

Finally, when he plunged the blade into the quenching liquid, a tremendous hiss echoed throughout the forge as if it might collapse. Steam billowed thickly.

Through the dense vapor, the blazing blacksmith slowly walked out and raised his hand.

On his burning palm rested a curved blade with a smooth, elegant arc. A blood-red curved sword, as if forged from frozen blood itself.