Sleep had not come easily for the son of the Gold Master last night.
Varil had been restless despite the velvet sheets, quilted coverlet, and a bedstead laden with multiple layers of mattresses sorted from firmest to softest. The discomfort lay not in his body but mind. The memory of those girls looking down on him had lingered throughout the night, along with the disgrace of his loss that evening.
In the end, he had taken to standing in front of the balcony doors nestled at the eastern wall of his chambers. The Gold Guild was the tallest building in the City of Swords and second only to the Central Tower, meant to be a symbol for all to see as the greatest of the guilds that contributed to their prosperity. That afforded him a view of the entire expanse of the Second Level of Wystern as the morning sun shone down on the hive of steel and steam that was their homeland.
Located on the topmost floor of the Gold Guild, the bedrooms were naturally befitting the pedigree of the Gold Master and his heir. The cold steel that encompassed the walls of the workshops located below was instead marbled stone with grand archways rising from the four corners. Its stonework was etched with intricate designs from the base to the apex of the ceiling from which hung a crystal chandler.
The stone floor was overlaid with a shaggy rug that was embroidered around the hem. It was expansive enough to cover his bedstead and the table that sat in the middle. Furnishings around the room consisted of carved woodwork drawers, a desk from which he could work, and weapons that he had found interesting ornately hanging on the walls.
He stood there deep in thought until the silence permeating his private chambers was broken by a knock on the heavy wooden doors that was followed by an inquiry. "Master Varil, have you awakened?"
"I have," Varil answered. "You may enter."
The door opened to reveal Nigelle standing there. He was dressed immaculately as the steward of their family, his posture rigid and proper even as he carried in his hand a polished silver tray. A teapot with steam escaping the spout was fixed into a slot on one side while the rest was obscured by a cloche covering it.
"Once more, I can only apologize for the incident that transpired last night," the steward said while making his way over to the table and setting the serving tray down. "Measures will be taken to avoid such incidents in the future, and a replacement for your destroyed spear will be done within a day. This time by our finest in-house Spearmaster to avoid its destruction by underhanded means."
That was how Nigelle rationalized the loss Varil had suffered. He hadn't witnessed the fights themselves due to being sent to retrieve the weapons on Varil's orders prior. But he knew of Varil's skills due to having overseen his training with various instructors for years now. To lose against peers who hadn't even had half the time or resources meant that underhanded means were the only reason such a thing occurred.
"There will be no need for that," Varil said, turning his attention from the door to the desk where the Technique for his original spear was along with its shards and a magnifier so he could make out the composition beneath the surface. "I'll forge my own this time."
The statement was not made lightly as Varil had been taught at a young age that smiths should never be the ones to use their weapons. Nor should they judge the people who used their weapons. They simply made the weapons for their clients and all responsibility fell onto the clients themselves. You could not blame the smith for how the weapon was used, and the quality of the weapon should be proportionate to the cost as that represented the skill and effort put into it.
However, his weapon's destruction last night had left him to review everything about it, from the materials to the forging procedure and its assembly. Spears were a lot more complex than one would imagine them to be, despite the simplicity of their designs. More so when forged from Elemental Ores, given that the layered composition changed depending on the purpose of the weapon in question.
A spear meant for thrusting would have a higher concentration of Fire Ore so that it would have greater penetration power and hardness. Spears meant for swinging would have a higher concentration of Water Ore, to account for the flexibility and weight. The spear he had been using prior had been composed of an alloy made from Wind and Water Ore, with minimal Fire Ore that was concentrated within the edges and tip of the main spearhead. However, when he considered his fight from the last night, he found it wanting in many ways.
As much as it pained him to admit it, the assessment made by that girl hadn't been wrong. The grain composition that made up the building blocks at its foundation was ultimately crushed between the microfractures with each time he used it, growing worse and worse from the strain of his attacks. If the grain had been more refined, and more structurally secure, then it could have withstood the force and lasted longer.
He could only think that the forger responsible had been negligent, and it was something he likely would have noticed if he had pushed the weapon to its limits through testing. But since the weapon had been forged with Mystic Ore, paid for at a premium, and was sufficient against opponents beneath them, Varil paid no attention to its state until the very end—and it had shattered when he least expected it.
They had been swindled as far as he was concerned.
In a way, it was fortunate that it happened outside of the tournament. He wouldn't have been able to live with the shame of having a weapon made for him broken in front of everyone. It had been a lesson about never trusting someone else to craft the weapon he would use to carve out his legacy as a Craftlord.
Plus, once he ruled out the aesthetics of the design, there were areas of improvement to be had. The wings of the spear were more of a detriment, given that it wouldn't prevent overpenetration due to the shape and distance from the tip. The outer edges of the wings being dull meant that they couldn't even contribute to slashing an enemy if they managed to make it past the point. And if it was meant to trap and manipulate an enemy's weapon to break their guard, they should have had more of a hooked design.
It needed to be reworked from the ground up. The spearhead needed to be hardened. The blade needed to be capable of slashing and thrusting. The wings needed to be reshaped to redirect his opponent's blade so that their guard was subverted, and he could press the advantage.
The steward took a moment to register that as he finished laying out breakfast on the table and poured the morning tea. "Then shall I instead have a sufficient quantity of ore stock sent to your private workshop along with a treated Mystic Ore, ready for use?"
Varil rejected the offer as he made his way over to the table. "…No. I gather them from the Labyrinth myself."
"With all due respect, Young Master, are you certain?" Nigelle asked. "The process of gathering and refining materials found on the Upper Floors is tedious and time-consuming when we can provide prepared stocks for billets with no issue. Your time would be better spent elsewhere."
Varil's eyes shifted over to the man. "Tedious as it may be, I won't be made a fool of a second time because I didn't pay enough heed. As the successor of the Gold Guild that serves as the financial foundation of the City of Swords, I cannot make a mistake as I did before. That means I need to see it done with my own hands from beginning to end."
Nigelle acquiesced with a bow. "If that is what your wish, Young Master. I shall take my leave to serve your father. Is there any matter of importance that you would like for me to relay to him this morning?"
Varil considered it for a moment. "…Tell Father that he needs to reassess the quality control of independent Craftknights he purchases weapons from. I understand that the Tournament has put our members under a great deal of strain, but frauds like the one who forged my spear and unskilled apprentices like that girl from last night will take advantage of the opportunity we provide them. That's a stain on our reputation we don't need."
The steward of their family vowed to pass the message along and then departed, leaving Varil alone in his room to enjoy his meal in solitude.
"Can't be considered a Craftknight…" He muttered under his breath as he took a seat and stared at his reflection in the steaming cup of tea. "I'll show them both."
The tea tasted more bitter than normal.
[-|-|-|-]
Sweltering heat blasted Sanary in the face as she pulled free the lid to the molten heart of her workshop's forge. Sweat trickled down her brow as countless tendrils of warmth caressed every inch of exposed skin. She used the fabric of her shoulder sleeve to brush it away after observing the color of the billet matching the inside of the main chamber, showing it was up to temperature.
"Rasho, get ready," she said towards her Guardian Beast, the Oni Prince standing over the anvil with a smithing mallet. The handle came up to his chest and the head was roughly twice the size of an ordinary one. It belonged to the Silver Guild, one of the many specialty tools geared towards her current project that she received permission to make use of. The same could be said of the large set tongs that she used to clamp down on the billet as hard as she could before pulling it free.
Her arms strained from the point of balance being so far out because of how heavy it was. The billet was easily the thickest she had worked with so far, which had been saying a lot given they had been working since morning on quite a few of them. She had to reorient her grasp as she set it down on top of the anvil, and then twisted the jaws to grasp it by the side to hold it firm before bracing it. "Okay, go."
The Oni Prince chambered back the mallet, right hand tight beneath the head and left fixed at the bottom. Then he brought it down with his prodigious strength, right hand sliding down the handle as it came around. The moment it met the top of the billet, the entire thing tried to jostle but remained steady in her grip as she held it firm with the tongs.
"This is so tedious," Rasho complained even though he proceeded to keep hammering away at it at a rhythmic pace. "I am not a Trip Hammer. I am a proud Oni."
Sanary rolled her eyes from behind her goggles at his complaining. Tradition dictated that since the hammer was the one tool you were always expected to have hand-forging was a mandatory skill for Craftknights and what they were being tested on. It wasn't like you could carry powered tools and heavy equipment with you in the Labyrinth.
Rasho had worked as a Guardian Beast for a long time and so he was no stranger to it. He knew that Guardian Beasts infused their magic and mana into their weapons throughout the process and that required manual effort in certain parts of it. But over time he had grown to feel above the work of amateurs and didn't feel like spending hours doing the same thing over and over—in short, he had gotten lazy.
Sanary never needed him to help her with hammering once she had gotten the hang of it. None of the weapons she made required it because they were relatively simple and used only a handful of the stocks that could be turned into a composite or forged separately. It was different for this Technique that Master Bron had given her and required them to work together.
Gladius—it was a wide-bladed greatsword that would boast greater defense and a sharper edge. Not the type of weapon she usually preferred since heavier weapons tended to take a lot of effort to swing around and slowed you down in exchange. She liked those that balanced between speed and power, not trading one for the other.
That was why she liked the simple efficiency of her Iron Saber. It was versatile and could be used with one hand or two as needed. However, that weapon had reached its limits in how far it could take her in both the Tournament and the Labyrinth even with her swordsmanship.
She needed to take her forging skills to the next level. The only way to do that was to start working with layers for more esoteric effect. Master Bron had assured her that if it was properly made the Gladius should be no heavier than an Iron Saber while boasting as great offensive and defensive capabilities as that of Welf's sword.
He had used a softer jacket composed of Water Ore to protect a harder core composed of Fire Ore. That gave it a sharp edge but also made it slow to use. It had taken him right up to the day of the tournament to make it, but the fact that he made a weapon that could carry him likely down to the Tenth Floor for his first match was a testament to his abilities as a smith.
Her sword would be on par with it but much lighter and more durable. The trade-off was that forging it would be more complex in every aspect. Not to mention expensive in terms of material cost—twenty-four Lightning Ore, fifteen Fire Ore, eighteen Water Ore, and five Wind Ore that had been converted into stocks and stacked into billets to be forged together.
"Stop," she called once the color of the billet had softened to the point that hitting it further would only shape the exterior rather than the core. Then she shifted the grasp of the tongs and placed the bullet back into the molten heart of the forge. She let out a sighing before finally addressing him. "We just need to get this half of the core done. It probably won't take too many more rounds and then you can go back for the day."
"And then I'll have to come back and do i the same tomorrow for the second half," he said, shouldering the mallet. "Then the day after that the sides and then forging them into the profile of the blade. That's three days of hammering for a blade of middling quality."
They were working on the blade portion right now as that was the most complex part. It was composed of a layered softer central core made from a total of twelve layers of Water, four layers of Wind, and twenty-four layers of Lightning. And those were sandwiched between a layer of Fire on the top and bottom.
The sides that would become the blade's edge would be wrapped around by two billets consisting of four Fire and two Water. They would be forge-welded together into one mass, flattened down as much as possible, and then drawn out to the proper length for the profile of the blade along with the tang. That would take another two days at their current pace.
The rest would only take a day combined due to the simplicity of it. The Guard was only two layers of Fire with a Water/Wind composite layer sandwiched between it. The Pommel would be composed of a two Water and one Wind composite to act as a counterbalance. And the Handle would be an alloy of the remaining ones, which she would then wrap in leather for ease of comfort.
Four days total to make a sword of this nature and quality. It would not be possible to do so in such a narrow time frame at her current skill if not for Rasho's experience and prodigious strength as an Oni. It was out of that gratitude she offered to give him the fourth day off. "Then I'll take care of shaping and assembling of everything aside from the blade on my own."
He let out a soft scoff, though his tone lacked any bite. "And miss you pushing the limit of what you are capable of and seeing for myself whether you can truly grow into a Craftknight worthy of my skill?"
That almost sounded like a compliment, she quietly mused before turning her attention to how dry her throat felt. "I'm going to go get some water from the Kitchen. I'll be back before it gets back up to temperature."
That said, she stepped out of her room and ventured down to the First Floor. It was there that she spotted Trish standing outside of the Main Forge. Her gaze was downcast as they focused on a container that seemed filled with materials to be broken down into elements.
"Hey—" Trish jerked upright, startled. Then their gazes met, and a sigh of relief slipped out of her mouth. Sanary furled her brows at the display. "…Are you okay?"
"Sorry, I was just…" Trish trailed off before composing herself. "Why is it that we already have to face one another?"
She must have been thinking about her match against Pratty, Sanary reasoned. "You had to have known that you would meet one of us in battle eventually. There can be only one after all."
Trish slowly nodded. "I know, but I just thought… I thought we would have more time before then. Not right after the Preliminaries. Not right when the tournament has only begun."
Sanary felt sympathy seeing the normally cheerful girl being so downcast. But she could also understand the logic behind why it was happening. The Silver Guild and Gold Guild were the largest in Wystern and most of their qualified apprentices had passed. It was only natural to pit them against their own and each other in the hopes of avoiding a situation where all the remaining contestants were from one guild.
Trish and Pratty had just been the unfortunate duo to be pitted against one another first. It was only a matter of time before the rest of them followed if they were successful against their opponents. "It's unfortunate. But there isn't anything you can do about it, right?"
Her eyes refused to meet the inquisitive pair at the question. "The Craftlords have the final decision and we should respect that. Master Bron pulled us aside to remind us of that and the fact that he wouldn't take sides. Pratty as well told me to give it all for my dream, just like she would do for hers, and that we shouldn't let it come between us."
The Silver Master had been very clear from the day they all came to live in the Silver Guild that he would not play favorites. It probably would have rankled him more if all his apprentices were forced to trim their numbers right out of the gate. But he had given them the techniques before the matches had been announced and could only let them sort things out themselves.
"But… Pratty is chasing after the seat her father left behind," Trish continued. "He may no longer be alive, but she has the chance to sit where he once did as the Craftlord of Iron. Even his Guardian Beast returned to her side as if drawn back to help her do so. It almost feels like fate that all these things are lining up for her."
Sanary's brow furled further. "Are you worried about ruining her chances of winning by facing her?"
She nodded. "…My goal is only to be like Lady Rumari. It seems so small compared to everything that Pratty has riding on the tournament. Knowing that…"
What right do I have to stand in her way as her friend?
The words that went unsaid were as clear as day to the swordswoman. It was easy enough to piece together given Trish wore her heart on her sleeve. Win or lose—the result was the same the moment that Trish stood in the arena against Pratty since it would be no different than stating she found her admiration of the Elegant Spear to be on par with the familial bond Pratty shared with her father.
And if Trish won it would come at the cost of crushing the dream of her friend to take up the role her father held when everything seemed to be lining up to make it possible.
Sanary bit her lower lip in gnawing frustration. She could understand the surface reasons that Trish voiced. But from her perspective, she was watching what happened to her sister and Rumari again.
Only this time she refused to just keep quiet and let it. "Trish… if you drop out then the very thing you fear will end up coming to pass. I promise you that your friendship will end up being ruined beyond repair and you'll only have yourself to blame."
Her voice was cold and sharp. Like the edge of a knife. She could even see how it traced up the spine of the younger girl until she was standing straight and their eyes locked.
Sanary took a step closer to her. "That girl and I are different in a lot of ways, but the one area I feel that I can relate to her is being the relative of a Craftlord. For every good person, there are others who will want to get close to us because of that. Those are among the worst kind of people to deal with because they don't see you for who you are—just who you know."
Defiance sparked in her eyes at that. "I have never once sought a friendship with her for such a shallow reason. Pratty is a wonderful person regardless of who her father is."
"Then if Pratty wasn't the daughter of that man would you still drop out rather than face her?"
Trish opened her mouth to respond. But the defiance in her gaze and voice wavered under the stern and scrutinizing gaze that was being leveled against her. Eyes that dared her to pass a lie off as the truth. She ended up looking away.
"Everyone would know you were giving her a pass because of who her father was. Then they would start asking questions and spreading rumors about it. Did Master Bron tell you to throw the fight because he was friends with her father? Did Pratty plead with you to let her win? Would the rest of the Silver Guild do the same?"
The last thing they could afford was a controversy or a hit to their reputation along with the scam the Gold Guild was running. Sanary had nearly been responsible for such a thing and just knowing that had torn her up inside. It was only because she had been lucky that wasn't the case.
"…I didn't mean it that way." Trish's voice threatened to crack under the weight of it all. "I just… don't want to make Pratty sad…"
Sanary shifted her tone since the message seemed to carry. "…I know, Trish. You would never intentionally hurt any of us like that. But that is a very real possibility of what will happen if you try to back out to spare her feelings. She told you that she wanted you to do your best and meant it."
Trish hugged the container in her arms tighter. "But what if she hates me because I win?"
"She would hate you more because you denied both of you the chance to prove yourselves," Sanary answered. "Every minute you both spent combing the Labyrinth for materials and braving the dangers. Every second you spent in front of the forges. All of it for the last week has been for what will happen in that arena—don't rob her or yourself of the chance to show the world what you can do."
Trish shifted her grasp on the container to brush her eyes before meeting Sanary's gaze to ask, "Is it really okay for me to want to win as much as Pratty?"
Firm hands tenderly braced her shoulders and soft words followed. "Every single person in the tournament is chasing after their own dream. None are the same, but none are more valid than the other. The only thing that matters is that you were willing to stand in that arena and fight for it."
The genuine friendship she had with Pratty was something to be treasured. But it was a chain holding her back that she needed to break if she was going to proceed ahead in the tournament. "If she loses then she just wasn't ready to take the next step. If you lose, then the same applies to you. Better to learn from failure now and work towards improving rather than giving up."
She regarded the answer with hesitancy. Then she slowly nodded in acceptance.
Sanary smiled, releasing her shoulders. "Sorry if I came off a little harsh. I just wanted to get the message across."
Trish forced herself to smile. "Pouso and I should get to work on our weapon. But… could this stay between us? I don't want Pratty to know."
"My lips are sealed," Sanary promised. "And once we get some time to ourselves, I'll tell you more stuff about Lady Rumari too. She and my sisters were friends for a long time, so I know her well. You might be a lot more alike than you think."
Her smile perked up at that and she gave a slight curtsy before making her way up the stairs.
Sanary watched her go with satisfaction in her chest. Though she hated speaking that way to Trish, she really didn't want her to give up so easily. They might be rivals for the title of Craftlord, but Sanary wanted her to have a shot to become a jewel of Wystern like Rumari had been.
"Thanks for that," said the voice of a certain other smith from the door to the Main Forge. "Trish needed to hear from someone else that it was okay to keep chasing her dream."
Red eyes turned to see that Welf was standing at the entrance with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. It rankled her a bit. She placed her hands against her hips and said, "I'd say it's rude to listen in, but I'm guessing you already knew she felt that way?"
"I had my suspicions while I had been escorting her and Caizo in the Labyrinth." His gaze turned back to the stairs that Trish had gone up. "After all, I had that same thought considering how Pratty and her mother had taken care of me for a while. At least until Master Bron tipped Pratty off and she gave me an earful in the same way you just gave her. Said that she didn't want to succeed her father if she couldn't win honestly against her friend."
Sanary wished she could say that she was surprised he harbored those thoughts. That he would have thrown himself out of the competition for her sake. But it wasn't. "And were you planning to talk to Trish about it or just let her sulk about it?"
"She would have denied everything," he answered. "I knew she needed to talk to someone before it boiled over, but I'm too close to Pratty. She wouldn't want to risk word getting to her because it might ruin their friendship. Same for Caizo."
Welf was close enough to Pratty and Lady Amariss to share dinner with them. Caizo was part of the same friend group as her and Pratty. Razzy was not the person you went to for deep introspection given her age. And the twins were not the most approachable people to begin with—nor the most empathetic.
The talk over the sandwich must have been more meaningful than I thought. It was the only reason that Sanary could think of for why Trish opened up to her just now. Until then the only difference between her and the twins in how they interacted was that she had asked to get to know her better then.
She felt touched knowing that. It seemed minuscule at the time but for someone desperate to get out the feelings that were bottled inside… it had been enough.
"That smile suits you," Welf said, pulling her free from her elation. "I'm happy you two seemed to have gotten closer in the short time we were gone."
Sanary quickly schooled her features and fought down the embarrassment she felt. "Just keep quiet about this. Girls aren't very forgiving to people who spill their secrets."
He mimed pulling his fingers over his mouth and repeated the very words she had said prior. "My lips are sealed."
She huffed before deciding to bring the conversation to a close with a warning. "My opinion of you rose after your last match. I'll be disappointed if you lose to someone from the Gold Guild. Make sure you win."
Welf sported an amused smile at that. "I'll do my best not to disappoint you."
Satisfied, Sanary slipped through the doors herself to get to the Kitchen. The discussions had been a distraction for long enough. She had a blade to finish forging.
[-|-|-|-]
Trish stood with her back against the door of her workshop. Dim light and silence were her only companions as she cradled the box of materials that had been harvested from the Labyrinth to be used in making her new spear. She took a deep breath to alleviate how heavy her chest felt as she weighed her decision on the scale of her heart.
Her desire to be like Lady Rumari and her friendship with Pratty—these two had been what anchored her since she had arrived in Wystern. Right after she had been plucked from the life she had been raised to live since her childhood. She had told Sanary it had been a culture shock, but that was an understatement to say the least.
Her life before Wystern had been a routine meant to cultivate her into a proper wife befitting a noble. She would wake early in the morning and eat just enough to make it so that she could function through the day before beginning her lessons with the rising sun. Art, dance, music, cooking, culture—these things were ingrained into her, and she was expected to know them so that she would not embarrass her husband from ignorance.
What should have been lunch would be an affair of conversing with her peers, girls who were seeking the same goals and groomed as such. Friendships were shallow and transactional. Their goals were the same, but they were directly competing with one another to elevate their status and so one could not easily let slip something that could be used against them—you always had to be on guard.
Once that was done the lessons continued from social expectations to educational matters to manage the estate in the absence of the spouse. That continued until long after the sun had set. Exhaustion set in and dulled her conversations at dinner that boiled down to her assuring her parents her lessons were going well. Sleep followed before the cycle began anew.
Trish never really minded living as such. It was the world as she knew it and her parents had expectations of her that she was meeting. And she did find some enjoyment in the different lessons—she liked cooking and dancing as a way of expressing herself.
Yet it was all taken from her when they moved away.
Wystern held no proper aristocracy. The Craftlords were elected based on several factors, but primarily their capabilities within the three tenets. Their culture evolved around smithing and weaponry, an anathema that women were taught to shy away from.
Everything she had been taught held no value here where smithing was the profession of choice. There were no social meetings with her peers who sought to enter higher society. Every artistic endeavor she had come to excel in was eccentric in a place where one's favorite pastime involved the admiration of weaponry and exploring a place filled with stray summons eager to hurt you.
Trish had the very purpose she had been raised for stripped from her and felt lost as a result. Like a carefully cultivated flower having been uprooted from fertile ground and greenery to be potted in a city of steel and gray. She should have simply wilted away.
Then she saw Lady Rumari—a flower that had managed to not only take root through the steel but bloomed for all to see. The way she looked so graceful with every movement she made. The way the very air around her seemed to weave itself beneath the strokes of her majestic polearm.
Her movements were the steps of a dance.
Her slashes were the strokes of a brush.
Her spear was art in physical form.
Trish bore witness not to a rejection of everything she had been taught. Instead, she saw the very embodiment of it. Of what awaited Trish in the future if she could take root within the City of Swords rather than cling to what she thought she had lost.
Gaining an apprenticeship was the hardest thing she had done. She was an outsider from a rung of society where smithing was a trade to be avoided directly. There were scarce few guilds who would take someone like her in when there were plenty of others who lived here and would have loved to fill in the role.
Learning just enough of the basics had taken as much effort as all her previous studies without an apprenticeship. But it had been enough that she could take try to become an apprentice of Master Bron. And despite how gruff of an impression he gave off, he had been willing to give her a chance where others wouldn't.
Getting covered in soot and grime. Working in a forge while being sweaty. Aching from physical work. These were all new to her and there were times she wanted to give up during the testing period. He might have been pushing her to see if she really could make it since she was far out of her comfort zone. But the thought of reaching the heights of Lady Rumari and having a place to belong gave her the drive needed until he formally took her on as one of his apprentices.
Then she met Pratty. The girl was so energetic and friendly while being open and honest. She was so sweet and earnest that it was so hard not to be drawn to her. They often spent time talking and having fun with one another, and Trish even got to experience her first sleepover with her where they talked about their dreams for the future.
Trish came to treasure Pratty dearly as her irreplaceable friend. Thus, it seemed as though fate itself had decided to place her as a stepping stone so that Pratty could advance past the first round and continue to where her father's seat awaited. Trish would offer up her chance at reaching her dream so that she wouldn't have to jeopardize her friendship.
But that had only been her denying that she wanted to win. To finally bloom in this land of steel and swords. To do so meant directly going against her best friend and crushing the dream she had shared with her on that night.
If fighting Pratty could not be avoided, Trish would have to stand against her with all she could. If Trish lost after giving it her all, then she wasn't ready to reach the pinnacle that Lady Rumari had. But if Pratty lost, then Trish would continue to defeat every other Craftknight and take the seat of Craftlord Iron.
And she would hold onto it until Pratty could reach it on her own.
Her resolve didn't remove the weight in her chest. But it did give her the strength to bear it. To do what needed to be done even with the fear of losing the friendship she treasured so dearly. She set the materials down and made her way over to her workshop desk. There the Technique Master Bron had given her was laid out—the Yari.
It was an ancient martial arts spear from those whose ancestors hailed from Silturn. It was different from the Novice Spear she had been using. Everything from the design to the usage was tailored to suit what she wanted to do. Master Bron had seen to that.
The original design was that of a straight and flat blade akin to a double-edged dagger for stabbing. The current design leaned more towards a single-edged version akin to a short sword. So that it could slash in addition to thrust.
The Warrior Naginata that Lady Rumari made use of was a far more advanced version. It had a larger curved blade akin to a Glaive that was meant to make use of her momentum to cleave through solid steel with ease. That was far beyond the current abilities of Trish and her Guardian Beast, so this much simpler design would have to do.
The blade of the Yari itself was a three-layered laminate consisting of a core of multiple stocks of Fire Ore which would be sandwiched between Wind and Water ones. The exterior shells would be extra thick layers of Water Ore to provide a soft surface to absorb shock and impact. And rather than being socketed like the last one, this one would have a longer tang and needed to be inserted and pinned into the pole.
Said pole would have to be a composite alloy created from Water and Wind, making the tensile strength high and the shaft durable, but light enough that she could wield it. The collar and other fittings would be made of a Fire and Water composite, meant to keep the pins tight. And the cap at the very end needed to be both heavy and hard to act as a counterweight.
It would take a total of eight stocks of Fire Ore, twenty-two stocks of Water Ore, and fourteen stocks of Wind Ore according to the Technique. She had gathered enough materials to make it today, and while it would be her first time forging something like this she felt—no, knew that she could make it.
She had to if she was going to present herself and her resolve to Pratty at her best.