{Third Person POV}
The sitting room was quiet except for the faint clink of porcelain.
Orange light of the setting sun spilled through tall windows, catching the steam that curled up from the cups of tea laid on the low table between Astoria, Faris, and Lyra.
The room itself was all polished oak and velvet-backed chairs.
Lyra sat curled slightly forward in her chair, one boot tapping against the rug, while impatience rolled off her in waves.
Across from her, Astoria's posture was as perfect as ever, back straight, cup held steady.
While Faris leaned a little more heavily into his seat.
"Absolutely not!" Lyra's voice cut through the calm, sharp enough to make the porcelain ring.
Astoria didn't so much as flinch. "Lyra," she began evenly, "I understand you may be uncomfortable having a man living in your house—"
"That's not it! Odin can stay with me as long as he likes…" Lyra snapped, cutting her off with a sweep of her hand. "I trust him... And that's exactly why I will not spy on him for you two... or anyone else, for that matter."
Faris leaned forward, brow knitting. "You just met him! Yes, he practically saved the city… But he is as suspicious as one gets."
Lyra's cup clicked sharply as she set it down harder than she meant to. "He saved my life. He gave me a precious potion… likes of which I've never even seen before, and that's the only reason I'm sitting here right now. Faris, you don't walk away from wounds like mine. Not without months of healing. And yet here I am."
Astoria's gaze flicked to Faris before returning to Lyra, speaking in a calm but unyielding tone. "And that, Lyra, is another reason why he is an anomaly. That potion. His weapons. Every piece of him is riddled with questions."
Faris nodded once, "Yes, you should've seen him in today's meeting with my brother... He named a land no one's ever heard of. Not even Exander."
Faris leaned forward before continuing, "Lyra, we're not denying what he did for you. But the city's safety comes first…He is an extremely powerful Esper... We just want to make sure he isn't a danger. If he isn't - believe me - I'd like nothing more than to share a drink with him."
Lyra shook her head in disbelief. "You don't understand… I can't betray him like that. What would that make me... if I spied on the man who pulled me out from that gryphon's beak, spent a potion worth more than any gold to heal me, and then saved the city with us?"
"That would make you someone who put Cardella's safety above feelings of personal gratitude," Faris said quietly, though there was a firmness beneath it.
Lyra's eyes snapped to him, sharp enough to draw him back in his chair. "You know he was hesitant to come here in the first place. And now I know why. He knew this would happen."
"Lyra…" Astoria began.
But Lyra's palm slammed against the table with a crack that silenced the room.
She leaned in, eyes burning, voice low but fierce. "And yet he still came. He still fought. You know what he said before agreeing to come here? He said, nothing he had… his weapons, or even his life… was worth more than half a million lives."
Silence pressed down on the room.
Astoria's gaze fell to the table. Faris's eyes slid away. Shame apparent in their eyes.
While Lyra straightened slowly, drawing in a steadying breath, but her glare never softened.
The weight of her words lingered, and for once, neither Astoria nor Faris had an answer.
While outside, the wind moved through the gardens, rustling the banners that hung over the courtyard.
Somewhere far, a bell chimed low and distant, its sound rolling through the halls like the heartbeat of a city still alive.
And in another part of that same mansion…
The chime of that same bell echoed.
The room that had served as Odin's recovery chamber was still, save for the faint flicker of mana crystals set into the walls.
A soft breeze slipped through the half-open window, tugging at the curtains.
While Odin stood before the table in the room's corner.
Spread across it were his tools.
The rifle, the pistol, the shorty-40, the broken sword, the cloak folded beside them, and the small drone whose faint blue light pulsed like a heartbeat.
He stared at them in silence, arms folded, eyes sharp but distant.
He was running low on ammo.
Back in Endlessness, there had been two ways to fix that: buy the rounds, or craft them through mana conversion.
The first was out of the question here. No shopkeeper in this world had boxes of NATO rounds lying around.
Which left him with the second option.
He'd once bound his ammo-crafting command to a quick action slot.
No menus, no fiddling… just focus, will, and the required mana.
But there'd always been one catch.
The mana cost.
Crafting a single bullet demanded several times more than what he had in his pool.
The only reason it ever worked was because he always had a maxed-out mage companion at his side, serving as his walking, talking mana battery.
Now he was alone.
And if the rules here followed the same logic as back then…
[Well, won't know unless I try.]
Odin walked to the bed, sat cross-legged, and drew a slow breath.
And the air shifted as faint threads of mana brushed against his skin.
Through instinct alone, he knew how to craft the bullets.
He knew if he focused long enough, his mana would shape the round in time.
The flow didn't care whether he forced it all at once or let it drip from his regen.
That thought alone coaxed a grin out of him.
[Well, that's… convenient.]
Closing his eyes, he stilled his thoughts until the noise of the world receded.
He pictured a 7.62x51mm round in perfect detail, copper tip, brass casing, primer, powder load.
Every ridge, every groove burned into memory from thousands of hours spent reloading and repairing.
Slowly, his mana began to drain.
At first, just a trickle.
Then the flow strengthened, rising to match his natural regeneration rate - ten percent of his capacity every second.
The air in front of his chest shimmered faintly as mana swirled tighter and tighter into a glowing sphere.
And then… the rhythm broke.
A stray thought - Sera's face - sliced through the focus like a knife.
And the sphere cracked.
Before bursting with a sharp pop as it scattered raw mana into the air like a firecracker going off on his face.
He flinched back, one hand over his cheek.
"Shit!"
Rubbing the spot where the heat had kissed his skin, a small, almost amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
[Alright. So it's possible… Just needs perfect focus or enough mana to do it in an instant.]
A low sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back. "Had I gone for mana capacity instead of regen… with my impeccable control over mana… I could've brute-forced it and been done in seconds…"
His gaze drifted back to the weapons spread across the table.
Back in Endlessness, he'd watched high-tier mages forge loaded magazines mid-battle, snapping them into existence with a flash and a gesture.
But those were players with mana pools that made oceans look shallow.
And he? He was just the idiot who'd stacked regen over raw storage.
Now it was catching up to him.
He let the thought fade, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.
The broken sword at the table's edge glinted faintly in the evening light.
And for a moment, Odin just stared at it that Legendary Lucky Drop that wasn't a Soul Armament, yet still saved his life way more than once.
And the thought whispered again…
[What exactly are these Soul Armaments… and how is everything except the sword now considered one?]