The room was quiet, lit only by the pale glow of a single lantern. Shadow sat at the wooden table, the gauntlets laid out before him.
They looked nothing like the weapons that once gleamed with menace. The surface was scarred and pitted, faint cracks ran across the metal like veins, and the right wrist-joint still whined when flexed.
Shadow ran his fingers along the damaged edges, his touch slow, almost reverent. These weren't just weapons—they were his only partners. And after Rena, their flaws were laid bare.
"…You held out better than I did," he murmured.
The gauntlets pulsed faintly, their voice whispering in the back of his mind. You pushed us past the brink, partner. And yet… we're still here.
Shadow leaned back, exhaling. "But 'still here' won't be enough. Not next time."
His mind drifted back to the blacksmithing memories buried in muscle and instinct. Hammer strikes. Heat. Sparks. The smell of molten steel. He couldn't recall the faces from his past, but his hands remembered how to shape metal, how to strengthen it.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the gauntlets' scars. Then, an idea sparked.
What if I don't repair you with ordinary ore?
He pictured the monsters he'd slain—their fangs, claws, scales harder than iron. Materials forged by nature's cruelty, saturated with mana. What if those could be merged into the gauntlets? Would they harden, adapt, evolve?
Shadow's pulse quickened at the thought. He reached for his journal, flipping through hastily written notes and sketches. Symbols of monsters, fragments of their anatomy, scribbled ideas of runes and enchantments. His handwriting was rough, almost impatient, but clear enough to trace the thought process.
"Monster materials," he whispered. "Not just as trophies… but as steel."
The gauntlets stirred, a faint warmth against his palm. Risky… but promising.
He smirked faintly. "You're not scared, are you?"
Scared? Hah. Hungry.
The reply made him chuckle quietly, though it quickly turned into a cough from his still-healing ribs. He leaned forward again, eyes narrowing on the gauntlets' scars.
This defeat had left wounds—on his body, on his pride, on his weapons. But wounds could heal. Scars could be reforged.
Shadow tightened his grip around the gauntlets. "Then let's start hunting with a purpose. We'll find the right prey, take what we need, and carve strength out of their remains."
The gauntlets hummed in agreement, their glow faint but steady.
For the first time since the fight, Shadow felt the faint thrill of anticipation. Not just for battle, but for creation. For forging something new.
And deep down, he knew—this was only the beginning.