Magnus Caldryn awoke with the dawn,the faint pulse of his newly formed dantian stirring within him like a caged beast.The air in his chambers was cool,the scent of lavender from his mother's embrace lingering faintly,but his mind was a furnace of purpose. The encounter with rhea Varyn had a fire he was no longer content to merely survive. To hunt, to reclaim his place as the predator, he needed strength began with the body and the weapon.
He rose from the bed, his muscles still weak from years of neglect but tingling with promise of qi. The mirror reflected a body unfit for combat, soft and pale,''look at this this pitiful body but not for long'' He vowed. He began with exercise pushing his frail form through a grueling regimen from his days in the shadow hand. Push-ups burned his arms, lunges set his thighs trembling, and shadowboxing sweat to drip from his brow. Each movement was step toward reclaiming his edge, but it wasn't enough. Muscle alone wounldn't sufficient in caldera's deadly game. He needed weapons his weapons. The twin sabers that had danced in his hands as Alex Laurus, singing songs of blood and shadows.
Taking proper bath after he dressed in a simple tunic to avoid attention, Magnus navigated the halls of the Caldryn estate, his steps steadier than they'd been in days. The great hall was quieter now, the morning light filtering through stained glass to cast jeweled patterns on the marble floor. Duke everand sat at his deck,poring over a ledger his stern visage softened only slightly by the golden glow.
"Father," Magnus said, standing before him with a posture that balanced deference with resolve. "I need two sabers. Fine ones, suited for combat."
Everard looked up, his obsidian eyes narrowing with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Sabers? You, wielding anything sharper than a wine goblet?" He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "What's next, Magnus? Challenging the royal guard to a duel?"
Magnus didn't flinch. He stepped closer, his red eyes unnaturally vivid since his rebirth glistening with a seriousness that silenced the room. "I'm not jesting, Father. I need them. For my protection, and to prove I'm not the fool you think I am."
The duke's laughter died. He leaned back, studying his son as if seeing him for the first time. The air grew heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken questions. Everard's gaze lingered on Magnus's eyes, those crimson orbs that seemed to hold secrets no wastrel should possess. "You're serious," he said, more to himself than to Magnus. After a long pause, he sighed. "Very well. If you're set on this madness, seek Haroff Mudbane, an old dwarf blacksmith in the lower district. He's a surly bastard, but his craft is unmatched. Tell him I sent you."
Magnus nodded, a flicker of gratitude buried beneath his assassin's calm. "Thank you, Father."
The lower district of Caldera was a far cry from the estate's. A warren of soot-stained buildings and bustling markets, where the air smelled of coal and iron. Magnus navigated the crowded streets, his senses alert for the watcher's presence, but the cloaked figure from the garden was nowhere to be seen. At the edge of the smiths' quarter, he found Haroff Mudbane's forge, a squat stone building belching smoke into the morning sky.
Inside, the heat was a living thing, the roar of the forge drowning out the city's clamor. Haroff Mudbane stood at an anvil, a dwarf of broad shoulders and gnarled hands, his beard streaked with ash. His eyes, sharp as flint, fixed on Magnus with open suspicion. "What's a noble brat like you doing in my forge?" he growled, his voice thick with a dwarven brogue. "Lost your way to the tavern?"
Magnus offered a disarming smile, channeling just enough of the old Magnus's charm to ease the tension. "Not today, Master Blacksmith. I'm here for a purpose. My father, Duke Everard, sent me. I need two sabers, finely crafted."
Haroff snorted, setting down his hammer. "Sabers, eh? For a soft-handed lordling? Don't waste my time, boy."
"I'm no stranger to blades," Magnus said, his tone sharpening, letting a hint of Alex Laurus's authority slip through. "In my… past, sabers were my life. I need two, balanced for speed and precision. Can you deliver?"
The dwarf's eyes narrowed, but curiosity replaced some of his suspicion. After a moment of gruff muttering, he nodded. "Fine. Two days, and I'll have your sabers. But they won't come cheap."
Magnus shook his head, a spark of determination in his gaze. "You don't need to forge them. I will. I only need your tools and a space to work."
Haroff's jaw dropped, his beard quivering with shock. "You? Forge weapons? You'll burn my shop down, boy!"
"I won't destroy anything," Magnus said, his voice calm but unyielding. "Leave me alone, Master Blacksmith. Close the door behind you."
Haroff grumbled but, sensing the strange resolve in this supposed wastrel, relented. He stomped out, slamming the forge's heavy door. Alone, Magnus stripped off his shirt, revealing a body still soft but now faintly taut from his morning exercises. The heat of the forge wrapped around him like a lover's embrace, and he felt alive, his dantian pulsing with anticipation.
He selected ingots of high-grade steel, their surfaces gleaming with potential. Drawing on the forbidden arts of his past life, he began to forge, his movements precise despite his body's weakness. In his mouth, he whispered the incantations of the Umbral Forge Technique, a shadow-blacksmithing skill he'd mastered in the Shadows Hand. With each breath, he infused the molten steel with tendrils of shadow qi, drawn from his dantian. The air shimmered, the forge's flames dimming as darkness wove into the metal, giving it an otherworldly sheen.
For two days, he toiled without rest, his hands blistering, his body screaming for respite. The Umbral Forge Technique demanded perfection each hammer strike precise, each infusion of shadow qi balanced. Sweat mingled with the inky residue of his qi, and his vision blurred from exhaustion, but he pressed on. The sabers took shape, their blades sleek and curved, their edges sharp enough to split moonlight. When he quenched them in oil infused with his own qi, the metal hissed, releasing a faint wisp of shadow that curled like smoke.
At last, on the evening of the second day, the twin sabers were complete. They gleamed with a dark, almost liquid sheen, their surfaces rippling with a subtle shadow aura. Magnus held them, testing their balance, and a thrill ran through him. These were his blades reborn—extensions of his will, just as they'd been in his past life.
Haroff returned, his eyes widening as he beheld the sabers. "By the Stonefather's beard," he muttered, taking one to inspect it. "These… they're masterpieces. How did a noble brat craft blades like this? And this aura what sorcery is this?"
Magnus only smiled, sheathing the sabers at his waist. "A trick I picked up. Keep this between us, Master Haroff."
The dwarf nodded, still stunned, as Magnus left the forge, the weight of the sabers a comforting anchor.
Back at the Caldryn estate, his mother, Anna, was waiting in the courtyard, her face pale with worry. She rushed to him, enveloping him in a tight embrace. "Magnus! Two days without a word you look half-dead! Where have you been?"
He returned her embrace, the warmth of her love a stark contrast to the cold steel at his hips. "Don't worry, Mother. I'm here, and I'm stronger than before."
Anna's eyes lingered on the sabers, her worry deepening, but she said nothing, only kissing his forehead before letting him go.
In his chambers, Hera Skaling awaited, her doe-like eyes wide with concern. "My lord, you haven't bathed in days. I've prepared a hot bath. Please, you must rest."
Magnus nodded, too weary to argue. The bath was a luxury, washing away the forge's grime and easing his aching muscles. Refreshed, he donned a clean tunic and made his way to the great hall, the sabers strapped to his waist.
Everard looked up from his desk, his gaze locking onto the blades. "What's this?" he asked, his tone wary.
Magnus drew one saber, holding it up for inspection. The shadow aura flickered faintly, catching the light. "I forged them myself, Father. I'm done being the laughingstock. Give me three days, and I'll bring you the culprit behind Torren's murder."
Everard's eyes widened, a flicker of doubt crossing his stern features. Is this truly Magnus Caldryn? he thought, the question unspoken but heavy. The sabers were no amateur's work, their craftsmanship rivaling the finest in Caldera. He sighed, a mix of skepticism and grudging respect. "Three days, Magnus. Don't disappoint me again."
Magnus bowed and left, his heart steady with purpose. That night, as shadows cloaked the estate, a figure slipped into his chambers through the window. Rhea Varyn, her raven hair loose, her grey eyes wary but resolute.
"You called, Caldryn," she said, her voice low. "I'm in. The Black Veil can burn for all I care. What's your plan?"
Magnus's smile was a blade, sharp and sinister. "We hunt, Rhea. There's a son of a bitch out there framing me, pulling strings from the shadows. You're my first subordinate. Let's find them—and make them bleed."
To be continued in Chapter 6…