"The Strings of Death…" Kaisel whispered, his gaze locked on the black strands glinting faintly beneath the glass.
He had read of them only hours ago in Rowena de Ravengard's book, still fresh in his memory. She had written of an ancestor of the Ravengard family who once wielded strings forged of mythril as weapons. Those strings had been thin as hair yet sharp enough to carve through armor, stone, and flesh alike. That ancestor had used them to kill silently, invisibly, turning battlefields into slaughter grounds without ever needing to lift a blade.
Rowena herself had been captivated by the weapon's concept. She sought to replicate it, weaving spells of darkness and arcane threads to mimic their lethality. Her creations carried great power, unique and deadly in their own right. But the mythril strings remained the origin, the root of the legend known as the Strings of Death.
Kaisel's fingers still stung from the shallow cut, a bead of blood sliding down his skin. These… they're made of mythril… The thought struck him like lightning, and for a moment, he almost doubted his own senses. Mythril—rare, difficult to mine, and prized for its strength and resilience. It was not the strongest of metals, yet weapons and armor forged from it were coveted by kings and emperors alike. But armor, blades, shields—those made sense.
Strings?
His crimson eyes narrowed in disbelief. Mythril was notorious for its hardness, its unyielding nature. To imagine it drawn into strands this thin, this sharp, was unthinkable. Such craftsmanship should have been impossible.
And then, with a sudden clarity, the answer came to him. His eyes widened.
"Dwarves…"
It had to be them. Who else but the dwarves, the race blessed by the God of Craftsmanship, could create something so impossible? Their blacksmithing was legendary, their craft unmatched. No human hand could have wrought this.
That revelation carried weight. His Ravengard ancestor, the one Rowena wrote of, must have known the dwarves personally. A piece of history buried and forgotten.
The dwarves—last seen during the great Era of War, when races clashed in endless bloodshed. And when the war ended, they simply vanished. Some claimed they had perished. Others said they sealed themselves away in vast halls beneath the mountains, their forges silenced but not extinguished.But this… this was proof. Proof of their craftsmanship.
"Interesting…" Kaisel murmured.
.....
The days slipped by...
Kaisel spent most of his hours buried in books, his study illuminated only by the steady glow of lantern light. Tomes on magic, their histories, and battle strategies and arts piled high around him, their pages worn thin beneath his relentless hands. When he was not reading, he was training—his blade ringing in the empty courtyard, or his mana weaving into intricate forms until exhaustion forced him to rest.
He spent most of his time alone, training or absorbing knowledge from books. The servants saw him only at meal times. He did it this way so his siblings would not worry. Though exhaustion weighed on him, he never let it show. For Kaisel, the days blurred into a ceaseless cycle: rising early, training, sharing breakfast with his family, reading, taking lunch, returning to training, dining, and finally surrendering to sleep—only to begin it all again.
Kaisel was training in the courtyard. His sword moves weren't elegant—just brutal, straight for the kill.
After nearly getting eaten by a Bloodfiend lizard, he figured it was smarter to end fights quickly rather than dance around like some knight chasing glory. Chivalry looked great in stories—real life? Not so much when a giant lizard wants to snack on you.
Of course, killing the lizard so easily was impossible. Its head was larger than his entire body, and it possessed an innate regenerative ability. Cutting it and hoping to make it bleed to death was a fool's fantasy—a weakness he had no patience for.
Kaisel sheathed his blade. It was almost as long as his own body, yet not too heavy for a ten-year-old to swing. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking his raven-black hair. He wore only a white shirt, untucked, and his black pants and boots were speckled with dirt.
He took a deep breath and started walking toward the mansion. Then he heard a sound coming from the left side, where the building blocked his view. He couldn't see it, but after Gluttony had devoured the dire wolf, his other senses had sharpened. Now, he could hear and sense things much more clearly.
He heard a child whimpering, and a woman's soothing voice trying to calm her.
"Please don't cry, young lady… We'll find it. It should be around here somewhere."
Kaisel recognized them instantly. The crying child was Nerrisa, his younger sister, and the woman was one of the maids who cared for her. The moment he realized it was Nerrisa, he sprinted toward her.
She stood there, clutching her skirt, tears streaming down her face.
"She isn't hurt…" Kaisel muttered as he approached, kneeling down to her level. She was barely half his height.
"Nerrisa… what happened?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
She looked up at him. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and she wore a pink frock embroidered with delicate flowers. Her silver-white hair was neatly combed.
"Big brother…" she cried, her small voice trembling.
The maid spoke for her.
"The young lady has lost her bracelet, young master."
"I… I put it on the table outside, where we have tea. I was playing with it, and… I think it broke. Then I went for a walk, and when I came back… it wasn't there."
Kaisel sighed, understanding immediately—she had lost her bracelet, and that was why she had been crying.
"I think I know where it might be," he said, turning to the maid. "You can leave. I'll take care of it."
"Yes, young master," she replied and hurried away.
Nerrisa's eyes widened. "You do?"
He inclined his head slightly. "Your bracelet… it's made of small, shiny gems, isn't it?"
.....
Kaisel held Nerrisa's hand as they walked through the forest near the mansion. Sunlight pierced through the tall trees, casting shifting patterns on the ground. He moved with purpose, weaving between trunks until they reached the spot he had in mind.
It was an old tree, supported by two others leaning against it, with weeds and twigs tangled around its base. Its branches interlocked, forming a dense, bushy canopy that made the tree look even older, almost hidden from sight.
"Wait here," he said, gently letting go of her hand and gesturing for her to stay behind.
He walked up to the tree and began to climb. Compared to the others, it wasn't very tall, and its many branches made the ascent easy. Reaching a sturdy limb, he carefully pushed one aside and peered into a small hollow.
The space, nestled among the trees, was shielded from rain and wind—a perfect little nook. Inside, twigs and dry bushes formed a rough nest. And in that nest lay small, shiny, gem-like stones, an old, tarnished golden ring… and the bracelet with the sparkling blue gems.
"Ha… how did I know," Kaisel murmured
At that moment, from the other side of the nest, a bird swooped in—Ragnar, his black raven.
"Caw…"
Kaisel smirked. "Ragnar… you thieving little bird. I told you not to steal, didn't I? And you made my sister cry."
The raven tilted its head, as if unimpressed.
Kaisel studied him for a moment, then carefully grabbed Ragnar with one hand. With the other, he plucked the bracelet from the nest. Clutching both, he leapt down from the tree, landing lightly on the forest floor.
"I found your bracelet… and the one who stole it."
Nerrisa looked at her bracelet and smiled. "Somebody stole it…?"
"Yeah," Kaisel said, holding Ragnar firmly so he couldn't fly away. "This guy right here."
The raven let out a sharp caw.
"Ragnar? Why did you steal it?"
Kaisel shook his head. "He just likes shiny things. Last time, he even stole a gold coin from the mansion."
Nerrisa looked at Ragnar and giggled. "If you like it, then you can have it." She held out the bracelet toward him.
Ragnar tilted his head and let out a sharp caw.
"Don't… don't give your things to others, Nerrisa," Kaisel said firmly. "You have to learn to cherish what's yours. And… don't give this one your bracelet—it'll only spoil him more."
She giggled, hiding her amusement.
"Let's go back now," Kaisel said, turning toward the forest path.
"Where are you taking him?" she asked, curious.
"Oh… nothing. Just going to teach a bird some discipline."
Caw!
.....
After locking Ragnar in a small birdcage—the one the raven hated more than anything—Kaisel returned to his training. The afternoon sun beat down on him; sweat drenched his clothes, hands reddened and callused from hours of relentless practice.
He sensed someone approaching, their height almost matching his. Turning, he saw Melvia, the maid, walking toward him.
She smiled brightly. "I brought you a towel, young master."
Kaisel let out a weary sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Kaisel when there's no one around. We're friends you know."
Melvia shook her head, still smiling. "I'll stick to 'young master,' young master," she said firmly.
To be continued.