{Chapter: 107 - Rework On Berserker Staff}
Aiden gave a small nod, stepping forward with calm confidence. "If my memory serves me right," he said, pausing to gaze at the staff resting ominously on the table, "you were once a blacksmith—an exceptionally skilled one at that. What I want is simple. I want you to reforge the staff into a pair of double-edged blades."
Elliott was caught off guard. His brows furrowed slightly, and he drew in a breath, the silence hanging thick in the air. "…You even know that I was a blacksmith?" he said at last, his voice low and guarded. "How could you possibly know that?"
Though his expression remained calm, his heart raced. That part of his past was buried so deep even the highest-ranking warriors of Asgard believed him long dead. He had erased all traces of that identity decades ago. Even the All-Father himself hadn't sought him out. So how?
"Does it really matter?" Aiden replied casually, though the glint in his eye held a subtle edge. He reached for his wineglass, swirling the contents gently. "I know many things I shouldn't. What's important is that I can keep your secret. You see…" He leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. "I'm quite familiar with Asgard. More than you'd be comfortable knowing."
The weight of his words lingered like a blade suspended above Elliott's head. The implication was clear—cooperate, or risk exposure.
A shadow crossed Elliott's face. He let out a slow breath and turned away, as though to collect his thoughts. "It's not that I don't want to help you," he said eventually. "It's just… I can't. Not right now. The staff alone doesn't contain enough material to forge a pair of double blades. One blade—maybe. But two? Impossible with what you've brought."
Aiden's smile faded slightly as he considered the obstacle. "So it's a matter of raw material," he muttered, tapping his finger thoughtfully against the glass. After a moment, his gaze sharpened, and a new idea struck him. Without another word, he reached into his system space—a dimensional pocket—and pulled out something gleaming.
He placed it on the table.
Elliott's eyes widened the moment he saw it. "This… This is Asgardian royal armor. Where did you get something like this?"
Aiden's voice was light, almost teasing. "Didn't I say? I know Asgard well."
Elliott stared at the armor for a long moment, his fingers brushing against the intricate gold-lined plates. The craftsmanship was unmistakable—runed inscriptions shimmered faintly with old enchantments. "Yes," he murmured, "this can work. It's the same alloy—Asgardian Iron blended with Odin steel with a little bit of Uru sprinkled in it. If I melt it down and combine it with the staff's shaft, I should be able to forge the double blades you want."
He looked up, his face more serious now. "However, I must warn you—if I reshape the staff into dual blades, the runes etched into it will change. Their effects won't be the same."
"What kind of changes are we talking about?" Aiden asked. He set his glass aside and leaned forward, his tone suddenly more intense. The Berserker's Staff had a purpose—its ability to tap into anger, to magnify combat prowess by feeding off raw emotion, was too valuable to lose. If that was compromised, the reforging might not be worth it.
"The original runes," Elliott explained, "were designed to stir up rage, to incite the wielder into a fury that would unlock the body's full potential. They feed off emotional intensity—primarily anger, and in some cases fear. With a staff, the runes are linear and stable. But if you divide that focus between two blades, the magical equilibrium shifts. The effects won't vanish, but they will diminish—unless something more powerful replaces or enhances them."
Aiden was silent for a moment, contemplating the implications. He tapped a finger on the table, deep in thought.
Then he glanced toward his spatial pocket again.
"Actually… I might have something that could work," he said slowly. "It's dangerous—very dangerous. Even someone like you, with your Asgardian constitution, might struggle to resist its influence."
Elliott looked intrigued. "Oh? Now I'm curious. What kind of artifact are we talking about?"
Aiden reached into the inventory and retrieved a small, glowing crystal. It was unassuming in shape—an irregular, translucent shard no larger than a walnut—but it pulsed faintly with a yellow light, like a living ember trapped in amber.
"This is a fear crystal," Aiden said, holding it up between two fingers. "It absorbs fear—draws it in like a black hole. And in doing so, it amplifies emotional intensity around it. The side effects can be… overwhelming."
Elliott instinctively took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "That small thing is emanating pressure… It's subtle, but it's there. My skin crawls just standing near it."
He stared at the crystal for another moment, then broke into a grin. "But that just might do the trick. I think I know how to use it."
"Do tell," Aiden said, intrigued.
"If you truly want a dual-blade weapon," Elliott began, speaking quickly now with the excitement of an inspired craftsman, "then here's my proposition. I'll forge two symmetrical blades. One of them will be embedded with the this crystal—it will act as a passive siphon, absorbing fear and emotional distress from your surroundings. The other will retain the original enchantments from the Berserker's Staff—focused on channeling that absorbed fear into fury, augmenting your strength exponentially."
"So one blade feeds, and the other releases," Aiden muttered, rubbing his chin. "A continuous loop of emotion and power."
"Exactly." Elliott nodded. "The fear crystal gathers the raw energy—the essence of dread and terror—and the second blade transmutes it into usable power. It's a dangerous process, and one that might overwhelm anyone without a strong will. But if it works…"
"Then I'll have a weapon that thrives in chaos," Aiden finished. He stood up, his eyes gleaming with new possibilities. "A weapon worthy of someone like me."
Elliott gave a small smile and looked toward the forge in the adjoining chamber. "I'll need time. Maybe a few days. Melting the armor, preserving the runes, and embedding that crystal without destabilizing the entire weapon… it won't be easy. But it'll be worth it."
Aiden reached across the table and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Do it well, Elliott. Because the world we're entering doesn't reward mistakes."
The two exchanged a look—one of silent understanding. There was no turning back now.
---
"One absorbs while the other releases," Elliott muttered, his fingers twitching as the concept unfolded in his mind. "Not only will this dual mechanism influence the flow of magic, but the two blades will complement each other. The synergy between absorption and release will amplify the overall power dramatically—possibly even multiply the effects tenfold."
His voice trembled with a rare sense of excitement, a spark of passion igniting in a part of his soul that had long grown cold. Although Elliott had kept his identity as a blacksmith hidden from the world—and even from Asgard itself—there was still a craftsman's fire buried deep within him. And now, with the challenge laid before him, that long-dormant flame had roared back to life.
As much as he pretended to have abandoned that path, the thrill of forging a masterpiece still stirred something in him.
Aiden raised a brow, observing the renewed vigor in the man's eyes. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, not mockingly, but seriously. "I need something reliable."
Elliott exhaled slowly, his expression sobering. "I'd say… at least a seventy percent guarantee. That's the most I can promise you right now."
"Seventy percent, huh?" Aiden muttered thoughtfully. "That's not perfect, but it's better than nothing."
"How long will it take you to finish the forging?" he added, shifting his weight slightly as if already preparing to wait.
"That's hard to say," Elliott admitted, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "There's a lot of preparation to do. I've been out of the game for a long time. My tools are old. My forge is dusty. And the materials we're working with… they're rare, volatile. It's not like forging a simple sword or hammer."
Elliott wasn't lying. He hadn't forged anything in decades. After faking his death and disappearing from Asgardian society, he'd settled into a quiet life on Earth. No one knew of his whereabouts. Even Odin's eyes hadn't found him. But Aiden had. That, alone, had shaken him.
Aiden gave a soft chuckle, his voice laced with amusement but also a veiled edge of warning. "Then I'll stay here while you prepare. You wouldn't want me thinking you're planning to run away, would you?"
Elliott rolled his eyes and gave a half-hearted shrug. "If I really wanted to run, where would I even go? You found me once already. I doubt I could hide from you a second time."
"Good," Aiden said with a grin, patting him on the shoulder. "Then get to work. And know this—I'm aware you don't want to go back to Asgard. I know you've grown fond of your life here on Earth. You like the peace, the solitude, the freedom. If you help me forge this double-blade, I swear to you, if the Asgardian authorities ever discover you, I won't let them take you away quietly. And I'm not just talking about Asgard. Anyone who tries to come for you… will have to go through me."
Elliott's eyes widened, touched by the unexpected sincerity behind the words. "Thank you," he said, voice low and full of genuine emotion.
It was true—Elliott had spent years worrying, looking over his shoulder, waiting for the day when someone from his past would appear. And now that day had come… but instead of punishment or exile, he was being given an opportunity. A purpose.
*****
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