Following in Tsubaki's footsteps, Shirou soon found himself in front of the blacksmith's private workshop. The air was thick with the scent of oil, iron, and embers—a sacred space of creation for any master of the forge.
As soon as they entered, she gestured for him to change into appropriate clothing.
By the time he was done, Tsubaki had already lit the furnace, its flames dancing in shades of orange and gold.
"So, Shirou," she began, casting him a curious glance while adjusting her tools. "How much do you know about blacksmithing?"
"Not much," he admitted honestly. "Just the basics… and even that, I only learned over the past ten days by reading some books from the Loki Familia's library."
Tsubaki let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head lightly.
"As I suspected… You're a total beginner," she said—not with criticism, but simply stating the obvious. "But don't worry, forging isn't as hard as people think. Especially for adventurers like you. All it takes is practice, willpower, and a bit of patience."
After heating the furnace and carefully aligning her tools, Tsubaki turned to Shirou with a serious expression—though the usual sparkle in her eyes remained.
"The most important thing in forging is strength," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "If you can't bend iron with your own power, then don't even bother starting. But for adventurers who know what they're doing—and have a bit of elegance—it's a piece of cake."
She stepped over to the workbench and began organizing some ingots and molds, speaking as she worked.
"As for the other techniques? They're pretty simple. All you need to do is memorize the correct process. The truth is, any apprentice can forge something if they just follow the steps properly."
Tsubaki shot Shirou a sharp look, gauging his reaction before continuing:
"But if you want to go beyond the basics… that's a whole different story. That part's entirely up to you. Forging is easy to learn, but mastering it? That takes intuition, understanding, and how much you're willing to dedicate yourself. It's simple at first—but how far you go depends on your head… and your hammer."
With a slightly challenging smile, she picked up a set of prepped materials and placed them on the workbench.
"Now listen up, rookie. The forging process can be divided into five main stages: shaping, adjusting, casting, refining, and final finishing."
She lifted a hammer and spun it between her fingers with practiced ease.
"If you can master these five phases, you can already call yourself a decent apprentice blacksmith. Now pay attention. I'll show you how it's done. Don't blink."
Shirou quickly focused all his attention on Tsubaki's demonstration.
Although he already knew the basics from books, reading was nowhere near as effective as seeing it in action—and practicing it himself.
---
The rhythmic strikes of Tsubaki's hammer echoed through the workshop like an ancient, hypnotic melody. Every one of her movements—firm, precise, natural—captivated Shirou's attention as if by magic.
Little by little, he found himself completely immersed in that raw yet artistic process.
It was as if something inside him had awakened.
He couldn't tell if it was passion, calling, or simple fascination—but one thing was certain: the more he watched, the more he felt like he was meant for this.
And as it happens with anything that truly captivates us… time simply flew by.
Before he knew it, the weapon was finished.
With one final, solid strike and a quick plunge into water, Tsubaki pulled a freshly forged dagger from the furnace.
The metal was still releasing light steam, yet its blade already shone with a cold, elegant, lethal glint.
She spun the dagger in her hand with practiced skill and extended it toward Shirou.
"Here it is. A simple job, but effective," she said with a faint smile. "Want to take a look?"
"Can I?" he asked, his eyes locked on the blade.
"Of course. Go ahead," Tsubaki replied, handing the weapon over without hesitation.
Shirou took the dagger with both hands. Outwardly, he tried to stay calm—but inside, his heart was racing.
There was something special about that metal—something that called to him on a deep, instinctive level.
He spun the dagger skillfully in his fingers, testing its weight and balance.
And then, with a soft whisper, he activated his magic.
"Structural analysis…"
The magical circuits in his body lit up instantly in response.
The connection with the dagger was immediate, as if it opened itself to him entirely.
He could see the internal structure of the blade, the layers of metal, the exact balance point, the way it had been shaped, heated, and tempered.
And more than that—he felt Tsubaki's touch in every part of it.
"Trace on…"
A perfect replica began forming in his other hand, shaped by the magical energy flowing through his circuits. Within seconds, a new dagger—identical to the original—appeared. Same proportions. Same weight. Same silvery gleam.
But there was something more.
With the projection came knowledge: the sequence of hammer blows, the ideal furnace temperature, the precise pressure applied in each strike.
It was as if Shirou had been in Tsubaki's place during the entire process—as if he had forged the dagger himself.
That was the true power of his projection: not just copying the object, but absorbing part of the experience of its creator.
If not for the fact that most of the weapons he usually projected were Noble Phantasms—ancient relics that no longer carried traces of their creation—Shirou would never have needed to turn to a blacksmith like Tsubaki to learn.
But by working with an ordinary weapon, made by living, present hands, he could finally learn, feel, and understand.
Holding the original dagger in one hand and the perfect copy in the other, Shirou gave a genuine smile.
The experience he had just gained answered many of his doubts—but at the same time, sparked even more questions.
"Is there anything you want to ask?" Tsubaki inquired, arms crossed, tilting her head slightly with curiosity.
Her tone was casual, yet attentive. Even though she had just seen Shirou activate his magic, she didn't bring it up. Tsubaki knew how to respect boundaries—especially when it came to personal abilities.
That was clearly a private secret, something usually shared only with trusted members… often family.
"Of course I do!" Shirou replied, eyes shining with excitement, unable to contain his enthusiasm.
Tsubaki raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. That boy was clearly in deep—and she liked seeing that.
---
In the days that followed, Tsubaki's workshop practically became Shirou's second home.
The routine was intense: the blistering heat of the furnace, the constant hammering, metal being shaped and reshaped under pressure—and through it all, Shirou's keen, focused eyes absorbed every one of Tsubaki's movements as if they were sacred secrets.
Shirou's affinity with forging was absurd—almost like a cheat. His synchronization with the materials, his instinctive feel for the metal's temperature, the precision of his strikes… everything seemed too natural for someone with so little experience.
Tsubaki, not easily impressed, had to admit it: This kid is a monster disguised as an apprentice.
In just a few days, he had already mastered techniques that usually took months—or even years—for others to learn. Soon enough, he was forging on his own, without supervision, producing more than acceptable results.
"You're sure you never held a hammer before coming here?" she remarked half-jokingly, but with genuine admiration behind her tone. "If you weren't part of the Loki Familia, I'd have kidnapped you for my own workshop."
Shirou simply smirked, eyes never leaving the work in front of him.
--
"Done," he finally murmured. "It's finished."
In front of him stood an upgraded version of his original outfit—now made with materials harvested from the Dungeon.
The original black vest had been replaced by a new one, crafted from the reinforced leather of War Shadows, stealthy monsters from the lower floors. Treated by a mere beginner like him, the material was surprisingly light yet shockingly resistant to punctures and slashes. The stitching, done with silk threads extracted from Needle Rabbits, added not only elasticity to the outfit but also thermal comfort, preventing both excessive sweat and the paralyzing cold of the Dungeon's damper levels.
The white haori still retained its wide sleeves and tribal patterns on the shoulders, but was now woven from salamander wool, masterfully spun and treated with a fine layer of Magic Stone dust in the inner lining. It wasn't just for aesthetics—this cloak offered light resistance against fire and lightning spells while remaining light and fluid in motion. The gray patterns, once purely decorative, were now embroidered with threads derived from Slimes, which had the unique ability to regenerate slowly—allowing minor tears to heal over time.
On his arms and forearms, the black bracers had been swapped for pieces made from the tough leather of Killer Ants, swarming monsters from the middle floors. Though stiffer to the touch, they adapted naturally to the muscles' movements and offered effective protection against claw swipes or crude weapons. The palms remained bare but now featured a thin anti-slip treatment, allowing for a firmer grip on weapons.
His original black trousers kept their traditional cut but were remade using a special fabric based on living magical moss, carefully harvested from the walls of the 7th floor. Light and breathable, this fabric followed his every movement with flexibility. Over them, the layered skirt-like panels were now composed of flexible petals from Alraunes, plant-monsters known for their natural toughness. The fusion of both materials created a balance between defense and agility, perfect for fast-paced combat.
The large red obi had been preserved in style but reimagined in function. Made from Almiraj silk dyed with Red Gem powder, it was far more resistant to tension—almost impossible to untie by accident. The front bows remained, beautiful and elegant, but now the cords hanging from the sides contained enchanted fibers that subtly responded to the wearer's mana flow, adjusting automatically during fast movements or combat.
Attached to the obi, the small side pouches had been replaced by compartments made from treated Kobold leather, with crude Magic Stone latches that snapped shut automatically after use. They were ideal for storing small potions, throwing knives, or even a magic crystal.
Lastly, his simple-looking sandals had received a much-needed upgrade. The soles were now made from polished shards of Enchanted Stone, which absorbed part of the impact from walking or running—a subtle but valuable benefit. The black straps had been swapped out for supple Elite Goblin leather, and the red accents, once purely decorative, now emitted a faint glow upon contact with magic, subtly alerting the wearer to nearby magical energy.
The white lines that vertically adorned the outfit, once mere decoration, had been remade with threads infused with Light Crystal powder, gathered from the deepest corners of the 8th floor. These threads not only preserved the original aesthetic but also offered a soft glow in dark environments—just enough for allies to spot him in the Dungeon's gloom, yet dim enough not to draw the attention of monsters.
Tsubaki stood with her arms crossed, brows raised, forehead furrowed in an almost comical expression. She circled him twice slowly, her eyes analyzing every detail of the outfit as if inspecting a blade forged by an apprentice—which, in a way, wasn't far from the truth.
"Alright... explain this to me properly." She pointed her thumb toward the crystal brooch on his obi, then to the stitching on his shoulders, and finally to the hidden blades in his sandals. "How exactly did learning blacksmithing with me teach you to do all of this?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but her gaze was as sharp as a freshly tempered blade, and the words simply refused to come out.
"Because last time I checked, I taught you how to mold iron, how not to let damp coal near the furnace, and how not to blow up the workshop with unstable magic powder..." She paused dramatically, raising a finger. "And you, young man, nearly lost your eyebrows on that last one."
"I… called it 'controlled combustion testing,'" he mumbled, averting his gaze.
"Yeah. And I called it 'I'm going to rip your ears off with tongs,'" she shot back, snorting. "But back to the outfit."
Tsubaki leaned in, squinting closely at the slime-thread stitching.
"Slime thread? That's not even a standard armor material. Did you spin this by hand?"
"Used a technique I learned from an old lady in the city's backstreets. And a loom that I… may have improvised from a broken sword stand."
Tsubaki looked at him as if deciding whether that was worthy of praise or a hammer-based punishment.
Half of what he'd said was clearly a blatant lie.
"Improvised. With a broken sword stand."
"It was an aesthetic emergency."
"Aesthetic." She blinked slowly. "And the folding blade in the obi?"
"Recycled a rusty iron tip I found in the Dungeon and mixed it with Magic Stone dust until I got a stable alloy. I called it… Black Rust Prime." He smiled proudly, as if he had forged a Noble Phantasm with his bare hands.
"Black Rust Prime?" Tsubaki muttered, pinching her forehead. "You're naming scrap now?"
"It's better than 'Blade That Nearly Killed Me Twice'… which was the old name."
She snorted again—but this time, there was no frustration in it. It was a snort of resignation, almost… amusement.
"Alright, alright. I'll admit it. It looks good. Reinforced protection, solid mobility, questionable style—but functional." She tapped the crystal in the obi, which glowed softly at her touch. "And it even detects mana… You seriously learned all this while training blacksmithing with me?"
He scratched the back of his head, laughing sheepishly. "Well... let's just say that between hammering iron and polishing blades, I started seeing the world as an extension of the anvil."
"...Shirou, that doesn't make any sense."
"Maybe not. But look at this fit!" He spun in place, letting the haori flare out elegantly, the white threads glowing faintly in the light.
Tsubaki let out a loud sigh—but couldn't hide the small smile on her lips.
"If you put half this talent into making actual weapons, maybe one day I won't regret taking you as my apprentice."
"So… is that a compliment?"
"It's a threat disguised as encouragement."
"It works."
She laughed—a short, dry, genuine laugh.
"Come on, back to the forge. I've got a broken shield you might be able to turn into a pair of fire-breathing boots or something." She turned, but cast a final glance over her shoulder. "And if you show up tomorrow with enchanted Almiraj-silk underwear, I swear I'm throwing you into the furnace."
He gulped.
"...So the magic underwear project is cancelled?"
"Don't even dream of it."
---
The next morning, after dressing in his new outfit and carefully preparing his supplies and gear, Shirou stepped through the gates of Twilight Manor.
High up on the balcony, leaning lazily against the railing, Loki watched him depart with a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"So, our future hero is finally heading out to earn some high-level excelia?"
The question was tossed into the wind like a joke—but also a subtle provocation.
Excelia, as was known, were the experience points the gods used to strengthen their children. They could be gained through monster combat, potion crafting, Dungeon exploration, or remarkable achievements. But there was a second type—rarer and far more precious: high-level excelia.
That elevated form of experience could only be earned through truly extraordinary feats—actions capable of drawing admiration or even a smile from a god. Defeating enemies far stronger than oneself. Overcoming impossible odds. Surviving the unthinkable.
Level 2 monsters, by definition, were stronger than any Level 1 adventurer. So most people considered defeating one a worthy feat for high-level excelia.
But… for Shirou?
Would defeating a Level 2 monster be enough for him?
The answer was clear.
No.
For someone like him, simply overcoming something stronger wasn't sufficient. The feat would have to be more than grand—it would have to transcend ordinary standards of courage. Something even a god couldn't ignore.
And that was exactly why more than half of Orario's adventurers never left Level 1 behind.
Because they didn't risk. Because they didn't dare.
Because they wanted to survive—nothing more.
But for Shirou…
What level of danger was acceptable? How great would the accomplishment have to be for him to rise?
Loki had no idea.
She just stood there, watching his figure fade into the morning light, the soft sun glinting off his red hair.
And with a lazy sigh, she muttered under her breath:
"Well… good luck, kid."
---
Shirou walked through the bustling streets of Orario with steady steps. The morning wind felt gentler than usual, brushing against his face with an unusual softness.
He didn't feel fear. Nor anxiety.
On the contrary, he was in an excellent mood.
Ordinary adventurers would treat the journey he was planning with extreme caution—perhaps even dread.
But for Shirou, this was just another step toward what he had already chosen to become.
Adventure? What kind of adventure could compare to that night in Fuyuki, where he faced Servants, magi, and heroic spirits all in one day?
Extraordinary feats? What feat could compare to fighting alone against seven enemies with the sole goal of saving his sister?
He was a replica of a heroic spirit.
A being that mimicked the powers of his future self—and at times, surpassed them.
A hero is, by definition, a symbol of greatness.
So if he, who had already surpassed a heroic spirit, wasn't worthy of true greatness…
Then who could be?
He bore no divine blood. No blessings since birth.
But he carried an ideal.
He carried the dream of saving everyone—even if it meant walking through fire alone.
---
(End of Chapter)
A/N: I think I got a little carried away.
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."