Two weeks later…
"Yeah… wasn't that good."
Logos turned the snapped remains of the dagger in his hands. The once-sturdy blade now had a jagged edge, as though it had tried to bite into something much harder than itself — and lost.
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "So even you have difficulties?"
"I lack practical experience," Logos said without hesitation, tossing the broken half onto the workbench. "Besides, all the parts I used were pre-made from unrelated projects. The tolerances were terrible. Even the steel was rough; I had to polish it myself before I could get any kind of decent channeling."
Lucy smirked faintly. "And here I thought you were perfect."
"I am not perfect. I am efficient." Logos reached for a small box beneath the bench. "And efficiency means finding better solutions."
"Do you have one now?" she asked, curiosity creeping into her voice.
"Indeed."
From the box, he produced an object about the length of her hand — thick, pen-like, and exuding a faint glow. But it wasn't the warm shimmer of ordinary enchanted tools. No, this light was… wrong. It coiled like smoke within the glassy surface, a black-violet shimmer that seemed to whisper, this is not entirely safe.
Lucy straightened, her tone sharpening. "…What is that?"
"My solution." Logos held it up with the kind of satisfaction usually reserved for great inventions or dangerous mistakes. "A mana channel engraver — portable edition. Unlike the dagger, this tool is designed for precise inscription without repeated physical pressure."
"In plain speech?" she said dryly.
"It burns the runes in," Logos explained, "rather than scratching them."
Lucy took a step closer, peering at it. "It looks… sinister."
"That's because the crystal inside is powered by my mana," Logos said, turning it so she could see the swirling inner glow. "It naturally takes on the same color." As if to demonstrate, he released a thin thread of magic. The device pulsed, emitting a haunting gleam that made the walls of the workshop seem to lean in.
"Sinister," she repeated, still unmoved.
"You're associating color with moral intent," Logos said, sounding almost offended. "It's a completely baseless connection. Aesthetics do not dictate ethics."
"Tell that to the people who scream when they see a glowing weapon in that color," Lucy countered.
He frowned. "…Come to think of it, what exactly were you a scholar of? Couldn't be magic — I'm more adept at it than you."
Lucy folded her arms. "Martial arts."
"…Pardon?" Logos blinked.
"I was involved in the research of what happens to the human body when a trained martial artist channels mana through it."
There was a long pause. "…That explains a lot."
"Such as?" she asked.
"Why you move like you're expecting a fight every time someone drops a spoon. Why you always stand just far enough away to react instantly. Why you keep staring at the knights."
"Observing," she corrected. "Not staring. And yes, I am often watching them for signs of strain, inefficiency, or untapped potential."
Logos tilted his head. "So you weren't just… bored?"
"No," she said with the kind of certainty that left no room for argument. Then, after a moment: "Speaking of knights, you once asked me to introduce you to one you could trust. Correct?"
"I would need a sword when I take charge," Logos said, as if this were a universally accepted fact. "Why? Did you find one?"
Lucy's expression shifted into something between smug and cautious. "I might have."
Logos leaned forward slightly. "Details."
"He's not from around here," she said. "Wasn't tied to any of the factions in the keep before now. Which means fewer loyalties to be exploited against you."
"That's a good start." Logos rested his chin on one hand, already thinking ahead. "Combat experience?"
"Plenty. Former retainer to a merchant house that got bought out in a trade war. After that, mercenary work."
"Mercenaries tend to be coin-driven."
"True. But he's been living here for six months without work."
"Which means he's desperate," Logos said immediately. "Desperation can make people unpredictable — either useful or dangerous."
Lucy nodded approvingly. "You're learning."
"I was always aware," he said. "I just rarely deal with people in the flesh."
"Which is why you'll need someone at your side who can. Especially if your father…" She trailed off, not quite finishing the thought.
Logos didn't push her to. They both knew what she meant.
Instead, he tapped the glowing engraver against the bench. "When can I meet him?"
"This afternoon, if you're not too busy."
"I'm never too busy for something that will affect the survival of my position."
Lucy smirked. "Good answer."
They lapsed into a brief silence, during which Logos tested the engraver on a small metal plate. A thin line hissed into existence, glowing faintly before cooling into a perfectly clean rune channel. No jagged edges, no uneven depth.
Lucy gave a low whistle. "I'll admit — that's impressive."
"Of course it is," Logos said, without arrogance but with the calm certainty of someone who had already calculated the probability of success. "The only drawback is that it consumes mana faster than I can replenish it without rest."
"So you can't just sit there for hours engraving every tool in the keep."
"Not yet," he said. "But with adjustments to the crystal's lattice alignment, I could improve the efficiency by at least twenty percent. Perhaps more if I—"
"Logos," Lucy cut in. "Eat first. Tinker later. You're already starting to look pale."
He glanced at her. "…You're still carrying the tray from earlier, aren't you?"
"Yes. And this time, I am going to stand here and watch you eat it."
"I could eat and tinker at the same time."
"You could also choke and drop your precious tool. Sit."
With the faintest sigh, Logos set the engraver down. He didn't say it out loud, but he was already wondering if the knight she had found would tolerate long hours in the workshop, or if he'd have to teach the man not to knock things over.
Lucy, watching him dig into the bread and cheese she'd brought, decided not to tell him just yet that the knight in question had a bit of a reputation for being too observant.
Better to let that be a surprise.