As Freddy studied the 3D render of the finished mech design, he squinted and leaned closer to the screen, frowning slightly.
"Don't you think it's… missing something, boy?"
Rennick tilted his head, wondering if he'd overlooked a technical element. "If you're talking about the reduced energy cells, that was intentional. It was necessary to maintain the weight and shape of the mech. And since it doesn't use energy weapons, performance won't take a hit."
Freddy waved his hand. "No, no. Not that. I mean the paint job. It's still naked!"
Rennick blinked. Then looked at the mech again. True to Freddy's word, it was still coated in the default dull gray of unpainted armor plating. With everything else going on—musculature, sensor alignment, system routing—he had completely forgotten.
"…Right. I totally forgot about that." He scratched his cheek, a bit sheepish. "Well, let's keep that part a surprise."
Freddy chuckled. "Alright, fair. As long as it doesn't look like a walking corpse. Contact me when the prototype's built." With a nod, he ended the call.
Left alone in the workshop's soft lighting, Rennick stared at the mech on the terminal screen. It stood tall and sharp, every line forged from story and sweat—but colorless, lifeless.
"Paint isn't just aesthetic," he thought. "It's mood. It's memory. Identity."
He recalled Caelum's armor as it was described in the story. Once a proud dark blue, noble and bold. Later, faded by war and scorched by battle. His armor, though damaged, was never replaced. It was one of the few remnants of the city of Westhaven and the life Caelum once knew.
With a few keystrokes, Rennick began experimenting.
First, a fresh coat of dark blue. Sleek. Heroic. But too clean. Too polished. This wasn't the Caelum who lost his comrades and wandered the frontier with sword in hand.
He adjusted again—muting the blue to a subtle, faded navy, dulled with age. He added scuffs and scratches to key panels—shoulders, chest, forearms by accenting it with touches of gray. Battle-hardened.
For contrast, he applied faded red stripes to the rim of the helm—barely visible, but symbolic. The same color used in Westhaven's banner.
He dyed the sword's guard in a subtle, tarnished gold, with the grip a solid black. The blade itself stayed steel-gray—functional, sharp, deadly.
As he looked at the mech as a whole after he completed the paint job. The Faded dark blue and grays and solid contours gave it a masculine yet mature and focused look as its sword was the only thing looking in better taken care of than his armor denoting its dedication to the sword and pursuing its ambitions relentlessly without caring about the obstacles that came in its way.
Faded armor, but firm stance. A mech that didn't shine, but endured. A warrior who had lost everything, but still fought.
And in that moment… something stirred.
Just faintly.
Not in the design. Not on the screen. But within.
Rennick sat upright, heart picking up pace.
"…There it is."
He grinned.
"Yes! I did it!"
Though a little and faint, he could feel that the Tempered Blade exuded an aura of restrained ferocity as if a blade waiting to be unsheathed. A sword ready to slay its enemies and protect the weak. As he felt this aura, a wide smile stretched on Rennick's face which would have spooked out Jean if he was here.
"I can't believe it's possible. Although faint and not as strong as Ves's first variant Marc Antony, my tempered blade does possess X-factor." He rejoiced and looked at the design basking in its aura however faint it was. As he lay on the couch, his shoulders sagged unconsciously that he didn't feel were tensed up since he took in the project.
His eyes felt droopy from the exhaustion and he fell asleep with a smile.
…
The next day Rennick and Jean sat at their terminal started the simulation and debugging process.
When Jean saw the completed design of the Tempered Blade, his eyes lit looking up at the completed design. "This looks gas, Boss!" He exclaimed in excitement. "I only saw the internals but I didn't know how it looked complete, looking at it now, it certainly gives a feeling as if I am looking at a swordsman tempered and experienced through multiple battles. I can only imagine how it'd look when fabricated."
Rennick smiled at the praise, "Well, the review is certainly welcomed, but now this phase is really important as it will give us the closest glimpse about the mech's performance and whether it will function according to the environment or not."
"Right. Time to see if our knight can really swing that sword."
With a few more taps, the simulated environment loaded—bringing the Tempered Blade to life in virtual terrain.
The Tempered Blade stood tall within the simulation, its silhouette rendered in full detail as data streamed across multiple diagnostic screens. Rennick and Jean had deployed the mech in a multitude of simulated environments—from arid deserts and scorched wastelands to humid jungles and frozen tundras.
And fairly enough, the simulations revealed a host of flaws. Nothing catastrophic, but the real enemy wasn't explosions or total system collapse—it was wear, efficiency loss, and micro-failures that accumulated in unpredictable climates.
"You should've run simulations on individual parts first, boss," Jean muttered as he examined the latest report. Stress fractures appeared in the joint plating, mostly due to sudden temperature fluctuations. The reactor capacitors overheated in humid conditions, while the engine performance degraded sharply in cold.
Rennick let out a weary sigh, eyes fixed on a cluster of red readings on his display. "I know. But if we wanted to make the deadline before you head back to college, this was the only way."
Jean looked up from his terminal and grinned. "Honestly, I thought you were stalling so you could build the whole mech after I left."
Rennick frowned still looking at the screen optimizing and rectifying the errors and faults in the joints of the mech as it was facing range of movement issues in swamp and frozen environment.
Rennick gave him a flat look but didn't stop tuning the internal cable architecture and adjusting thermal resistance curves. "Why would I tire myself out when I've got an extra pair of hands?"
He was under no illusion that he could build an entire mech in one sitting like Ves. Ves had been different—physically enhanced by Dr. Jutland in the early chapters of his story, and further boosted by the strange attribute candies gifted through the system. Sometimes Rennick caught himself wondering what it would be like to follow that path, to join the Glowing Planet campaign and gamble for a chance at the Jutland organ. The idea of surviving brutal conditions and gaining greater strength was undeniably tempting.
But the thought always cooled as quickly as it rose. He remembered the trials Ves endured in integrating the organ—the risks, the near-madness, the sheer pain. Rennick was no main character blessed with destiny, nor did he have a mech designer's system to hand him stat boosts. He was just himself, and he had to rely on skill, patience, and discipline rather than miracles.
"Oh, so now I'm just a tool," Jean said with exaggerated offense. "Cold." Jean drawled as he rearranged and examined the internals of the reactor to cope with excess heating and material fracture and capacitance overloading.
"Stop acting like a kid," Rennick muttered, trying not to roll his eyes.
Jean snorted in amusement and fell silent for a few minutes, working alongside him. Then, without warning, he broke the quiet.
"Hey boss… why don't you come with me?"
Jean's suggestion caused Rennick to be surprised enough to look up from his screen at him raising his eyebrows in question. "What? Why?"
"Don't ask why. You already know," Jean said, his tone shifting to rare seriousness. "You've been patching up old rust-buckets for how long now? You're good—really good—but if all you ever do is rebuild salvage, when will you ever create something of your own?"
Rennick stayed silent. Deep down, he knew Jean was right. He had always rationalized it—salvaging improved his technical theory, helped him understand components, honed his repair instincts. And it had. But it wasn't enough anymore. He had to agree that working like this he couldn't advance as a mech designer, not without working on designing his own mechs from scratch.
"What are you trying to say, Jean?" Rennick asked folding his hand and leaning in the backrest of his chair.
Jean grinned and turned his screen toward him. A bright digital poster flared into view:
LEEMAR INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY
ANNUAL OPEN DESIGN COMPETITION.
Rennick's eyes widened as memories of the novel from his past life flickered in. The Leemar Institute was a powerhouse—the institute of the Friday Coalition. Even just participating in one of their competitions placed you among thousands of promising designers across the entire star sector and he also remembered that this was the institute Jean attended.
"Nice, right? Since, I joined the institute last year, I was unable to get enough info on that and missed it and although I am still only learning and won't be able to join, but you can." Jean said waiting for his reply.
Rennick was silent, still looking at the poster and wondering, what should he do? Assuming his silence for hesitation, He sighed and replied "Alright, look. This wasn't just my idea. Father suggested it too." Jean said sighing.
"…The Count offered me to join?" Rennick asked, surprised.
Jean nodded. "You're the only working mech designer still on Tullmeer after Hensel left for Selvarra. If we want our planet to be known for more than rice and spice exports, we need people who can show the Protectorate we're more than a backwater and for that father wants to nurture more mech designers from our planet but he can only do so much to help them directly. If we want to inspire more children to be mech designers then, we would need an idol which they can aspire to be."
"And you want me to be some kind of… idol?" Rennick asked, his voice flat.
"No." Jean grinned, cocky again. "I'll be the idol. With my looks, charm, and genius."
"No, I want you to just get the name of our house in the royal court and doing well in the competition of second-rate state would be a matter of great pride for our planet and house." Jean corrected Rennick.
Rennick groaned, glaring at the smirk on Jean's face.
As Jean saw the look on his face his lips twitched in hesitation and dropping his cocky grin and said, "C'mon boss, treat it like a trip. It'll be fun. Just get your name out there. Who knows what doors might open?"
Rennick turned back to his screen, staring at the simulation results. Despite the banter, Jean's words had struck a nerve. If it was kept quiet, if no one on Tullmeer knew until the competition ended…
Maybe it was time.
After several long moments, he gave a tired nod.
"Alright. I'll come. But we finish the Tempered Blade first. Before you leave."
Jean pumped a fist in victory. "Knew you'd agree!"
The next week passed in a blur.
Together, they dove deep into iteration after iteration—tweaking joints, recalibrating the sensors for humidity variance, reinforcing heat-dispersal lines around the reactor. The joints were redesigned for broader mobility arcs in swamp and cold environments. Material coatings were adjusted to withstand thermal stress.
By the time they completed the final test cycle, although not perfect, its systems were resilient under many stress conditions to satisfiable limits and which are possible under the tight budget and their current capabilities.
The Tempered Blade was ready. It was time to bring it to the world from the pages of a book.