Beyond Existence

Gillarn

Safe cities were created in the outer sections of Morrow Woods, covering the Outer Zone and Mild Zone. These cities served as havens for rest and exchanging materials or information. The Hunters, a group of weavers made up of the survivors and victims of the ghoul incident, had set up camp in Solt, Mild zone’s safe city.
“Adel? That’s far west. It’d take us a month to get there,” Erina said, her voice laced with concern as she glanced at Ryan.
“That’s too long. Roy said to make it in a week,” Ale replied, her tone serious.
“I see,” Ryan said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He looked around the group before pointing toward Chrome and Eric. “Then, you two are coming with us”, he declared firmly.
Eric immediately grumbled. “Ugh, but I don’t want to, that white dude’s scary,” he muttered.
“No complaining,” Ryan replied, his voice cold and final. “We need you to guide us through.” His tone left no room for argument, and Eric slouched in defeat.
As Ryan glanced over at Daniel, standing quietly in the corner of the room, he noticed the hint of displeasure in his expression. With a soft, warm smile, he added, “You too of course.” Daniel’s face lit up instantly, his earlier discontent vanishing as he nodded eagerly.
Ryan turned back to the group, his expression becoming more focused. “If we run at full speed, we should make it in four days.” he assessed. “The rest of you can take your time. Erina, you are in charge. Get us a good deal on the loots.”
Erina smirked, giving Ryan a confident nod. “Sure, boss.”
Ryan smilled. “I trust you”
He turned his attention back to Chrome and Eric. “Only pack what’s necessary. We leave in a couple hours.”
“Alright, boss,” they replied in unison, though Eric’s displeasure was written all over his face.
Ryan then shifted his gaze to Ale, who had been listening quietly. “The journey’s going to be rough, you can keep up right.?”
Ale nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. “I haven’t been training for two years for nothing.”
“Alright then” Ryan said with a smile. “Get ready.”
A few hours later, Ryan, Ale, Chrome, Eric, and Daniel stood at the city’s edge, ready to begin their journey.
“Our first stop is Hars” Ryan announced as they prepared to head out. He glanced over at Daniel, a warning look in his eyes. “Try to control your speed, okay?.” Daniel nodded in understanding.
“We’ll  move at Eric pace,” Ryan added with a slight smirk, earning a groan from Eric. “That way, Ale, you can keep up easily”
“Hm” Ale responded, giving a nod as they all took off, their figures quickly disappearing into the distance, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.
Red’s carriage finally arrived at the crossroad to the blacksmith village after a week of travel. “We’re here”, the coachman announced.
Red awoke, opened his eyes slowly, clearly annoyed by the disturbance. With a sharp sigh, he got off the carriage and handed a few coins to the coachman before watching him drive off into the distance.
The strong wind swirled across him, rippling through his cloak. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare as he gazed at his destination.
The scene was quite pleasing. White steam curled up from the village, disappearing into the clouds above. A faint smirk tugged at Red’s lips.
“It been a while since I’ve been here,” he muttered. “Wonder if she’s finished my sword. It’s four month overdue.” He walked down the rough path, the air growing hotter with every step.
As Red neared the village, the temperature spiked, sweat trickling down his neck. It wasn’t called the blacksmith village for nothing. By the time he arrived, the heat was stifling, an almost physical force pressing against him.
The clanging of metal rang out incessantly, mixing with the thick, pungent odor of sweat and the stale scent of beer that permeated the air.
“They’ll work all day and drink all night. What a bunch of idiots.” Red thought, his face twisted in disgust as he stepped deeper into the village.
Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the noise. “Oh, look who’s here. It’s the little devil.” Gundar, a man in his late fifty's, dropped his hammer, bounded over with open arms, his face breaking into a wide grin.
Red dodged him effortlessly. “Get lost you reek of sweat.” he complained.
“As cold as always.” Gundar laughed heartily, slapping his belly as the other blacksmiths turned to watch.
“Bless Hephtas, that kid sure have grown.” One of them hollered.
“It really his him. Almost didn’t recognized him without that angry face,” another joked, sending a wave of laughter through the crowd.
Red’s lips thinned into a line. “Yeah, yeah. Happy to see you all. Could you do me a favour and get lost? I’ve got business to attend to.”
The laughter died down, and Gundar’s face turned serious. “Right, if you are here that means you came for ‘that’.” Arms crossed, a shadow falling over his expression. “But, you’re too late.”
Red’s brow furrowed at the sudden shift in mood; they are always so goofy he didn’t know that had it in them.
“What happened.” he asked, curiosity lingering in his voice.
The bustling village seemed to fall into silence. Gundar’s voice dropped. “Meltha is dead, she died four months ago.”
“Dead?” Red’s mind went blank for a moment. “Then... what happened to my sword?” His voice carried an edge of devastation. “I can’t keep using scraps, and I went through a lot to get the materials for that one.”
The crowd went silent, stunned by Red's reaction. Then, Gundar couldn’t hold back and let out a loud scoff. “Seriously?” He burst out laughing. “You're even colder than your master!” The rest of the blacksmiths quickly joined in, their laughter filling the air.
Red pouted, clearly unbothered by their amusement. “Don’t give me that. It’s not like you muscle-brains are really upset either. Knowing her, she probably died on a job. I just hope she finished mine.”
“True,” one of the older smiths chimed in, still chuckling. “She was a crazy one, that little girl—reaching master rank in just two decades, while us old-timers have been stuck at expert rank for years.” He slapped his belly with a hearty laugh.
“Lazy, mischievous, arrogant... her talent was the only thing great about her,” another added, eyes misting with tears of laughter. “She only took on commissions that impressed her, no matter how important the patron was.”
Gundar’s smile faded into something sadder. “But still, whenever she did take on a job, she was more focused and obsessed than anyone. She gave it everything she had.” He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “Anyway, I stand by what I said. We ‘muscle brains’ may have a weird way of grieving, but you? You only care about your sword. She’d be sad, you know.”
Red’s expression remained indifferent. “I just don’t have it in me to care about others, especially the dead.” He paused, his voice turning sharper. “So, what’s the condition of my sword?”
Gundar sighed, arms crossed. “Who knows. You can ask her brother, Mellios. He’s probably in her workshop building something weird again.” He pointed a thumb in the direction of Meltha’s old home.
“Mellios? Who’s that?” Red asked, furrowing his brow.
“Are you for real? That’s her little brother,” Gundar replied, chuckling at Red’s ignorance.
Red’s eyes narrowed as memories surfaced. “Ah, that annoying little prick,” he muttered, recalling the boy who used to pester him. Without another word, he turned away from the group, heading toward Meltha’s workshop.
The workshop was a small, fortified house, perched on a hill deep within the village. Unlike the bustling center, this part of the village was quiet, almost deserted. As Red approached the door, he noticed smoke rising from the chimney.
He knocked three times but got no answer. His temple twitched in annoyance. “I know you’re inside. Open up,” he called out, but again, silence.
Irritated, Red unsheathed his sword halfway, preparing to force his way in when a voice from within interrupted him.
“Resorting to violence every chance you get. Barbaric, as always,” came the voice, sharp with criticism.
The door creaked open on its own. Red, still irritated, sheathed his sword and stepped inside, scanning the room. No one.
“Over here,” the voice called from an open door in the back. Red approached, entering a smaller room where a young boy with short blue hair and sharp green eyes was bent over, assembling what looked like a machine.
“What’s that?” Red asked, unimpressed but curious.
“Just wait there and you’ll see,” Mellios replied, his focus on the device.
Red sighed, crossing his arms. As much as he wanted to know the status of his sword, curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to watch.
After several tense minutes, Mellios finally wiped the sweat from his brow. “And... it’s done.” He looked up at Red with a smirk. “Hey, you can use Est, right? I need you to release as much as you can into this,” he said, pointing to a palm-shaped imprint on the machine.
Red frowned, growing impatient. “You’re really testing my patience, kid,” he grumbled. But after waiting for half an hour, what was a little more Est? He stepped forward and placed his palm on the imprint.
Mellios felt a strong pressure in his chest as an ominous energy filled the room. The light seemed to dim, as though it was being swallowed, and Red’s palm began to glow with a faint, dangerous light.
Mellios swallowed hard. “Something’s coming,” he thought, his heartbeat quickening.
Thin strands of red aura flickered from Red’s hand, and a low, eerie hum filled the room. A torrent of red energy surged from Red’s palm, pushing Mellios back as he struggled to shield himself.
“Est visualization,” Mellios muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth. “Sis said he gained manipulation four years ago... to think he’s at this level in under a decade. What a monster.”
Red noticed Mellios’ reaction and smirked. “So? Is this enough?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.
“Wait, that’s too—”
Before Mellios could finish, Red released his Est into the device. The machine groaned, overloading from the sheer power. Moments later, it exploded, sending shockwaves through the workshop. The entire hilltop was reduced to rubble, the machine obliterated.
“Damn, that was crazy,” Red muttered, leaping out of the blast zone just in time. He stood at the edge of the hill, surveying the destruction. “That amount of Est shouldn’t have caused this much damage.”
“Of course it didn’t,” Mellios snapped, still dazed from the blast. He was clinging to Red’s shoulder, having been saved from the explosion at the last second. “The materials were highly unstable. It was designed for first-stage Weavers, not someone like you.”
“Well, it’s your fault for not asking,” Red retorted with a smirk, leaping down to the center of the wreckage and dropping Mellios onto the ground. The boy landed with a thud, grumbling.
“Everything’s trashed,” Red muttered, scanning the debris. But then, something caught his eye. Amidst the dust and rubble, something gleamed. He walked over and bent down, carefully picking it up. His eyes widened, and a grin spread across his lips as he dusted off the object.
“She finished it,” he whispered, revealing the jet-black sword with crimson edges in his hands.
Mellios walked up behind him, brushing off the dirt from his pants. “Yeah... that stupid sister of mine. She worked day and night on that sword without rest. But she got stuck after a year and a half.” He clenched his fists, his voice tight with emotion. “She spent months agonizing over how to finish it. Then, four months ago, she found a solution. She used herself as the final material, giving the sword a true breath of life. It became a Mystic Weapon.” He paused, his voice low and pained. “She became the second Grandmaster in history... at the cost of her own life.”
Red’s eyes darkened as he stared at the blade, mesmerized. “A Mystic sword,” he breathed, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “What did she name it?”
Mellios sighed, letting go of his anger as he answered. “Gillarn.”