Ingvald looked at the cleaver in his hand as one might look at their own newborn child. Then, he raised it and threw it at her. Zel caught it and turned it over, giving it a closer look as she casually approached the smith.

She separated the frontmost segment, finding that they were joined by strong magnetism runes in the spots where the final version would have its Arcline connectors. The mechanical cli-clack of the segments interlocking was so satisfying that she couldn’t help repeatedly rejoining and separating them.

“So? Happy with the mockup? Any overall changes?”

“It would be nice to have a full-scale mockup, even if made from raw iron.”

“I knew you’d say that,” he said, leading her into his smithy.

There, the full-scale mockup waited.

It was mostly unenchanted, lacking the self-adjusting center of mass emblematic of Ikesian Captain’s Cleavers, but it still sufficed as a mockup.

Zelsys was more than happy with it, grinning madly at the blacksmith as she swung the huge mass of metal around despite it not playing along the way the Butcher normally did. She had grown used to “dead” weapons.

“That looks easier than it ought to. Are you using magic to mitigate the momentum or somesuch?”

“I weigh a hundred-fifty kilos and generate magnetic fields strong enough to warp a target block,” she said, guessing the first two things most likely to be the reason.

“That’s… Weird. Weirder than anything else about you, to be honest. I bet your insides are a real freak-show even by body cultivator standards. I take it you’re happy with the mockup, then?”

Zel put it down and gave a grinning thumbs-up with her right hand.

“Good. Give your hand here, let me take a look.”

And he did. He took a very thorough look, and smashed a hammer onto her palm at full force. Then, with a confounded grimace, he said: “...I will smith your hand when you return from the Immortal Throne. Right away. Even if your departure is not questioned, your return will cause all sorts of pandemonium - even if you just go there and come back with a souvenir from the bear-men.”

“...Bearmen?”

“Hrm? Yeah, there is a town of monastic bear-men who guard the Immortal Throne. You… Have not met any of Borea’s beast-people? Oh. Right. You came through Agartha. You met the Deep Dwellers.”

“Beast-people as in animals who have developed humanoid forms, yes?”

Ingvald nodded: “They are not rare at all, it’s just… They don’t tend to like the urban environment so they just stick to their own settlements, and most of the beast-people’s towns are far older than Oasis City to begin with. Right, eh- I’ve no warnings to give you on the bear-men. They’re just giant, monstrously strong, and very hairy - not very different to the average Borean, and much harder to anger.”

“Mrhm. So the corpses out front won’t be a problem?”

Ingvald shrugged, “I am Forgehand, I could get away with smashing a Clan Elder’s head in his sleep if I wanted to. Considering how weak these lot were and the fact they were disguised, I doubt that whoever sent them will risk exposing himself by calling me out. As far as I and all my neighbors know, a band of masked outlaws tried to break into my smithy while I was in the middle of my work. They forfeited their lives by trying to interrupt me. Smithing is holy work; some people forget that, just because we smiths don’t organize ridiculous spectacles like the druids do.”

"A giant flaming woman coming out of a smithy's chimney isn't a spectacle?"

"You've got me there, but I meant festivals. The Jade Dragons - do you have them with you?"

Zel nodded, taking out her Tablet. She handed over the cards and coins requested before leaving, forming a great big pile of magical money on the table. Somewhat disappointingly, Ingvald wouldn't let her take either of the mockups with her.

"These are for my sake as much as they are for yours. I will need them to make the final product."

Zel couldn’t help but bring up the break-in with Fryg again, adding on the incident at Ingvald’s and the consistent pattern of animal-masked adversaries.

“One forfeits the protection of the honor system by attempting to attack another without first identifying himself. This rule is one of the reasons why the members of notable clans make themselves visually identifiable, due to a precedent set in a legal dispute over this very rule. By constantly broadcasting one’s allegiance through dress, tattoos, and so on, one can argue that he identified himself sufficiently and likely have that defense go over. Those who disguise themselves to take action are typically the dregs of society, pressed by circumstance or outside forces into doing such a thing.”

“And at the end of the day, the scumsuckers really behind this shit are safe, sound, and of good social standing… The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Zel spat.

A few hours passed…

The expeditionary force returned while Zel was gone, at the gymnasium next to the Wolfblade. Upon her return but before she entered the great hall, she overheard Zefaris briefing Fryg on the clan’s debt to a certain mantis-woman.

“Speak of the devil! We met Red in the jungle. She wants to fight you.”

“Of course she does. What else is new? See Eisengeist while you were out there?” Zel replied facetiously, slumping down into a chair rather than going to the baths as she had planned.

“...We did, yes. I am absolutely certain that its tails are metal, but I am also absolutely certain that we have no chance of taking that metal for ourselves.”

Zel grinned.

“Don’t worry about it, we can always just use a Fallen Star as originally planned,” she lied.

Zel sat through the briefing for a few more minutes before going off to the baths. After bathing and a rather enthusiastic reunion, she spoke with Zefaris in private.

“Remember how one of Koschei’s Titans is still around?”

The blonde squinted: “...I will let you explain further before I share my reservations.”

“Oh, where to start…”