The Craftsman's Late-Night Work

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Late at night, beneath a bridge over the riverbed.

In the shadows cast by the concrete pylons blocking the streetlights, a harsh metallic sound rang out in steady rhythm.

I crouched down, working a diamond metal file.

My target: the deformed rebar I'd procured from the home center that afternoon.

A 22-millimeter-diameter steel rod.

I was filing its tip down relentlessly.

"… Damn, it's hard."

Sweat dripped from my brow, practically hissing when it hit the rebar.

Modern steel was excellent. Low impurities, high density.

Power tools would make short work of this, but that kind of racket would get me reported immediately. Hand-filing it would have to do.

Normally, hand-filing hardened steel would take an eternity.

But I had a "trick" at my disposal.

(Concentrate maso in the muscle fibers of my right arm. Visualize a thin film coating the file's surface…)

I circulated the faint mana in my body to my right arm and the tool.

Partial Strengthening.

I didn't have enough mana yet to enhance my whole body, but by limiting it to just one arm, just my fingertips, I could maintain several times my normal output.

The mana-coated file achieved hardness beyond diamond, scraping through steel like… well, not quite butter, but at least like grating a daikon radish.

Screeeeech!!

I drew the file at spark-throwing speed.

The muscles in my back creaked; my mana circuits heated up.

The smell of burning iron tickled my nose, awakening old memories.

Those quiet, cold, yet heated moments of maintaining weapons before battle.

"… Good."

An hour later.

The tip of the rebar had been roughly shaped into a sharp cone.

Not a blade like a box cutter.

A shape specialized for penetration, like an oversized ice pick.

Goblin and orc skin was tough. A half-hearted slash would be stopped by fat and muscle.

But a "thrust" that concentrated kinetic energy into a single point could pierce even dragon scales.

As a finishing touch, I wrapped rubber sheeting around the grip portion and tightly wound tennis grip tape over it.

For slip prevention and shock absorption.

Without this, the recoil from a full-power strike would shatter my wrist.

"Complete."

I stood up and hefted the 2-meter iron mass.

The solid weight of 6 kilograms.

It gleamed dully in the faint streetlight. An unadorned rod.

No decorations whatsoever.

No guard.

An ugly lump of iron existing only to kill.

But to me, it was more beautiful than any jewel.

"… The weight feels good."

I twirled it in my hand.

Centrifugal force pulled at my wrist.

The center of gravity was slightly toward the tip. Balanced not just for thrusting, but also for "crushing" using centrifugal force as a mace.

I stepped out from the shadow of the pylon and took a stance facing the river.

Feet apart. Hips lowered.

I filled my lungs with the damp night air.

(Visualize it. For now it's just an iron rod. But eventually, mana will flow through it.)

My current mana capacity couldn't enhance the entire weapon.

That's why I'd compensate with technique.

"—Ha!"

With a sharp exhale, I thrust.

Whoosh!!

The 6-kilogram iron mass tore through the air with an audible rip.

But the challenge came next. If I didn't kill the momentum, I'd be wide open.

I relaxed every joint in my body simultaneously, bleeding off the centrifugal force as I pulled the rebar back.

Stop.

The tip came to rest in its original position without a hair's width of deviation.

"Guh…"

A dull pain shot through my wrist and elbow.

As expected, this was the limit of what my current body could handle. Repeated forced stops like that would damage my joints.

But the power was there for a one-hit kill.

"It's crude, but it suits me right now."

I exhaled with satisfaction and shouldered the rebar.

It didn't deserve a name.

A disposable partner. A first weapon.

That was when it happened.

Silence.

Sound vanished from the world.

The murmur of the river, the distant rumble of cars, the chirping of insects in the grass.

All of it cut off unnaturally, abruptly.

"… It's coming."

I looked up at the sky.

The night sky was covered in thick clouds; the moon wasn't visible.

But my skin sensed it.

The humidity in the atmosphere shifting. Static electricity making my skin prickle.

Critical mass.

The "crack" beyond the sky had finally given way and was beginning to widen.

The eerie silence just before a dam bursts.

It wasn't that the wind had stopped.

The world itself was frozen still, holding its breath in fear.

"Two weeks at the earliest… no, maybe three weeks at most."

If my calculations were correct, maso concentration would hit its critical point before the weekend, and by the time the sun rose, the "hole" would open.

The end of everyday life.

School, exams, career counseling. All of it would become relics of the past.

I wasn't afraid.

If anything, my heart was pounding with exhilaration.

Finally, a world where I could breathe.

An era where I could be myself was coming.

"Time to head back and sleep. The next few days are the real battle."

I wrapped the rebar in old cloth again and left the underpass.

My steps were heavy, but my heart was light.

Clinging to my back was a palpable killing intent, and a thirst for the coming "hunt."

The city, wrapped in silence, still slept on, unaware.

Not knowing how long that peaceful slumber would last.