Chapter 342 - "Boon or Trouble"

The corridor was long and quiet, carved straight through dwarven stone with the kind of precision that spoke of centuries of refinement. Heat-veins ran along the walls like glowing arteries, their amber light soft and steady, warming the air without suffocating it. Every footstep echoed faintly.

Luca moved slowly.

Bandages wrapped nearly every visible part of his body—arms, shoulders, ribs, even parts of his neck. His steps were careful, measured, supported by the crutches in his hands. Each movement pulled at something that hadn’t fully healed yet, sending dull reminders through muscle and bone.

If someone told me ten days ago...

he thought grimly,

that I’d be walking these corridors like this—alive—

His gaze shifted sideways.

Durgan Blackvein walked beside him.

Unhurried. Uninjured. Hands clasped behind his back like this was nothing more than a stroll through his own forge halls. The contrast was absurd—Luca bruised, bound, and limping; Durgan solid as a mountain, presence pressing in even without effort.

—

alongside him...

Luca exhaled through his nose.

They walked in silence for a few steps before Luca finally spoke, voice rough but controlled.

"So," he said, eyes forward. "You’re really not going to stop following me, are you?"

"No," Durgan replied immediately.

Luca winced—not at the answer, but at how little hesitation there’d been.

"...Why?" Luca asked. "Don’t give me the agreement excuse."

Durgan’s stride didn’t change.

"It was our agreement," he said.

Luca’s face twitched.

"That’s exactly what I said not to say," he snapped, stopping abruptly. The sudden halt made his body protest, but he ignored it, turning his head sharply toward the dwarf. "Even you know that has nothing to do with it. You’re powerful enough to ignore it. You don’t need to care about some damn trial condition."

Durgan stopped as well.

He turned, looking down at Luca—not condescendingly, not threateningly. Just... directly.

"I am a man who abides by his agreements," Durgan said flatly. "Even if it means facing death."

Silence.

Luca stared at him.

His eye twitched.

His lip twitched.

Even his ear twitched.

"...You’re unbelievable," Luca muttered.

Then his expression hardened.

"Listen," Luca said sternly. "If you’re not going to tell me the real reason, then I won’t acknowledge any agreement. And I won’t allow you to follow me."

That got a reaction.

For the first time since Luca had woken up, Durgan’s expression shifted. Just slightly. His rigid composure cracked, brows drawing together in something that almost looked like irritation—or reluctance.

"...I can’t tell you," Durgan said after a pause. "Not yet."

Luca narrowed his eyes.

"But," Durgan continued, voice firm, "I will tell you when the time comes. And rest assured—I will never harm you."

Luca studied him for a long second.

Then he sighed.

Not sharply.

Not angrily.

Just... tired.

...Although I should be happy getting such a powerful follower,

he thought, resuming his slow walk,

why does it feel like this is going to be trouble instead?

They continued down the corridor side by side, the quiet punctuated only by the soft thud of Luca’s crutches against stone.

After a moment—

Luca spoke again, tone casual, almost offhand.

"Can you get me some black mythrill?"

Durgan’s eyes widened.

He stopped mid-step, turning sharply toward Luca. "What do you need it for?"

Luca didn’t hesitate. "I want to forge armor for myself."

Durgan shook his head once.

"No."

Luca stopped walking.

His head snapped toward Durgan, incredulous.

"Then why," he said sharply, raising his voice despite himself, "did you ask what I needed it for?"

The corridor echoed softly with the question.

They resumed walking.

The corridor stretched on, pillars passing in a slow rhythm as Luca adjusted his pace to the crutches again. His irritation hadn’t faded—if anything, it simmered quietly beneath the surface.

After a few steps, Luca glanced sideways at Durgan.

"What use are you," he said flatly, "if you can’t even get me some black mythrill?"

Durgan coughed.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

But it was... awkward.

"...Why don’t you try asking Thrain," Durgan said, eyes shifting forward again as if the stone wall ahead had suddenly become very interesting.

Luca stopped mid-step.

"...Thrain?" he repeated slowly. "Why would he give it to me? Black mythrill can’t be bought. It can’t be exchanged. It’s not some common forge metal."

Durgan glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"You underestimate what you’ve done," he said calmly. "Passing the Thousand Hammer Crucible counts for something."

Luca frowned slightly but didn’t interrupt.

"It won’t guarantee you free black mythrill," Durgan continued. "But it gives you standing. Leverage."

He paused.

"Maybe you can exchange it for something."

They walked a few more steps.

Exchange...?

Luca’s brows knit together.

What do I even have to exchange?

The thought lingered as he lifted one hand awkwardly, staring at it. More specifically—at the faintly glowing storage ring on his finger.

Weapons... no.

Materials... mostly consumed.

Money... meaningless here

.

His thoughts slowed.

Then—

They snapped.

Luca’s eyes widened.

His pupils sharpened.

"...Ah."

He froze in place.

Durgan noticed immediately, stopping and turning toward him. "What?"

Luca didn’t answer.

His lips curled upward.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

"...That’s right," Luca murmured. "Why didn’t I think of this?"

A beat.

Then—

"Hahahaha—!"

The laughter burst out of him without restraint.

"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha—!"

It echoed down the stone corridor, wild and unfiltered, bouncing off the dwarven walls with manic clarity. Luca leaned slightly on his crutches as he laughed, shoulders shaking, eyes gleaming with something far too sharp to be exhaustion.

Durgan stared at him.

Silently.

With the exact expression one reserved for someone who had very clearly lost their mind.

"...Have you finally broken?" Durgan asked flatly.

Luca kept laughing.

"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha—!"

***

Night settled gently over the dwarven infirmary.

It wasn’t the heavy, suffocating darkness of the underground halls—this room had been carved closer to the surface, where narrow vents allowed cool night air to slip through. The runes embedded in the walls dimmed to a soft glow, casting long, quiet shadows across stone and linen. Somewhere far away, metal chimed faintly—cooling forges being shut down for the night.

Luca lay alone.

Durgan was gone.

After confirming Luca could walk—even if only with crutches—and after receiving a blunt, unmistakable order to leave, the old dwarf had finally complied. Ten full days of standing guard without rest had taken their toll even on him. He hadn’t argued. Hadn’t mocked. Had simply nodded once and walked out.

The quiet that followed felt... earned.

Luca rested back against the bed, bandages wrapped around nearly every part of him—arms, torso, legs—layers upon layers of white against scarred skin. His body still ached, deep and constant, but it was no longer overwhelming. Just there. A reminder.

Cool air brushed against his face.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing it in.

...Peaceful

.

After a moment, his hand moved slowly to the bedside table.

Selena’s words surfaced in his mind.

Mother waited five days for you to wake up... she asked me to pass this to you.

Luca picked up the item.

A small device.

Smooth, dark metal. Palm-sized. Simple. No ornamentation. Just a single button in the center, faintly glowing with restrained mana.

He stared at it for a few seconds.

Then pressed the button.

The air above his palm shimmered.

Light unfolded—not harsh, not blinding—but soft and controlled, coalescing into a familiar figure.

Snow-white hair.

A veil draped gently over her face.

The Tower Master stood there in miniature, composed and elegant as ever, hands folded before her, posture straight despite the ethereal projection. Even as a hologram, her presence carried weight—calm, dignified, quietly overwhelming.

For a heartbeat, she said nothing.

Then she inclined her head.

"Luca."

Her voice was steady—but there was something different in it. Not weakness.

Honesty.

"I’m sorry," she said. "I could not wait any longer for you to wake."

She lifted her head slightly, as if meeting his eyes through the veil.

"But I believed you would be fine," she continued softly. "That you would stand up again... and cause trouble everywhere, with that troublesome way of yours."

A faint pause.

If she were here in person, perhaps she would have smiled.

The atmosphere around the projection shifted—subtly, but unmistakably.

Serious now.

"Do you remember," she asked, "when you asked me whether I trusted you?"

The words hung there.

The infirmary was silent except for the faint hum of runes.

"I do," she said after a brief pause. "I trust you, Luca."

Her voice lowered just a little.

"My disciple."

Luca didn’t move.

But his fingers tightened slightly against the blanket.

The projection continued.

"Taking you as my disciple," she said, "was likely the best decision I have made in a very long time."

Her hands shifted—just barely—before returning to stillness.

"I may not have taught you much," she admitted. "I was absent when I should not have been. I left you to walk many paths on your own."

A pause.

"But it has been my honor," she said, "to be your master."

Luca’s shoulders rose and fell once.

Slowly.

She continued, voice quieter now.

"And... thank you."

Not loud.

Not ceremonial.

Sincere.

"Not only for what you did against Durgan," she said. "But because of you, it seems I am finally finding the courage to face my own demons."

Another pause.

The projection’s light flickered faintly.

"I hope," she said, "that I will see you again soon."

The image bowed once.

And dissolved.

The light faded.

The infirmary returned to stillness.

Luca sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty air where she had been.

His jaw tightened.

He exhaled slowly.

Then, carefully, he lay back against the pillow.

One arm draped loosely over his eyes.

His breathing evened out—not forced, not controlled.

Just... tired.

The device slipped gently from his hand onto the bed beside him.

Outside, the night breeze continued to drift in, cool and quiet.

And before he realized it—

Luca fell asleep.