For about a minute, the two remained frozen, silently facing each other. Thomas, having briefly stepped out to place a sword down, returned to see them standing as he’d left them and asked curiously,

"Do you two know each other? Or is there some bad blood between you? Why are you just standing there?"

The answer came quickly, from Theodora, who was the first to break free of the silence.

"No, we can’t really say we know each other. It’s just... we’re a little acquainted."

"Is that so? Then why don’t you spend some time getting to know each other while I finish your sword?"

"...Yes, understood."

Hearing Theodora’s hesitant reply, Thomas narrowed his eyes with a doubtful look but waved his hand as if to leave them to their own devices before heading back to his workspace.

"This is our first time meeting like this, isn’t it?"

Theodora’s words brought Maxime back to his senses. Although she had been momentarily caught off guard, Theodora quickly recovered and approached the chair Maxime was seated in. But inside, Maxime’s emotions burned far more intensely than hers.

"I’m Theodora Bening of the Crow Knights."

She didn’t regard him as an enemy. Maxime replied to her introduction with a dry voice.

"Arsen Bern, currently part of the Second Guard."

Theodora took a seat opposite Maxime, her gaze seeming to search his face intently. Maxime met her eyes, though somewhat listlessly. She finally looked away and placed her hands on the table.

"I watched your preliminary match."

Maxime nodded stiffly, like a wooden puppet. Though his response was awkward, Theodora didn’t seem bothered. Struggling to find a suitable response, Maxime gave up trying and spoke candidly.

"Thank you. You, too, are quite skilled. Your swordsmanship is formidable and elegant."

“…Thank you, though rumors tend to exaggerate. Sometimes I worry they’ve inflated too much."

Theodora’s expression turned bitter. Maxime realized she still hadn’t fully escaped the trauma from the war in the Wastelands.

"You know how public opinion can be for knights like us. Maybe you could just accept it?"

Maxime suggested carefully, but Theodora shook her head resolutely.

"No, I can’t. The Wastelands must remain a painful memory for me. I can’t walk around with my head high, wearing the titles people have freely given me as some kind of badge."

That day had been an unimaginable torment for her. Fighting off monsters while losing comrades, then losing someone dear to her in the chaos. A week after the war ended, despite warnings from Leon Bening, she had searched tirelessly for Maxime Apart and Christine Watson, only to receive a casualty report bearing their names.

Yet Theodora never accepted that report as truth. Until she could see with her own eyes, she couldn’t believe he was gone.

"...I apologize. I shouldn’t have meddled."

Maxime offered a bitter apology. Despite the grief left behind, Theodora had not broken. He wasn’t sure if he should feel grateful or sorrowful for that. She gave him a faint smile, shaking her head.

"No, this is my burden to bear. I can’t afford to stay downtrodden forever."

In the background, the sound of intense sharpening continued. Silence fell between them. Maxime stared at the table, unwilling to disturb the quiet. It wasn’t awkward—rather, it was difficult for him to endure. He wanted to speak, to tell her the truth, to say that it wasn’t her fault, that he was all right.

"...Why are you here at this workshop?"

Theodora broke the silence with a question. Maxime, nervously tapping his fingers, looked up.

"I came to commission a new sword. My current one is worn out, and it might not last through the finals."

"Do you visit this workshop often?"

Maxime shook his head.

"No… it’s my first time. A friend recommended it to me, so I ended up here by chance."

Theodora’s eyes widened in surprise.

"The master took on a new customer?"

Maxime raised an eyebrow at her reaction, puzzled. The First Prince had only mentioned the reputation of the blacksmith and the workshop’s location, saying, ‘If it’s you, he’ll take you as a client,’ but hadn’t shared further details.

"Is that such a big deal?"

Theodora tilted her head, confused by his response.

"Yes, it usually means the master has acknowledged you. If a customer doesn’t meet his standards at first glance, he sends them away without hesitation."

"The master mentioned that you’re also among those few special individuals."

Theodora chuckled softly.

"Did he? At the time, he told me he wouldn’t be taking on any more new customers after me. I didn’t expect him to accept someone new so soon."

Then, she looked intently at Maxime again. Each time she looked at him in his disguise as Arsen, Maxime felt a chill, as if she was trying to see the real him behind the mask.

"Well, the skill I saw from you at the time was impressive enough to earn the master’s recognition."

"I wouldn’t call it that impressive."

As he spoke, Maxime assessed Theodora, recalling their academy days. In pure swordsmanship, he had always held a slight edge. But if they included aura, he couldn’t match her stamina and would have to concede if he didn’t finish quickly.

And now? Could I beat you as I am now?

Seeing Maxime’s gaze, Theodora shifted to meet him with a similar evaluative look, observing his breathing, small movements, stance, and gaze. How long had it been since they’d exchanged such probing glances? Maxime, lost in nostalgia, found himself gazing at her not with a warrior’s eye but simply observing her features.

You’re still just the same as ever.

The slightly tired eyes, the faintly glossy lips even in the dry winter air. He remembered how his hand once brushed her cheek, his thumb gliding over her lips. She would always look at him playfully and lightly brush his finger with her lips.

You remember, too, don’t you?

Before he realized it, Maxime’s hand had reached out, gently lifting a stray strand of hair from near her lips. He quickly cleared his throat and pulled back, realizing how strong old habits could be. Embarrassed, he quickly apologized.

"Sorry. Your hair was in your face, and I… instinctively…."

An excuse, weak at best. Theodora stared at him, seemingly stunned for a moment, then slowly shook her head.

"No, it’s fine."

With a rigid expression, she stood up, opened the workshop door, and left. Maxime, watching her leave, smacked his own head in frustration.

Idiot. She must think I’m insane. No, I really was insane just now.

He slumped forward onto the table, letting out a long sigh. Thomas, who had been listening to the sounds of sharpening in the workshop, poked his head out. He glanced between the empty spot where Theodora had been and Maxime sprawled over the table, scratching his head before cautiously asking,

"Did you just get dumped?"

Maxime shook his head, still facedown on the table. Thomas, taking in Maxime’s uncharacteristic state, scratched his head and returned to his grindstone.

"From the look of it, I’d say yes."

His last comment hit Maxime’s mind like a nail.

 

‘Insane.’

Outside, Theodora took a deep breath of the cold winter air, trying to clear her mind. She’d first seen Arsen Bern as a knight with an unusual aura. He felt… familiar, somehow.

When their eyes had met in the arena, her heart had stirred. Though it was a different face and a different gaze, she had glimpsed Maxime within that look. Watching him converse with Leone during his second match had annoyed her so much that she had vented her anger in her own match.

No, Theodora. He’s not Maxime.

The frozen expression when they first faced each other in the workshop, the calculating look as he assessed her skill—it was all so like Maxime. Just before crossing swords, they had always analyzed each other’s movements, and the way Arsen Bern scrutinized her now was identical.

She wanted to reject the faint warmth she sensed in that cold gaze, to deny the possibility that what she felt was longing.

But that touch.

The way he naturally moved to brush her hair aside, the slender fingers—fitting for a knight yet surprisingly delicate. The slight brush of his fingertips as they lifted her hair from her cheek—at that moment, Theodora couldn’t deny he felt like Maxime.

Even the way he apologized afterward had mirrored Maxime, leaving her no choice but to leave immediately.

No, no, no.

It was just a coincidence, just a resemblance. She shouldn’t see Maxime in him. Theodora shook her head, letting the winter’s chill calm her.

‘…We found no trace. It’s unusual for someone to disappear without a trace like this.’

That’s what the Adventurer’s Guild had told her. She recalled them mentioning interference from an unknown group whenever they tried tracking him down.

‘One thing is certain, though: the person you’re searching for is very likely alive. They might be in hiding, erasing their trail to avoid being found.’

‘Just share any lead you have, however small.’

‘If they’re intentionally concealing themselves, your search could endanger them. Please be patient. We’ll resume the search if the interference subsides.’

Theodora approached the workshop door once more, glancing at its closed entrance. Realizing she had acted impulsively, she decided she should apologize. With a sigh, she turned back toward the workshop.

"...Did he leave?"

The forge’s heat seemed to intensify. She looked around the empty space, then heard footsteps approaching from the back. Thomas, seeing Theodora’s return, raised a brow.

"Weren’t you leaving?"

"Yes. I just stepped out for some fresh air."

"I see. Well, you returned at the right time. Your sword is ready."

He held up her blade. Taking it, Theodora unsheathed it briefly. The blade of her Black Wolf gleamed with its deep, quiet menace. She nodded in satisfaction.

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me. That sword is a masterpiece. I’ll gladly repair it for free anytime."

Her business at the workshop was complete. Just as she was about to leave, she paused.

"Where’s Arsen?"

"I told him to stoke the forge in the corner since he looked like he was moping. He’s probably over there now, blowing on the bellows."

Thomas gestured towards the corner of the workshop.

"Why, were you going to say goodbye?"

Theodora frowned, seeming to ponder the idea before shaking her head. In her current state of confusion, she couldn’t bring herself to face him again. Perhaps once her thoughts were clearer, she would.

"No… I think I’ll go now."

"...Alright. If you ever need another sharpening, feel free to return."

With a small nod to Thomas, Theodora left. Thomas watched her go, certain there was more between her and his new client than they let on. He wouldn’t pry, though—his age and experience had taught him better, and Maxime’s expression had told him all he needed to know.

‘Still sulking, I imagine.’

Thomas clicked his tongue and returned to his work. To his surprise, the black-haired knight was no longer sulking but concentrating on the forge, sweat trickling down his face as he worked.

"That’s enough for now."

Maxime halted his work, wiping the sweat from his brow. The forge glowed fiercely, filling the room with heat. Originally, Thomas had planned to start reforging Maxime’s sword tomorrow, but, inspired by his work on Theodora’s weapon, he decided to begin immediately.

"I’ll start reforging your sword now."

Maxime looked up at Thomas, who had already drawn the blade from its scabbard and was inspecting it.

"I plan to use mithril—white steel. Your sword’s been through a lot, but the aura it carries isn’t just from the foes you’ve slain. It has a purity about it, closer to the holy or sacred than to a cursed or demonic blade."

Thomas picked up a refined mithril ingot, tapping it lightly.

"Can you imagine what it will look like when it’s reborn?"

Maxime gazed at the sword in Thomas’s hands, picturing the gleaming white blade. A name struck him like lightning.

"White Fang."

The name slipped from Maxime’s lips, and Thomas laughed heartily. The name recalled the blade that Theodora had just taken with her.

"Already naming it, are we?"

"...It just came to me, nothing more."

A blade forged of dark iron, a black wolf, and a new white fang of mithril.

Whether it was mere coincidence or a sign of some deeper connection, Thomas looked forward to seeing the stories these two swords would create as he placed Maxime’s blade into the forge.