Luna

Baize, who knew what had happened in the tribe, didn't care about the honorable assassination attempt launched by Blackheart's daughter.

In his eyes, two foolish girls whose brains had been clouded by their sense of honor had once again tried to give their sinful father peace by disturbing the Lady of Death.

Such things were rare, but he didn't care.

Baize was carefully carving the counterweight with a chisel when he suddenly said:

"But what about the magic? This battle-axe is still only half-finished, and it hasn't been infused with magic yet. I'll need some time to prepare the spells and materials. That will take at least half a month.

"Remember, the original site domain is

"If I had enough time, I'd spend another ten years preparing it."

"Bring it up again when you go to Ferode Canyon. I have a feeling..."

"You mean Blood-Fire?" Baize furrowed his brow and stopped working.

"He should be busy sending invitations to the nearby tribes, forming a warband to launch a large-scale raid."

Kas shook his head. Ever since Blood-Fire had taken that piece of Radel, the feast that should have lasted eight days had ended.

He was glad to have a few quiet days, staying in the White House while he waited for the shaman to finish forging the battle-axe.

He found a chair and carried it over to sit beside the shaman. Opening his hand, he stared at his trembling palm, as if it were still stained with blood.

"It was Blackheart's daughters. I... To be honest, their suicide upset me. When I think that they died for a promise as empty as a wisp of smoke, I feel uneasy."

"Two foolish girls. Sigh, you're too sensitive, Kas." Baize sighed helplessly and patted the young man on the shoulder before getting up to find a Moonstone that would fit the battle-axe.

The Moonstone was gray and translucent. Set into the counterweight, it lent the steel-gold battle-axe an air of mystery and simplicity beneath its ornate finish.

Kas took the battle-axe and tested its balance.

It was somewhere between a long-handled battle-axe and a hand axe, about 1.1 meters long—just right for his reach.

It was very heavy. Even as a muscular monster, he found it difficult to swing one-handed. It weighed at least eighteen kilograms.

The edge of the blade was patterned like cracks in glass, like the earth when a permanently frozen glacier melted.

The handle had been polished from oak. Its familiar, warm feel told Kas where it came from.

It was from Ferode Canyon. Only that mysterious place, where life flourished, could make oak so resilient while remaining light.

He ran the blade over his thumb, then smeared his blood along the patterns on the axe face, painting the sun and the Golden-Branch Giant Antlered Deer on the front, and the Sacred Oak and the owl Miraji on the back.

He gripped the axe with both hands, his arm muscles bulging like writhing giant serpents. He raised it behind his shoulder and brought it down in a furious strike against the anvil.

The battle-axe was as sharp as ice. Even without powerful magic, it tore through the anvil that had been hammered tens of thousands of times, its blade sinking easily into the corner.

The force of the rebound sent a sharp pain through the web of his thumb and forefinger. He was completely stunned. Could a hunk of scrap iron really be that hard?

"You idiot! This anvil is a masterpiece that the Black Ash clan spent a hundred years making..." Baize sighed, thinking Kas really could be a Great Wise One sometimes.

He came over to grab the handle with him and pulled the battle-axe out of the anvil with all his strength.

Smearing it with blood meant the weapon now had an owner. Baize gazed at the battle-axe with deep reluctance, like a lovestruck boy watching the girl he secretly adored get stolen away by some blond guy.

He carefully inspected the blade, lifted his shirt hem to wipe the dust from its surface, then kicked the ancestral anvil out of his way in disgust.

"Damn it, hard as a stinking rock."

"All right. Since you're leaving, I won't stop you. I'll find a time to visit you and the Great Shaman..." Having finished the serious business, Baize smiled and pointed at the battle-axe in Kas's hands.

"So, what are you going to name my precious? How about Brachi? It was the first gray wolf in the world. Its fangs were sharp enough to crush mountains and oceans, just like my precious."

The shaman, now more clown than sage, hunched over and carefully held his hand beside the battle-axe.

"Oh, you think it's a great name too, right? The Brachi Battle-Axe. Just wonderful."

"No. Her name is Luna."

"Luna? You gave my precious an elf woman's name?!"

Baize's chin pressed against Kas's chest. His eyes were as wide as bells, and he snorted like an ox.

"No. Absolutely not. It has to be ferocious, like your ancestor Grant Skull-Cleaver.

"Anyone who sees this battle-axe will be scared out of their wits, because they'll know that death is all that awaits them!"

Luna was indeed an elven woman's name, with a meaning in Reshman similar to Seneya's: the moon's daughter, bestowed upon the mortal world.

"I think she seems to like the name." Kas swung the battle-axe lightly. In the firelight, the gray, translucent Moonstone refracted the light like silvery moonbeams.

His thick fingers stroked the blade. The cold steel seeped into his skin, and his voice gradually softened.

"She wasn't forged to kill people, but... to save a girl as beautiful and pure as she is."

The words seemed to move Baize. He watched Kas tenderly stroke Luna and once again realized he couldn't understand this Great Shaman's apprentice.

"All right. She also saved a shaman caught between the present and the future... Luna is a good name."

Kas agreed with Baize that they would meet in Ferode Canyon next year, after the snowstorms had passed, and settle the matter of Radel and Luna.

Then Kas prepared to leave the longhouse and say goodbye to Kaike Blood-Fire.

Baize, who had been lost in thought over Luna, suddenly grabbed him. He was so flustered that he hardly seemed like the spiritual leader of a tribe.

"I have to get the best care supplies for my Luna... Care oil! Where's my care oil? Heli!!"

--

In the White House, Seneya was locked in a battle of wills with a sparrow. She crossed her eyes to stare at the gray-and-white bird perched on her nose, pursing her lips to bare fangs as sharp as daggers.

"Grrr~"

The little bird paid no attention to the werewolf's threat, pecking at the downy feathers as if looking for lice.

"Tweet-tweet~"

Seneya was furious. She opened her broad palm, extended her index finger, and prodded the sparrow's head with a sharp claw, her throat rumbling with a threatening growl.

"Rrrr~"

"Tweet-tweet~" The sparrow impatiently bobbed its head, telling the werewolf to stop interrupting its search for food.

Seneya had no choice. She lay across the table, glaring at the sparrow hopping incessantly on her nose, and gently stroked its little head with her index finger, its feathers soft and smooth.

Nearby, Isidore was gathering firewood. When he saw the werewolf interacting so intimately with the sparrow, he shrank his neck in fear.

This werewolf, whom Kas called Seneya and with whom he was extremely close, made the southerner shudder.

He couldn't understand why Kas was so gentle with a terrifying werewolf. A few times, he'd caught sight of them together, and...

Isidore had to describe it this way: Kas looked as if he were caressing his lover's cheek, and the smile in his eyes was definitely not the sort one gave a pet.

The werewolf suddenly pursed her lips and bared a mouthful of pale fangs that could bite through a human skull. Isidore thought she'd noticed him and hurried to busy himself with the still-burning stove.

Suddenly, he heard light footsteps. He glanced toward the door and saw Kas standing outside, his icy-blue eyes quietly watching Seneya, absorbed in playing with the sparrow.