Luna

Baize, who knew what had transpired within the tribe, did not care for the honor-suicide initiated by Blackheart's daughters.

In his eyes, they were merely two foolish girls whose brains had been overwhelmed by a sense of honor, attempting to grant their sinful father peace by disturbing the Lady of Death.

Such things were rare, but he remained indifferent.

Baize, who was meticulously carving a counterweight with a chisel, suddenly spoke:

"But what of the magic? This battle-axe is still a semi-finished product; it has yet to be imbued with magic. I need time to prepare the incantations and materials—at least half a month.

If time allowed, I would spend ten years preparing it."

"Save that talk for when you reach Ferode Canyon. I have a premonition..."

"Are you referring to Blood-Fire?" Baize frowned deeply, stopping his work:

"He should be busy sending invitations to 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 banquet that should have lasted eight days had come to a halt.

He was happy to enjoy a few days of leisure, staying in the White House while waiting for the Shaman to finish forging the battle-axe.

He pulled over a chair, sat down beside the Shaman, and spread his hands, staring at his palms, which seemed to tremble as if still stained with blood:

"It was Blackheart's daughters. I... honestly, their suicide makes me feel terrible. Just thinking that they died for an illusory promise makes me uneasy."

"Two foolish girls. Sigh, you are too sensitive, Kas." Baize sighed helplessly, patted the young man's shoulder, and stood up to search for a moonstone that matched the axe's dimensions.

The moonstone was gray and translucent; embedded in the counterweight, it gave the steel-gold battle-axe a sense of mystery and rustic charm beneath its magnificence.

Kas took the battle-axe and tested its weight.

The length was between a long-handled battle-axe and a one-handed axe, roughly 1.1 meters, fitting his arm span perfectly.

It was heavy—even for a muscle-bound monster like him, swinging it with one hand was strenuous; it weighed at least eighteen kilograms.

The edge of the blade featured patterns like glass fractures, resembling the earth as a permafrost glacier melts.

The handle was polished from oak, and the familiar, warm texture told Kas its origin.

It came from Ferode Canyon; only that mysterious land, which nurtured life, could allow oak to remain incredibly tough while staying lightweight.

He wiped the blade against his thumb, tracing the patterns on the axe face to coat the sun, the Golden-Branch Giant Antlered Deer, the Sacred Oak on the back, and the owl Miraji with his blood.

Gripping the axe with both hands, his arm muscles bulging like writhing pythons, he raised it behind his shoulder and swung it at the anvil in a rage-filled strike.

The battle-axe was as sharp as ice; even without the infusion of powerful magic, it tore through the anvil that had been hammered millions of times, the blade sinking easily into the corner of the block.

He was then stunned by the rebounding force that made the web of his hand ache; he was completely dumbfounded—could a piece of scrap iron be this hard?

"You idiot, this anvil is a masterpiece crafted by the Black Ash lineage over a hundred years..." Baize sighed, feeling that Kas was truly a Great Wise One at times.

He stepped forward to grab the handle with him, pulling the battle-axe, which had embedded itself slightly into the anvil, out with a grunt.

Coating it in blood meant the weapon now had a master. Baize stared at the battle-axe with lingering attachment, much like a boy in the throes of first love watching his crush being snatched away by a rival.

He carefully inspected the condition of the blade, wiped the gray dust from the surface with the corner of his robe, and kicked the obstructive ancestral anvil in disgust:

"Damn it, it's as hard as a foul rock."

"Alright, since you are leaving, I will not stop you. I will choose a time to visit you, and the Great Shaman..." Having finished the serious talk, Baize smiled and pointed at the axe in Kas's hand:

"So, what name will you give my precious baby? How about Brachi? That was the first gray wolf in the world; its sharp fangs were enough to crush mountains and oceans, just like my precious baby."

The Shaman, who had turned into a comedian, hunched over slightly, carefully hovering his hands near the battle-axe:

"Oh, you think that's a great name too, right? The Brachi Axe, it's simply wonderful."

"No, her name is Luna."

"Luna? You gave my precious baby the name of an elven wench?!"

Baize's chin rested against Kas's chest, his eyes widened like copper bells, his nostrils breathing with the heavy force of an ox:

"No, absolutely not. It must be fierce, just like your ancestor Grant Skull-Cleaver.

Anyone who sees this battle-axe will be terrified out of their wits, because they will know that only death awaits them!"

Luna was indeed an elven female name, similar in meaning to Seneya in the Reshman language, signifying the daughter gifted to the mortal world by the moon.

"I think she seems to like the name." Kas swung the battle-axe, the gray translucent moonstone refracting silver veils like moonlight in the firelight.

His thick fingers gently stroked the blade, the cold touch of the steel seeping into his skin, his tone gradually softening:

"She was not forged for the purpose of killing, but... to save a girl as beautiful and pure as she is."

This sentence seemed to touch Baize. He stared at Kas, who was gently stroking "Luna," and felt once again that he could not understand this apprentice of the Great Shaman.

"Fine, she has also saved a Shaman struggling between the present and the future... Luna, it is a good name."

Having agreed with Baize to meet in Ferode Canyon once the winds and snows of next year had cleared to resolve the matters of Radel and Luna, Kas prepared to leave the longhouse to bid farewell to Kaike Blood-Fire.

Baize, who was lost in thought about Luna, suddenly grabbed him, his movements and expression flustered, not at all like the spiritual leader of a tribe.

"I must prepare the best maintenance tools for my Luna... maintenance oil, where is my maintenance oil? Heli!!"

Inside the White House, Seneya was locked in a contest of wills with a sparrow, her eyes crossed as she stared at the grey-white bird perched on the tip of her nose, her lips curled back to reveal fangs as sharp as daggers.

"Hrr-owl~"

The bird remained completely indifferent to the werewolf's threat, continuing to peck at its downy feathers in search of potential lice.

"Chirp, chirp~"

Seneya grew frustrated; she spread her broad palm, extended her index finger, and poked the sparrow's head with a sharp claw, emitting a low, threatening growl from her throat.

"Awoo~"

"Chirp, chirp~" The sparrow shook its head impatiently, signaling for the werewolf not to interfere with its search for food.

Defeated, Seneya slumped onto the table, her eyes fixed on the sparrow as it hopped incessantly across her nose, her index finger gently stroking its soft, feathered head.

Nearby, Isidore, who was busy gathering firewood, shrank his neck in fear at the sight of the werewolf interacting so intimately with the sparrow.

This werewolf, whom Kas addressed as Seneya and with whom he shared an extremely close relationship, sent shivers down the Southerner's spine.

He could not fathom why Kas would be so tender toward a terrifying werewolf; the few times he had glimpsed their interactions, it had been...

Isidore could only describe it as akin to caressing a lover's cheek; the smile in Kas's eyes was certainly not that of someone teasing a pet.

The werewolf suddenly curled her lips, revealing a set of ghastly white fangs capable of biting through a human skull. Fearing he had been discovered, Isidore hurriedly busied himself with the still-burning stove.

Suddenly, the sound of light footsteps reached him. He looked toward the door and found Kas standing outside, his icy blue eyes watching Seneya, who was still engrossed in her playful antics with the sparrow.