Absolute Craft-Chapter 75: White Oni (3)

Chapter 75: White Oni (3)

It was a new day.

Blake logged in and greeted his companions.

"Blake! Eat!" Sol demanded.

Blake had forged a short dagger for his little one the day before. He placed it on the table, letting Sol devour this unusual breakfast like a small glutton. Meanwhile, Beatrix peeked out from his shadow, watching as he donned the gatekeepers’ gear.

In the blink of an eye, he looked just like one of her former allies. He had considered crafting fresh equipment for this trek to the mountain’s spire—his old gear was broken—but making new armor would be both time-consuming and resource-intensive. Instead, he opted for the gear taken from defeated foes, sufficient to protect him from the cold. If it got too frigid, he could always rely on Sol’s warmth.

Sheathing his katana, Blake addressed his teammates. "Let’s go. Beatrix, lead the way."

In an unusual turn, Beatrix would serve as their guide. She emerged from Blake’s shadow, stepped outside, and pushed open the smithy’s doors, confronting the raging blizzard head-on. From here on, conditions would only worsen.

Following her lead, Blake and Sol faced the storm in their own ways. The little elemental flew ahead with determination, while Blake shielded the crack in his visor with one hand, pressing forward.

Scaling the mountain wasn’t easy, but Blake and Sol were determined to replicate what Beatrix had accomplished earlier. Snow battered them relentlessly, obscuring their vision and reminding them of the blizzard the Stone Troll General had once summoned. Recalling that memory spurred them onward.

After about an hour, the trio reached a relatively flat area near the mountain’s spire. The wind roared incessantly in Blake’s helmet, and he could scarcely see more than a few steps ahead. The world around him was so white that he felt momentarily isolated, barely making out the faint silhouettes of Beatrix and Sol.

Here, his shadow archer had trained to sense even the subtlest changes in weather and terrain, then dominate them with her arrows. Imagining how she managed to fire a shot in these conditions made Blake realize how intensely Beatrix had been pushing herself.

He smiled without remarking on it.

Instead, he opened his inventory, scanning the icons for the resources he’d prepared. In a single thought, he produced several steel bars, scattering them on the snowy ground. He’d prepared them the previous day, a simple process with his Volcanic Mold.

"The hints suggest this spot can turn ordinary steel into Ice Steel," he said. "Beatrix spent days up here, and her armor finally gave out. The same thing might happen to these bars. I’m not sure what else we need, but we’ll handle it as we go."

He suspected that some aspect of Beatrix’s earlier ordeal might be key to Blizzard Cultivation, and he was determined to unravel it now.

No sooner had Blake begun pondering additional conditions than the snow swallowed the steel bars whole. A colossal gust tore through the group, forcing them to flatten themselves against the ground—Sol, of course, clung to Blake’s helmet.

In that single, powerful blast, all the steel bars went flying, scattering across the slopes around the mountain’s spire as if they wanted to play hide-and-seek.

Blake grimaced.

He was about to sprint after them when Beatrix stepped in front and stopped him. He met her gaze, seeing solid determination in her eyes. She looked like a small black demon in a world of white.

It occurred to him that this was her battlefield, so he should let her handle it on her own terms. Bombarding her with questions would be pointless—and perhaps insulting.

Still, a flicker of worry tugged at him. He didn’t doubt her abilities, but the blizzard was ramping up. If Beatrix failed again, would she ever forgive herself?

The thought caught him off guard. Typically, he regarded defeat as a lesson—something to learn from before moving on. Without defeat, after all, there was no growth.

Yet here he was, more worried about Beatrix’s emotional well-being than anything else.

What could he say? Nothing? Let her focus?

Before she moved, Blake spoke. "Ninety-six bars. That’s how many I brought."

Beatrix nodded and vanished into the swirling snow. The storm reminded her all too well of the adversary she had vowed to overcome alongside Blake and Sol. Sharpening her innate senses, she forged a new awareness to track the faintest shifts in the storm and the contours of the terrain below.

With those heightened perceptions, she detected anomalies: her master’s steel bars. Something—maybe mana or a similar force—appeared to coil around them as she locked onto each location.

She monitored the transformation carefully. After about an hour, it subsided, implying it was complete.

Drawing her bowstring, Beatrix loosed a flurry of arrows, each imbued with her shadow element. They cut through the storm, embedding themselves in the ground near each steel bar, forming tiny dark specks against the endless white.

Blake took note of them all, marking their positions on his minimap. Then he glanced at Sol, who had turned himself into something like a living stone, lowering his heat so he barely melted the snow around him. Plainly, his training was working.

Standing, Blake made his way to the nearest steel bar. Beatrix joined him, and together they cleared the snow from the spot, uncovering a rough block of ice. Inside it lay Ice Steel, shining with its unique properties.

Blake smiled, and Beatrix mirrored his expression.

Almost in tandem, they drew their pickaxes and started mining. It was anything but easy in these conditions, but the fact that they were together was more than enough.

Sol soon joined them, enveloping the area in a gentle, warming glow that eased their burden.

"Well done, Beatrix. You nailed it," Blake said, swinging his pickaxe.

Beatrix paused, looked at him, and resumed her efforts.

How she wished she could express her thanks in words.

Beatrix channeled her frustration into raw force and speed, mining even faster. Seeing this, Blake took it as a challenge, quickening his own pace in response.