The Blacksmith never expected this outcome... but then again, who ever wished for death?
Certainly not him.
Who in their right mind would willingly embrace the end?
The Blacksmith stared at the razor-edged weapon aimed directly at his throat.
He had spent days and sleepless nights forging every component with his own hands... only for the masterpiece to be turned against its creator.
His trembling gaze slowly rose toward the one holding it.
A handsome young man stood before him, his expression frighteningly calm. Those icy eyes carried neither anger nor hatred, only a terrifying indifference, as though the life before him weighed less than a speck of dust.
"S-Sir...? Why?"
The blacksmith's entire body trembled uncontrollably.
He had done everything he was asked.
He fulfilled his side of the deal.
He never questioned anything.
Then... why?
Young Aether silently looked into the blacksmith's terrified eyes, his own gaze cold and utterly calculating.
