Then Archery is my path

I entered the guild hall and approached the registry office, but the events unfolded a little differently than the last time. After I mentioned the name Vaylith, the lady at the registry desk informed me that I could go directly to Mr. Henry, who was in his office on the 19th floor.

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

The office was spacious, adorned with precious yet modest decorations. Mr. Henry was seated at his desk, looking more relaxed—and perhaps even a little happier—than when I last saw him.

"Hello, Mr. Henry," I greeted.

"Oh, Kail!" he exclaimed with a broad grin. "I'm glad to see you again."

"As far as I can tell, you've managed to sort out some of your problems," I said, noting his improved mood.

"Finally! That shameless brat of mine got out of the forge, and I dumped all the work on his head. Just imagining how he's struggling now brings me so much happiness."

"I'm happy for you," I replied, amused.

"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "what can I help you with this time? But let me make it clear—no more gifts."

"Of course," I assured him. "Do you know a good non-aether armor maker?"

He chuckled. "I represent the biggest guild in this field. Of course, I do."

"Can you recommend one? I'm looking to order two pieces of 3-star armor for myself."

"Hmmm…" He rubbed his chin. "Sure, I can recommend someone. But you understand the kind of money you're talking about, don't you? Including materials, you're looking at a minimum of a million VA."

My stomach sank.

I should've accepted Mr. Urif's proposal when he offered to cover the costs.

"How much would the cost decrease if we exclude the aether-conducting metals?" I asked.

"About a third of the price would drop, but even then, you're still looking at around 600,000 VA," he replied.

I sighed. Even if I take on a mission from the agency, I won't be able to scrape together more than 100,000 VA.

"In that case," I said, "I'll have to come back at another time."

Mr. Henry studied me for a long moment before a sly smile spread across his face.

"The price I mentioned is for an active blacksmith. But if you really need it, there's another option."

His words piqued my interest. "Yes? What is it?"

"For example," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "an old man who hasn't lit a fire in his forge for a while."

I paused, considering the pros and cons of such an option.

"Well," I said after a moment of thought, "if you're recommending it, then I have no reason to refuse."

Mr. Henry let out a booming laugh. "Ho, ho, ho! You've got a way with words, boy. Don't worry. That old master also made armor for your Master."

My eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Then I'll definitely accept! Can you tell me how to contact him?"

"There's no need," he said, his grin widening. "He's standing right in front of you."

A moment of silence fell over the room as the realization sank in.

"Mr. Henry," I said finally, my voice filled with gratitude, "I truly appreciate this offer. But… I don't think I'll ever be able to afford your services."

"Oh, come on now," Mr. Henry said with a laugh. "I haven't touched tools in ages. I've definitely lost some of my old skills."

"It doesn't matter," I replied confidently. "Even if a predator grows old and loses some teeth, it'll still take down its prey faster than anyone can react. You were in your prime during the war with the elves. I doubt anyone could count how many fell to weapons forged by your hands."

"That's enough," Mr. Henry cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. "If I said I'd make you the armor, then I'll make it. That's the end of it. Now let's head to the workshop and take your measurements."

"Thank you," I said, bowing slightly out of respect.

We left the guild building and drove to the blacksmith's workplace, located in the industrial zone 200 kilometers outside the city. Despite the distance, the modernized roads ensured the journey took no more than 30 minutes.

The industrial area was vast, packed with factories of all kinds—metallurgical, chemical, pharmacological, and energy plants. Among these giants, we made our way to the guild's branch, which sprawled across a massive area with several metallurgical facilities powered by enormous temperatures.

Surprisingly, Mr. Henry led me to a quieter corner of the complex, far from the bustling activity. What appeared to be a simple house stood there, its reinforced walls fitted with modern ventilation systems. Pipes snaked along its exterior, disappearing underground.

"Welcome to my real home," Mr. Henry said with a grin, opening the door and gesturing for me to step inside.

The interior was crammed with tools of all kinds, from ancient and worn to sleek and state-of-the-art. In one corner stood a massive smelter, which Mr. Henry promptly activated by channeling a small amount of aether into its controls.

"That damn idiot didn't even think to replace the damaged parts," he muttered, glancing at a nearby table piled with components.

"Alright," he said, turning back to me. "Let's get started with your armor. Activate all the components you have right now."

Without hesitation, I followed his instructions.

Mana Armis: Left Foot, Left Hand, Right Shoulder, Head

2nd Form Condensation

When he saw my armor, a look of surprise crossed his face.

"Why did you open the head armor? What's Evans teaching you these days?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I have Windweave Vision," I explained. "That's why I unlocked it."

Hearing this, Mr. Henry's shock deepened.

"Kail, do you have any idea what you're carrying?" he said, his voice dropping. "Most Mana Masters would raze entire cities to get something like that."

"Why?" I asked, genuinely confused. "It only lets me see wind currents. I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"Maybe not now," he said, shaking his head. "But as you grow stronger, you'll realize just how lucky you are to have it. Anyway, let's move on. We have work to do."

Thus began an exhaustive session of measurements, covering everything from my right leg and arm to the aether I emit, the armor's expansion limits, how it would adhere to my body, and how it would dissipate heat.

Each detail was crucial. The type of aether emitted defines the armor's elemental alignment, necessitating materials that won't degrade under its influence. For instance, someone with an Ignis constitution requires metals resistant to extreme heat, while someone with a Ventus constitution needs flexible materials to avoid tangling during rapid movements.

After nearly two hours, Mr. Henry concluded his calculations, marking down his findings after every measurement.

"Fortunately, you share many of the same characteristics as Evans," he remarked. "That makes this process easier. The real challenges will arise when you unlock more parts of the armor."

"What kind of challenges?" I asked, intrigued.

"Your arteries are unusually large, which means the amount of aether your armor will absorb will increase significantly. That absorption will generate intense heat, potentially causing severe burns if left unchecked."

"I had no idea this could be an issue," I admitted.

"For most people, it isn't," he explained. "They need armor because their arteries are too small for forming an Aether Armor. Your case is different."

"So, what's the solution?"

"For the next ten years or so, this won't be a concern. You'd need to unlock additional armor parts before it becomes problematic."

"That makes sense. What materials will you need?"

"I'll use the same alloy I used for Evans' armor. All you need to provide is the aether-conductive component."

"Understood. Should I send it directly to this address?" I asked.

"Yes. The guards will notify me when it arrives."

"At the moment, I can only afford to pay 100,000 VA," I admitted, lowering my gaze. "But I promise to repay you fully in the future."

I felt a deep sense of shame as I said this. People would sacrifice nearly anything—sometimes even their children—for the chance to own something crafted by the leader of the Iron Spark Guild.

Mr. Henry, however, didn't even glance up. "Forget it," he said flatly. "I won't take your money now. Pay me when you've stabilized."

Before I could respond, he shooed me out of the workshop, grumbling, "Get out of here. I have a lot of work to do." The door slammed shut behind me before I could utter another word.

I promptly sent a message to Rebeca, providing the address for the delivery of the materials. She responded almost immediately, confirming that they would arrive within a week.

So, I had completed two parts of my plan before entering the academy. Only one step remained—the most critical, and the one that could upend everything, forcing me to attend a regular academy instead. While that option would still allow me to forge useful connections, it wasn't what I wanted.

Only if I enter Altgard will I be able to prove the Cindercrest clan was wrong to throw me away. Prove that Master was a national treasure. Prove that heroes of humanity can be born outside the clans.

August 5, 3108

At the Medical Facility

"We've received your results. Your physical condition is nearly ideal. No defects were detected in your aether arteries, and your Ventus constitution is fully developed. We also confirmed that you are a ManaArmis User," the doctor began.

"What's the ejection fraction?" I interrupted, impatient for the most crucial detail.

"Your ejection fraction is 79%. Congratulations, you're eligible to—"

I didn't hear the rest. My thoughts drowned his words as everything around me seemed to blur. My doctor's theory had been correct—my arteries had expanded, increasing my ejection fraction by 4%. But not 5%.

Seriously, just 1%? Only 1% is keeping me from participating in the admissions process!

I pulled myself out of my frustration and focused back on the doctor, who continued reading the other results.

"Excuse me," I interrupted again, trying to keep my voice steady. "Are you absolutely sure that my ejection fraction is 79%?"

"Yes," he replied firmly. "We verify it using multiple methods, and all of them confirmed 79%."

"And there's no possibility that 1% was lost during the measurements?"

"No," he said, his tone growing more serious. "We are confident in the accuracy of these results."

I hesitated for a moment before asking, "Then… is there any way to raise my result by 1%?"

The doctor's expression hardened. His voice carried a stern weight. "That is strictly prohibited and penalized under our regulations. No, we cannot manipulate your results. If you're dissatisfied, you are welcome to seek another clinic, but I assure you the outcome will remain unchanged."

"Understood. Thank you."

I visited three more clinics, clinging to the faint hope that someone might find a mistake or offer a different result. Each time, the answer was the same: 79%.

79%. So close yet so far. Truly cruel.