The Price of Power
The first light of dawn crept through the dusty window blinds of the inn. Ruko groaned as it hit his face and rolled onto his side. The wooden floor creaked, Kazuma snored like a broken saw, and Aqua mumbled something about "beer debt forgiveness" in her sleep.
"Another day in paradise," Ruko muttered, rubbing his eyes.
His pouch jingled faintly when he checked it. A few silver coins, maybe enough for breakfast and a half-priced potion—if he got lucky. He sighed. "Still broke. Why do I feel like the world's charging me extra just to breathe?"
Kazuma yawned from his bed. "You're still complaining about money? Dude, welcome to my life."
Ruko smirked. "Yeah, but people actually sell you things without doubling the price."
Kazuma frowned. "Wait, they do that to you?"
"They call it a 'special tax.' Whatever that means."
He got up, washed his face, and threw on his dark jacket—the same one he'd woken up in when he first arrived in this world. He stared at himself in the cracked mirror. His skin had a faint golden hue in the morning light, and his dark eyes still had that sharp, lazy calm that made people uncomfortable. "Guess being mysterious comes with a price," he muttered.
When he stepped into town with Kazuma's party, the usual chaos awaited them. Merchants yelled, adventurers bragged, and Aqua instantly ran off to beg for drinks. Ruko followed them to the guild hall, where he leaned against the counter while Kazuma picked missions.
His 1000 IQ skill flickered for a second — automatically scanning the quest board. His mind calculated probabilities, rewards, monster density, even the average survival rate of adventurers who took each job. In less than two seconds, he knew which ones were scams and which ones paid well.
"Hmm," he muttered. "These three are traps, that one's a setup, and that one's just suicidal."
"Then which one do we take?" Kazuma asked.
Ruko smirked. "The easy one with the least pay. We're broke, not dead."
"Wise words," Kazuma said flatly.
Megumin turned toward him mid-bite of her bread. "Ruko, why don't you use a weapon? You just fight barehanded like some kind of monk."
Ruko tilted his head. "I can't use normal weapons."
"Can't or won't?" Darkness asked, curious.
"Can't. Every weapon I touch breaks or bends out of shape."
Kazuma blinked. "What, are you cursed?"
He sighed. "No. Just... limited."
A brief silence fell. Even Aqua stopped slurping for once. Ruko didn't explain further, but his thoughts drifted. The Sealer's voice from his memories echoed faintly:
> "Until you forge what's truly yours, you will remain incomplete."
The seal mark under his sleeve pulsed faintly, and his heart thudded once, hard. He exhaled slowly. "I need something of my own. My own weapon, mask, and form."
Later that evening, Ruko slipped out of the inn. The night air in Axel was calm — stars scattered across the sky, the town alive only with faint laughter from the bars. He wandered toward the blacksmith's district, boots echoing softly on the cobblestone.
When he entered the forge, the blacksmith barely looked up. "You here to buy, sell, or waste my time?"
Ruko leaned against the counter, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm here to make something new."
The old man grunted. "Everyone says that until they see the price."
"I'm not asking for your steel," Ruko said. "I'm looking for something stronger — rarer. A metal that doesn't belong to this world. Ever heard of Orichalcum?"
The blacksmith's hammer froze mid-swing. He turned, eyes wide. "That's no metal for mortals. Even the gods failed to forge it properly. It rejects impurity."
"Good," Ruko said quietly. "So do I."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I'll need three materials. One for a weapon, one for a mask, and one for my body. Equal strength, same origin. Only then will they accept my blood."
The blacksmith frowned. "You're talking madness."
"Maybe," Ruko said, flashing a lazy grin. "But madness gets results."
As he left the forge, he caught his reflection in a puddle outside. His face flickered for an instant, replaced by a distorted image of a merchant he'd argued with earlier — pig-faced and snorting. He grimaced.
"Tch. That's not a good look," he muttered. "Guess my disgust's getting creative."
In the distance, a shadow moved on a nearby rooftop — a cloaked woman with glowing silver eyes. She watched silently as Ruko disappeared down the street.
"Fragments awakening… emotions unstable…" she whispered to herself. "He's beginning to remember."