The two deities arrived at the smithy, where the forging of Azrael's weapon would soon begin. Hephaestus turned to him, his voice steady and knowing. "Your Ichor will greatly enhance the weapon's power," Hephaestus explained. "It will mark it as a true instrument of Death, imbued with your very essence."
Azrael considered her words for a moment before shaking his head. "The divine ichor within me no longer flows." Shock flashed across her face once more. "That's why I couldn't sense your divinity...?" she asked, curiosity laced in her voice.
Azrael nodded. "Precisely. But even if my Ichor still flowed, I would have to reject your kindness." Pacing toward her slowly, he continued, "I'm not sure how a weapon infused with my Ichor would turn out... It's too great a risk."
"But weren't your divine armaments forged from your Ichor?" she asked, stepping closer, her uncovered eye searching his for answers.
Azrael instinctively took a step back, the distance between them growing uncomfortably short. From her expression, Hephaestus seemed to think the same. "It's complicated," Azrael finally said. "My weapons weren't forged—they manifested from my power. In any case, I just don't want to take the risk."
"Boring..." Hephaestus grumbled, clearly unimpressed. "You're bound to break down your weapons fast..." She paused, taking a moment to think. "So, orichalcum would probably be your best bet."
"Orichalcum?" Azrael asked, his curiosity piqued.
"It's the most resistant metal in the world. If I were to create a weapon and infuse it with the Durandal attribute, it will be virtually unbreakable," Hephaestus explained, earning an intrigued smirk from Azrael.
"It sounds perfect," Azrael assured, his voice steady with newfound certainty. "How long will it take to make?"
Hephaestus crossed her arms, her finger tapping against her elbow as she thought. "If I had to guess, a few hours?" Azrael's surprise was evident on his usually blank face. "You sure work fast..."
"Well, I have a few more things I want to do..." he said, walking toward the exit of the room, his footsteps echoing softly. He paused for a brief moment, his gaze lingering on Hephaestus. "When it's done, can you have it sent to Rose Fannett at the guild?" His tone was quiet, almost as though the request carried a weight he wasn't fully sharing.
Before Hephaestus could answer, Azrael had already left the building. He wandered through the streets, softly lit by the gentle orange glow of lanterns burning, their flickering light casting long shadows on the cobblestones. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of night-blooming flowers and damp earth. In the background, the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, though Azrael hardly noticed.
His mind raced, trying to remember the last thing he had planned to do today. "Nope... it's not coming back to me..." he sighed, giving up on chasing the thought. "I suppose tomorrow morning I could check out that 'Monsterphilia' event. I believe it starts tomorrow?"
Azrael shuffled around in his pockets before pulling out a small bag filled with coins. "I don't have much, but I guess I could check out the Hostess for tonight." He glanced at the bag, its contents clinking faintly. It wasn't enough for anything extravagant, but the Hostess was known for its cheap meals and hearty portions. A simple meal might be just what he needed to unwind.
He calmly walked through the dimly lit streets, the soft flicker of lanterns illuminating the evening air. People moved about, setting up stalls and decorations in preparation for the event tomorrow. "Tomorrow morning, before I head out to Monsterphilia, I'll check in with Rose and collect my temporary weapon... Then I'll jump into the lower floors to get some money to spend during the event!"
"Sounds like it's going to be an early night for me." he muttered to himself as he entered the bustling environment of the Hostess. Inside, adventurers were laughing, eating, drinking, and overall basking in the homey, lively atmosphere. The scent of hearty meals filled the air, and the warm glow of candles added to the welcoming ambiance.
On entrance, as if on cue, Syr greeted him. He still didn't have a clear grasp on the girl, but he was certain she was some kind of Goddess. Flickers of all the gods he had met in heaven rushed through his mind, like a kaleidoscope of memories, each image sharp and fleeting, blending together into a dizzying display of divinity. Azrael had met many gods, but the majority of them had been murdered during his rampage. Of the gods he hadn't killed, there were few he had spoken to, so it was possible that he simply didn't know her.
"Oh! It's you, Azazel!" Syr greeted. Azrael's eyes went wide, a flash of panic crossing his face as if to say, 'Crap, I totally forgot I called myself that.' "It's good to see you, Syr," he spoke, returning her greeting, though his mind was mostly preoccupied with how he would ask Rose to change his name.
"Have you come here for some drinks, perhaps? Alcohol is 25% off for the festival period," Syr spoke clearly, a hint of persuasion in her voice as she tried to get him to make a purchase. "No, I'm running low on cash right now. I'm just here for a meal today, thanks for the offer though. Perhaps I might come round tomorrow."
"I see, that's alright then. Well, what would you like today?" Syr asked, her voice warm and accommodating. The cacophony of joy and laughter around him seemed to fade as Azrael focused intently on the menu, scanning it carefully. His mind sifted through the options, weighing taste and price with the precision of someone accustomed to making quick, efficient decisions.
"Could I get the boar stew?" Azrael asked. It was one of the cheaper meals but also incredibly tasty, in his opinion. The rich, hearty flavours of tender boar meat mixed with vegetables and broth always hit the spot, especially when he needed something filling without spending too much.
"Alright, perfect. I'll go tell Mama Mia." Syr said with a smile, strolling away toward the kitchen. Azrael sat back, left alone with his thoughts. His mind drifted as he imagined the warmth of the stew, the rich flavours, and the comfort it would bring. He could almost taste the savory broth and tender meat as he sat there, the noise of the tavern fading into the background, replaced by the quiet hum of his own hunger and anticipation.