Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Mundane Blacksmith
This was a few weeks ago.
Reo, his form hunched, was in the throes of intense exertion, each heavy breath escaping his lips a testament to the rigorous workout. The bare canvas of his chest and back undulated with the effort, generating a heat that fueled a cascade of sweat, forming a small pool at his feet—a tangible measure of his commitment and determination.
The afternoon sun, its rays piercing through the room's small openings, cast a golden glow on Reo's ebony hair, now a glossy sheen saturated with sweat. Strands, once meticulously in place, clung to his face, wet with the evidence of his strenuous physical endeavor.
His eyes, once vibrant, had undergone a subtle transformation since the 'incident,' now resembling two dreary pools of darkness. The room's atmosphere, heightened by the trickling rays of sunlight, bore witness to this evolution, a marked change etched in the depths of his gaze.
Reflecting on the passage of days, Reo questioned how long he had persisted in this rigorous routine. Day after day, he dedicated half his time to subjecting his small, fragile body to relentless pressure, pushing himself until his limbs trembled and his muscles ignited with a burning soreness.
How long had it been since he began lifting now?
"D-dammit..." He cursed in a shaky breath.
Reo had recently started training with his father, Cliff, in the art of swordsmanship. Every session pushed him to confront the full scope of his limits as he practiced an almost endless number of sword swings each day. The repetitive drills compelled Reo to explore the boundaries of his physical and mental capabilities, testing his endurance and resilience with each swing of the blade.
As he delved into the mandatory muscle mass training imposed by Cliff, Reo gradually recognized its essential role. Initially skeptical, he deemed it unnecessary, considering his innate physical prowess. From the moment he entered this world, Reo had possessed remarkable physical abilities beyond the reach of someone his tender age, requiring no effort or workout to maintain.
His stamina surpassed not only his peers but also some adults, bestowing upon him a unique and formidable gift. The extraordinary power concealed within his modest frame made him nearly impervious to physical exhaustion. The amalgamation of these factors made it a Herculean task for Reo to feel worn out.
Even Cliff, at one point, was forced to recognize the innate gift of his son during one of their swinging sessions. But even with all this, Reo had been brought to the very brink of his seemingly physically endless exhaustion, time and time again
The relentless training, however, provided a new perspective. It unfolded the necessity of honing not just the natural gifts but also sculpting his body through deliberate effort. As the daily routines continued, Reo's understanding deepened, and he acknowledged the value of both his innate abilities and the structured training, realizing they could coexist to shape him into a more formidable force.
Reo released a weighty sigh, then stood tall, straightening his back and lifting his chin. His gaze ascended, fixing on the ceiling above. Beads of sweat adorned his bare torso, causing it to glisten like a gentle shimmer in the mid-afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. This illumination accentuated the subtle definition of his developing muscles and the sculpted contours of his physique,—a tangible testament to the tireless weeks and days spent in unwavering dedication to shaping and refining his body.
Basking in the warmth o the leaking sun, his nose perked up a few times, his two dark eyes flashed in attention.
"Hm?" Raising his chin a little higher, Reo sniffed the air of his environment and his face scrunched up in recoil. Then he faced his sweaty body, barely managing to lift his numbly trembling arms and sniffed under his armpits before sharply grabbing his nose.
The air held an unusual, cloying moisture, saturated with the warm scent of sweat and heat. This aroma, intensified and concentrated, lingered prominently around his armpits and body.
Reo emitted the distinct odor of a young male undergoing the throes of puberty, his essence permeating the air with the undeniable reek of extertion.
'I need a bath.' Reo concluded grimly before walking out the room, then quickly turning back in to further push open his room window to let all the unwelcomed smell out.
Reo Bellar moved through the quiet halls of his home, his eyes cool and neutral. His face remained still, reflecting an air of indifference. A soft whistle of the wind caught his attention, prompting him to peer through a small window in the corridor. Below, the backyard unfolded.
His focus honed in on a small yet noticeable crater at the backyard's center, just a few feet from where he stood. Fixated on this sight, Reo observed Cliff within the crater. Armed with a simple wooden sword, Cliff executed precise arcs with a serene and neutral stance, leaving an artistic imprint on the ground. The rhythmic dance of the wind and the rhythmic motions of Cliff's sword created a tranquil yet captivating scene in the backyard sanctuary.
The young man stood shirtless, proudly showcasing Cliff's robust physique adorned with meticulously sculpted muscles and defined abs. Broad shoulders supported by taut strings framed his large back, each powerful swing causing muscles to ripple. With each broad motion, his bare skin, drenched in sweat, shimmered alluringly like fine dust in the breeze.
The sheen of sweat on his bare skin caught the sunlight, transforming it into a mesmerizing shimmer that danced like ethereal dust in the wind.
Reo, momentarily captivated, found himself immersed in the seamless dance of Cliff's swordplay. Each swing, a masterpiece of precision, unfolded with an otherworldly beauty that held a peculiar allure.
Despite Reo's recent initiation into the art of swordsmanship, he instinctively discerned the subtle expertise embedded in Cliff's movements. With every sweeping arc, Cliff wielded the blade with a veteran's finesse, leaving a trail of both flowing grace and an undercurrent of formidable power hanging in the air.
"Ara~. He's at it again today, too," Reo's enchantment dissolved momentarily with the delicate melody of Layla's voice, breaking the spell that Cliff's swordplay had woven.
Turning towards the source of the interruption, Reo discovered his beautiful mother standing beside him, her gaze fixed on the same window with a smile that carried unspoken depth. Layla's usually free-flowing brown hair was now neatly tied up with a cloth, an apron adorned her form, and a small rag completed her ensemble—a familiar sight that signaled her immersion in the daily tasks that kept their home running seamlessly.
Her current attire, a departure from the casual elegance she usually wore, spoke volumes about the duality of Layla's roles.
The tied-up hair and practical apron conveyed a sense of purpose in domestic chores, yet the subtle nuances of her style, even in the midst of housework, showcased an enchanting figure.
In contrast to this domestic charm, Layla, in her casual clothes with flowing hair, had a different allure that subtly enhanced her captivating style, highlighting the versatility of a woman who effortlessly transitioned between the roles of caretaker and charismatic presence in their home.
Observing his mother for a brief moment, Reo couldn't help but notice the enchantment reflected in her gaze and the meaningful smile that graced her lips. Suppressing a subtle urge to wiggle his eyebrows mischievously, the young boy redirected his attention to the window, a meaningful smile of his own playing on his features.
"Like what you see, Mother?" he teased, side-glancing at Layla with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Layla, caught off guard, stuttered in response. A mild flush tinted her cheeks as she was abruptly pulled out of her reverie by her son's playful remark. Noticing the small 'polite' smile on Reo's lips, she detected a subtle mischievous undertone beneath, leaving her momentarily flustered by the unexpected exchange.
Layla's laughter, a gentle melody in the air, danced before her son. Her voice, akin to an enchanted whisper, carried a playful tone as she spoke:
"You little rascal. Do you enjoy teasing your poor mother like so?"
In response, Reo adorned a warm, subtle smile—genuine and honest. Layla, pleasantly surprised, found herself captured by the authenticity of his expression. It had been a while since Reo had genuinely smiled like that, a warmth that seemed to reach his eyes. In the aftermath of the incident, her son had become somewhat detached, a subtle disillusionment casting its shadow over him. His eyes, once vibrant, had taken on a deeper, darker shade, and the smiles he offered felt like polite masks, concealing the echoes of something deeper within. The genuine warmth in his smile now hinted at a flicker of the Reo she had known, a glimmer of the son who had momentarily resurfaced from beneath the weight of recent struggles.
Reo, on the other hand, had other thoughts of his whole this went on.
As Reo silently observed Cliff's display outside, he found himself drifting into a not-so-distant memory, a recollection that felt more like a dream than reality. His mind wandered to that pivotal moment when Cliff confronted the black sorcerer at the chapel's altar—an unexpected revelation of skill and power from his seemingly third-rate blacksmith father.
His thoughts ventured even further, this time delving into a story he had recently heard from both Cliff and Layla. It was a tale of how this seemingly 'mundane' blacksmith came into being.
A memory surfaced, and Reo pondered, 'Uhm... what was it called again? The Blood Knight?'
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone