Danmachi: A Mage's Journey

"Haha, so this is your new look? You look really cute, but those dark circles under your eyes are far too heavy."

Astraea chuckled softly, her delicate fingers brushing gently against the tired skin beneath Akira's eyes. Her laughter was light, but the concern in her voice was genuine.

Akira let out a sigh, his expression a mix of resignation and annoyance.

He said, "Yeah… that's why I don't like using this form. It really does look like I've been pulling all-nighters every day. Even worse, it's not just about looks."

"The longer I stay in this state, the more I start to feel like my sanity is… slipping. Sometimes, I can even hear strange whispers—like voices murmuring just beyond comprehension."

With a faint shimmer of magic power, his form reverted back into his standard Elemental Blaster appearance.

The unnatural aura and dark circles vanished, and once again, he looked like the usual bright, determined boy everyone knew. The strange, oppressive line of sight that always seemed to follow him when he was in that form was gone.

Astraea tilted her head and smiled. "Oh right, that reminds me. Akira, are you planning to give yourself an alias soon?"

Akira blinked in confusion and asked, "Alias?"

Astraea leaned in, her smile turning sly. She said, "Denatus is coming up. It's not just about politics, you know. Everyone loves showing off their 'children.' And your achievements will definitely draw attention. If you don't choose an alias for yourself, my fellow gods will happily make one up for you. And trust me… you won't like it."

Akira froze. His mouth twitched, and his gaze shifted to the side. "…Do I have to pick an alias?"

He scratched his head helplessly, muttering, "If I had to come up with something, it'd just be lame names like 'Elementalist,' 'Blood Mage,' or 'Swift Master.'"

His shoulders slumped as he said, "All just literal descriptions from my magic list. I'm terrible at naming things…"

Astraea stifled a giggle behind her hand and said, "I figured as much. It sounds like you just pulled them directly from your status sheet."

"Exactly!" Akira gave her a defeated look.

"So please, Astraea-sama, I'm counting on you to help me out here. Even if it's something like 'Sword of Justice,' 'Right Hand of Justice,' or even 'Rookie of Justice,' I'll accept it. Anything's better than… that."

He suddenly turned pale as he continued, "Just please—don't let them call me something ridiculous like 'Justice Freak,' 'Harem Prince,' or 'Clown of Orario'…"

With a warm smile, Astraea reached out and ruffled Akira's hair, then raised a fist solemnly with her other hand.

She said, "Don't worry. As your goddess, I swear I'll fight tooth and nail to make sure you get a decent, dignified alias."

Akira groaned dramatically, "I'm begging you, Astraea-sama! I want something cool, like the ones Alise and the others have!"

His exaggerated plea drew a soft laugh from Astraea, who couldn't help but find his sincerity adorable.

Later that night, back in his room, Akira opened the [Personal Information] tab and reviewed his current growth.

[Personal Information]

Name: Akira

Age: 13

Level: 32

"…Still just two levels gained over several days." Akira muttered as he stared.

"The higher I go, the more experience it takes… and the monsters aren't making it easy either."

His eyes shifted to the corner of his room, where a pile of broken one-handed swords was stacked. The sight made him wince.

"I really need to get a better weapon. One that won't break after just a few battles…"

He lay on his bed and covered his eyes with an arm, his mind drifting between thoughts of crafting, dungeon runs, and alias selection. Before long, sleep took him.

— — —

The Next Morning.

When Akira arrived at the gate of the Loki Familia's estate, the guard informed him that Ais had already been dragged off by Loki for something urgent. Apparently, Riveria had sent word in advance to let Akira know.

"Looks like I'm soloing the dungeon today," Akira muttered, glancing up at the Tower of Babel that loomed in the distance.

"Well, that's fine. I've got a lot to catch up on…"

But before diving into the depths of the dungeon, there was something he had to take care of.

— — —

Orario's second district—the Industrial Zone—was alive with noise and movement.

The clatter of machinery, the hiss of steam, and the rhythmic thudding of hammers formed a chaotic symphony.

Laborers in simple work garb, both human and demi-human, bustled through the streets, moving heavy materials and managing construction projects.

Everywhere he looked, buildings rose skyward, mechanical limbs turned gears, and the air itself smelled of molten metal and coal dust.

This zone wasn't known for comfort or elegance. It was where progress was forged—literally and metaphorically. And today, Akira was here for a purpose.

"Daedalus Street… if I remember right, there should be a Hephaestus workshop near here." He murmured.

Turning a corner, Akira found what he was looking for.

In front of him stood a workshop that, while built in the same blocky industrial style as its neighbors, bore a distinctive symbol above its door—the blazing hammer insignia of Hephaestus Familia.

"This must be the place."

With a sack of high-grade monster materials slung over his shoulder, Akira stepped inside.

The scent of burning coal hit him immediately, and the sound of metal striking metal echoed from deep within. A rhythm of labor, loud and constant.

The workshop was dimly lit, with only thin rays of sunlight filtering through the soot-streaked windows. The magic stone lamps hadn't been activated, but the roaring forge in the back filled the room with flickering light and heat.

He walked toward the sound of hammering—and there, standing at the anvil, was a striking figure.

A tall, tanned woman stood before the forge. Her long black hair was tied up in a practical bun. She wore a red hakama that fell just above her ankles and a tightly wrapped white cloth around her upper body.

Sweat glistened on her skin, but she didn't pause in her work for even a second.

A black eyepatch covered one of her eyes, giving her a rough, intimidating look—but there was an undeniable strength and beauty to her presence.

Every swing of her hammer radiated skill and experience. With each strike, sparks flew and a soft glow pulsed from the red-hot metal she was shaping.

[Blacksmith], a rare development ability.

Through sheer effort and technique, she imbued the metal with a spiritual energy that elevated its quality—almost akin to the divine grace of a Falna.

With a final clang, she brought the hammer down hard. The red block glowed, then slowly dimmed as the energy settled into it.

(End of Chapter)

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