Chapter 7 – Foundations of the Future and the Stigma of Power

Several weeks had passed since Kiana had reluctantly stepped into the role of Ashwind Post's de facto leader. Amidst the sorrow and devastation left by the war, a genuine spark of hope and renewal had truly been ignited. Under the increasingly steady guidance of the red-haired young woman and the brilliant mind of Leonardo da Vinci, the man from another world, the village that had teetered on the brink of collapse began to rise from its ashes, laying the foundations for a new future.

Homes that had been partially destroyed were repaired and rebuilt with sturdier, more ingenious structures. The once-fragile defensive walls were reinforced according to principles of weight distribution and material support designed by Da Vinci. The village layout itself became more organized, pathways cleared and widened. Most astonishingly for the villagers, a small-scale irrigation system, adapted from Da Vinci's knowledge, began to channel water from a nearby, less reliable source to nurture small vegetable patches that the villagers had collaboratively planted for the first time. The sight of green shoots pushing through the soil became a tangible symbol of new life and burgeoning hope.

Da Vinci had fully become both a teacher and a vital advisor to the community. He didn't just sketch designs for structures or tools on parchment scraps or pieces of wood; he spent a significant portion of his time patiently teaching and explaining the working principles behind them to any villager who showed interest. He believed that knowledge was the most sustainable power. He wanted them to be self-reliant, not merely waiting for miracles from a brush whose power he himself was still uncertain how to restore.

One morning, at the newly constructed makeshift "workshop"—a rather large wooden hut filled with simple tools and collected scrap materials—Da Vinci and Kiana were engrossed in a serious discussion over the blueprints for a hoist. It was a device Da Vinci planned to teach the village carpenter and blacksmith to build, intended to aid in the remaining heavy construction tasks.

Kiana, dressed in her practical warrior attire, leaned forward slightly to point at a specific detail on the rough wooden table where the plans were spread. A few strands of her fiery red hair, damp with perspiration from the morning's work, clung to her forehead. The collar of her tunic, not perfectly fastened, revealed a little more of her neck and collarbone than usual.

As she was intently explaining a problem she'd encountered with some of the materials, a beam of afternoon sunlight, slanting through a small window of the workshop, illuminated her perfectly. Da Vinci, looking up from the plans to answer her, found his gaze inadvertently drawn to something unusual.

On Kiana's neck, faint, darkish marks with a subtle reddish hue were visible, like a delicate network of burst capillaries. They didn't look like ordinary bruises or scars.

A moment later, as Kiana straightened up and shifted to elaborate further, the loose fabric of her upper garment parted for a fleeting second. Or perhaps it was when she bent down to retrieve something that had fallen from the table. Da Vinci caught another glimpse – fine, crimson, lightning-like cracks hidden beneath her clothing, high on her chest. It was a swift, almost imperceptible sight, yet clear enough to make the genius's brow furrow in surprise and concern. The marks looked as if molten lava still pulsed beneath her skin, not in actual flames, but the vivid redness and a faint (or was it his imagination?) sense of radiating heat made them seem as if they were perpetually "burning."

He didn't stare rudely; his observation was quick, almost subliminal, but the image seared itself into his mind. He forced himself to act normally, to suppress his rising questions, and continued the discussion about the hoist plans until its conclusion.

Several days later, as the arduous workday drew to a close, Da Vinci found Kiana resting alone beneath a large tree at the village outskirts. Her expression was weary but resolute. He decided this might be an opportune moment to voice his concerns, genuinely worried.

"Kiana," he began, his tone gentle, "I've noticed… ah… you've been working incredibly hard these past few days. Are you getting enough rest?"

Kiana looked up at him briefly, her expression neutral as usual. "I'm fine, Da Vinci. There's much to be done, it's to be expected."

"It's just... I don't mean to pry," Da Vinci continued carefully, "but I can't help but be concerned. I happened to notice... it seems there are some marks on you. They look… troubling. Were you injured during the fight with that Stalker Unit, or is it… something more?"

Kiana visibly stiffened for a moment. Her hand instinctively went to the collar of her tunic, adjusting it slightly, before she turned her face away. "It's nothing much," she said, her voice studiously flat. "Just old battle scars. We warriors all have them. You needn't worry yourself, Da Vinci. They don't bother me." She then tried to change the subject. "The plans for the new forge you provided seem to be helping the smiths work much faster."

Though her reply was dismissive, Da Vinci noted the flicker in her eyes and the unnatural stiffness in her tone. He knew she was concealing something significant, something that might be connected to Eldrin's cryptic words: "How many times have I told you... not to use that power..." He connected what he'd seen with the ferocious, fiery power Kiana had unleashed that day, and began to theorize that those strange marks might be the "price" or "side effect" of wielding such extraordinary abilities.

Da Vinci's curiosity wasn't born merely of inquisitiveness, but also from a genuine concern for the young woman who carried the weight of the entire village on her shoulders, and a desire to better understand the mechanics of power in this new world. If it was dangerous, perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way to help her.

Despite these private mysteries, the development of Ashwind Post continued unabated. Smiles and laughter were gradually returning to the village more often. The small, daily successes were like a balm to their weary souls, giving them the strength to carry on.

Then one day, fate brought a new group of visitors to Ashwind Post. They were a small band of traveling merchants, hardy souls who dared to traverse these dangerous lands. They brought news from the outside world and some goods to trade for supplies and temporary shelter.

One of the travelers, an old, world-weary man, was taking a look around the village. When he saw some of the contraptions Da Vinci had helped the villagers build – perhaps the newly functional hoist, or the surprisingly efficient, if simple, water system, or maybe he'd overheard an embellished tale of the battle against the Stalker Unit – he spoke out, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and awe.

"My, my! These contraptions are truly astonishing!" the old traveler exclaimed, stroking his grizzled beard. "I've journeyed through many lands, and I've only ever seen the 'Arcane Artificers' or perhaps the 'Element Weavers' in the Emperor of Eldia's court, or maybe some of the Nebula Empire's elite, capable of creating such complex and mechanized things... You, sir..." He looked directly at Da Vinci, who was standing near Kiana. "You are certainly no ordinary man. Could it be that you are one of the 'Artificers' (ผู้รังสรรค์), rarer than the finest jewels?"

The traveler's words struck both Da Vinci and Kiana stunned.

Da Vinci had never before considered that the "power" he channeled through his golden brush might be classified as "magic" or have a specific name in this world. He had always assumed it was a unique ability tied to his reincarnation in this different dimension.

Kiana turned sharply to look at Da Vinci, her eyes filled with even more questions and a dawning surprise. If what this old traveler said was true, it meant Da Vinci wasn't just an outsider with strange knowledge and remarkable inventive skills. He might be an individual possessing power on a level comparable to the leaders or key figures of the great empires.

Da Vinci was deep in thought, mulling over the traveler's words. He glanced at the golden brush he always carried, though it currently showed no hint of its former power. A new, profound question had taken root in his mind: What exactly was his power? Was it truly connected to this "Artifice" the traveler spoke of? And if so, what did that mean for his future, his destiny, and this new world he now inhabited? At the same time, he caught Kiana's eye; she was frowning, her thoughts clearly on the enigmatic scars on her own body. Mysteries layered upon mysteries awaited them, even as they worked together to build the foundations of the future in Ashwind Post.