Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 118: Heroism

Chapter 118: Heroism

The words for Sir Juno hung heavy in the air.

Christina’s eyes widened. "W-What?"

Shennong didn’t react. Not visibly, at least. He met Juno’s gaze without flinching, emerald eyes as unreadable as ever.

"I already told you, my lord." he said softly. "My name is Shennong."

Juno smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly one.

"And that’s all? A name?"

"That’s all you need, isn’t it?" Shennong tilted his head slightly. "A servant’s name. Otherwise this servant wouldn’t have anything to say, my lord."

Juno’s expression darkened.

"Is that so," he said slowly. "A handsome young man appeared out of nowhere in the city. Stayed in a tavern and worked there with a sister who looks nothing likes him. Then used the contacts and reached Lady Cassandra and won her favour. As soon as you appeared, Lord Jamie got sick. Are all these coincidence?"

Christina’s heart began to race. She glanced between the two, confused and uneasy.

"Sir Juno, can someone explain what’s happening here? Why are we still moving? Shouldn’t we have arrived already?"

Juno finally turned to her.

"I’m just being cautious, Lady Christina. We have enemies everywhere. I couldn’t let someone suspicious walk into the throne room, now could I?"

Suspicious?

She looked at Shennong again. He looked the same as always—unfazed.

"Suspicious?" she echoed. "But he’s just—"

"A servant?" Juno interrupted. "Please. Do you honestly believe that?"

Saying those words, Sir Juno suddenly unsheathed his sword. The sound was sharp, almost metallic against the tense silence. In one fluid motion, he pointed the blade straight at Shennong’s neck — close, precise, the tip barely a breath away from skin.

"Sir Juno?!" Christina gasped, lurching forward. "What are you—?!"

At first, it was meant to be a threat.

But the longer Juno stared into Shennong’s calm, green eyes, the more something twisted inside him. This man... no, this thing... didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe like a normal person.

Too calm.

Too poised.

Too confident.

So Juno moved.

With a flick of his wrist, faster than most trained knights could see, he attacked — aiming not for a killing blow, but a sharp, humiliating graze to slice through that stoic arrogance.

"Shennong!" Christina screamed.

The sword made contact.

Or at least — it should have.

But the moment the tip kissed Shennong’s pale neck, the blade shimmered—and vanished. Disappeared like mist caught in morning sun.

Juno blinked.

His hand still held the hilt, but the blade was gone. It simply ceased to exist.

"What in the—"

A faint drop of blood trailed down Shennong’s neck. He calmly reached for his handkerchief — white, embroidered with silver trim — and wiped the blood away as if brushing off wine.

Then, with a faint smile, he looked at Juno and said quietly:

"This isn’t the sword I wanted."

Juno’s eyes widened. "What...?"

"I said," Shennong folded the handkerchief, pressing it to his neck. "This sword isn’t the one I wanted to see. How disappointing."

The silence in the carriage was deafening.

Christina looked between them, a knot of dread growing in her chest. Her voice trembled.

"Shennong... who... what are you?"

Before anyone could speak again, Juno clenched his jaw and banged the carriage wall.

"STOP THE CARRIAGE!"

The horses whinnied. The carriage lurched to a halt on the muddy forest road.

But before anyone could step out, Shennong calmly raised his gloved hand.

"I wouldn’t recommend that, Sir Juno."

"Oh?" Juno’s voice was tight, furious. "And why is that?"

Shennong tilted his head slightly, like a scholar humoring a dim student.

"Because if you stop now... something very interesting might happen in the Duchy of Marciel."

"What?" Christina whispered.

Juno narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Shennong reached into his coat and retrieved a sealed letter. The wax was unmarked, the parchment plain. But when he held it out to Juno, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"This letter contains information. About the trade route changes Lord Marciel secretly implemented last week. About his second son’s real parentage. About a certain coded message sent to the capital just two nights ago."

Juno didn’t move.

"Shall I continue?" Shennong asked. "There’s more. Much more."

"You—" Juno snatched the letter, tore it open, and skimmed it.

His face paled. His hands trembled.

"...This... this should be known only to Duke Marciel’s inner circle."

"Exactly," Shennong replied, folding his hands neatly on his lap. "Which is why it would be a shame if any of it were to... leak. Especially now, when tensions with the border clans are so high."

Christina stared, frozen.

She had always thought Shennong quiet, polite, maybe a little strange. But now... watching him sit there with blood on his collar, calmly blackmailing a knight of the realm...

He was something else entirely.

A menace.

And not just because he had power.

Because he knew things.

And because he didn’t seem to care.

Juno crumpled the letter in his hand. "Are you threatening the Duke’s household?"

Shennong leaned back, resting his elbow against the carriage frame.

"Not at all," he said. "I’m simply pointing out the timing. It would be most unfortunate if something bad were to happen at the ducal estate while we sat here arguing in the forest. Wouldn’t it?"

He looked out the window, almost wistful.

"I do hope nothing happens to Lord Marciel. Or his two children. Or the lovely people under his care. Tragic things do happen when secrets are exposed at the wrong time."

"You’re bluffing," Juno growled. "Trying to scare me."

"Am I?" Shennong glanced at him. "You could always go back and check. But then... wouldn’t that delay our little visit to the castle? You wouldn’t want to cause any unwanted problems for the Percival family, would you?"

Christina’s mouth opened, but no words came.

Juno slammed his fist against the seat.

"You speak as if you’re untouchable!"

"I’m not," Shennong said mildly. "I bleed, as you can see." He dabbed his neck again. "But I don’t fight alone. And I don’t fight fair."

"You bastard..."

Juno’s face contorted, torn between anger and fear. His sword was gone. His advantage — whatever it had been — was gone with it.

"Your precious sword," Shennong continued, eyes narrowing, "just hurt someone I care about. Deeply. So perhaps you’ll understand if I don’t take this little play-acting lightly."

"You want war, is that it?"

"I want peace," Shennong said with a calm smile. "Which is why I suggest we proceed to the castle and do what we’re supposed to do. No more games. No more threats. Let’s just calmly talk after that. I believe we can be friends Lord Juno."

He leaned forward just slightly.

"Unless you want to involve more people. I can guarantee you, Juno... you don’t want that."

Juno’s glare was scorching. But then... he slumped back in his seat. Closed his eyes. Took a slow breath.

"...Continue the journey," he barked to the driver.

The carriage lurched forward again, wheels crunching along the road.

Silence settled.

Not a comfortable silence. But one filled with tension so thick it could snap.

Christina sat stiffly, hands on her lap, eyes on Shennong. He didn’t meet her gaze. He simply gazed out the window, as if nothing had happened.

Juno sat across from him, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Fury and unease danced in his expression.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

The trees passed in a blur. The wind whispered through the branches. But inside the carriage, it was like sitting inside a storm held in check by force of will alone.

Christina’s hands trembled.

She had believed she was traveling with an enigmatic servant.

Now... she didn’t know what Shennong was.

But one thing was clear.

There was no going back from this.

***

The gates of Castle Sturgon Stadia creaked open, revealing towering stone walls veined with ivy and golden sunlight spilling over marble floors. Guards stood at attention, but none dared to speak a word as the group entered.

"Why did you do that?" Christina’s voice rang through the courtyard like a slap. Her boots clicked sharply against the stone. "Why did you threaten him with innocent people’s lives?!"

Shennong didn’t stop walking. "Why are you still surprised?" he asked, casting a glance over his shoulder. "You should’ve figured it out by now. I’m no knight. And I’m definitely no hero."

His tone was flat. Cold.

"I’m a man who takes what he wants. By any means necessary. Even force."

Christina clenched her fists, but her voice dropped to a near whisper. "You’re not the man for my mother..."

Shennong smirked and finally turned to face her fully. "I am the man for your mother."

Christina flinched, but he kept going, stepping closer.

"If she stays here, she’ll live her life as nothing more than a baroness of a forgotten borderland. A pawn in noble politics. But with me?" His eyes locked onto hers. "She’ll be something far greater than that."

The conviction in his voice was unshakable.

"She loves me. And that’s enough." His hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword. "I’ll give her everything. And I want you to be a part of that life too, Christina."

Christina stared at him, speechless.

"I don’t dislike you," Shennong added. "Even if you think heroism is the greatest thing in the world. It’s not. Not to me. Heroism doesn’t feed people. It doesn’t build kingdoms. Power does."

The tension between them hung in the air like a blade.

No one spoke as they moved deeper into the castle halls. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly under the vast arches of Sturgon Stadia.

The place was magnificent—paintings of generations of rulers lined the walls. Velvet banners bearing ancient crests fluttered gently from above. Chandeliers hung from impossibly high ceilings, catching sunlight and breaking it into glimmering stars across the polished floor.

But the grandeur didn’t lighten the mood.

Sir Juno walked in silence beside them, his face a grim mask. His usual calm, composed demeanor was replaced by something rare—disgruntlement. Christina had never seen the legendary knight like this.

Shennong noticed too, but said nothing.

Instead, his eyes flicked toward the sheathed sword on Juno’s hip.

So that’s the one, he thought. The real sword Yenissa was hurt by. Now the problem is how would he take what he wanted from Juno. He knew if he revealed his sword hurt a succubus, soon he would organize hunters to chase him, so he wanted to keep the conversation as human as possible.

"Whatever. Let’s just see,"