Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 74: Warrior vs Crafter

Chapter 74: Warrior vs Crafter

As they arrived at the private training grounds of Percival mansion, the blade in Christina’s hand gleamed under the midday sun, her feet planted firmly on the ground as her stance lowered into an aggressive posture. Her eyes—sharp, unwavering—were locked on the man standing across from her. A man with no weapon, no armor, no shirt, and no fear.

Shennong.

She had watched him earlier, closely, silently. The way his movements bent around the logic of swordplay. He didn’t carry blades. He summoned them. From the air itself, as if the very elements whispered into his palms which made her assume Shennong was a mage.

But she also noticed something she didn’t want to notice. Shennong was the most handsome man she had met. The prince of the sturgon could not even come close to this man in terms of looks, and for some reason he reminded her of Princess Maria, who dangerously looked similar to this man.

Christina’s grip on her sword tightened.

"You know," she said, voice level, though her brow twitched with irritation, "you could at least put on some clothes before a duel."

Shennong smiled, serene and carefree, stretching his bare arms slightly as he tilted his head.

"This way," he said, his hand gently sweeping across his chest, "I can feel the wind. There’s no better freedom than this." He closed his eyes as the breeze kissed his skin. "It reminds me I’m alive."

Cassandra stood off to the side, a soft smile playing on her lips. She raised a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes glinting with fondness.

Christina caught the look and turned to her mother with a frown. "You really do like him, don’t you..." she muttered under her breath, realisation creeping in. "She’s just like those girls at the academy... she’s in love!"

Cassandra, still graceful and composed, turned to the two and raised her voice.

"Enough chatter. I’ll give the signal," she said, her eyes flicking between them. "But promise me one thing. Don’t injure each other. This is still a sparring match."

Christina scoffed. "That depends on him."

Shennong merely shrugged, his smile widening. "I could never harm a cute girl like Christina. In theory, at least."

Cassandra chuckled softly again.

Christina rolled her eyes but kept her blade steady. The moment Cassandra’s hand lowered—the signal to begin—she charged.

Her thoughts raced faster than her feet. If I can get my sword to his throat before he starts his sorcery, this ends now.

I’ve fought worse. Princess Maria was an actual nightmare. He’s going to feel like an ant beneath my heel compared to her.

Her eyes burned with focus. He got me by surprise last time, but not today. I’ve studied how to deal with mages. Just one clean strike—

Then, she noticed it. Shennong was doing nothing. His posture shifted slightly—arms raising as if gripping a hilt that wasn’t there.

Weird... what is he—

Flash. A club shimmered into existence in his hand out of nowhere.

Her instincts screamed at her.

Christina tried to halt her momentum, skidding backwards. But she was too late.

THWACK!

A jab to her face—quick, brutal, and elegant—sent her flying back. She rolled across the grass, dust clinging to her light armor.

"Argh!" she gasped, clutching her cheek.

When she looked up, the club was already gone.

And Shennong was charging.

What kind of mage is this?!

But no. She corrected herself instantly. He’s not casting spells. There’s no chant, no flow of mana, no catalyst. This... this isn’t magic.

He grabbed her by the waist before she could recover, lifting her off the ground like a sack of flour.

"Wha—?! Put me down!"

"Not until you surrender," he said, laughing like this was some morning jog.

Christina squirmed, her fists pounding his back. "I said put me—!"

Shennong kept running. She could feel the air rushing past her face. Her legs flailed behind uselessly.

This man... this beast... is not a mage. He’s a skill user. No doubt about it.

She gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing. Magic is different. Everyone has some level of proficiency in it. With training, mages refine it, specialise. But in the end, the core of magic remains the same. It’s predictable. Calculable.

But skill users...? Their abilities are unique. Born of class or bloodline or fate itself. No incantations. No rules. Just raw execution. Unreplicable by any mage or knight.

She tried to elbow him in the face, twist her hips, anything. But his grip didn’t loosen—not for a second.

"Last chance," Shennong called over his shoulder, his grin still frustratingly charming. "Do you surrender?"

She refused to speak. Only one syllable left her mouth:

"N—"

And then, with one swift motion, he hurled her into the air.

The world spun.

She hit the ground with a loud thump, dust flying around her as her body twisted midair before landing in a most compromising position—face pressed against the earth, her ass shamelessly raised toward the sky.

"...Ow," she muttered, voice muffled by grass.

Shennong blinked at his hands, somewhat stunned. "Huh. I didn’t expect that much strength."

He looked down at his palms as if discovering them for the first time.

"Maybe it’s from all the training thanks to my mining hobby," he murmured. "Or... maybe it’s because of what Yenissa used to feed me when I was little."

Cassandra raised her hand, signalling the end of the match.

"That’s enough!" she called out, rushing to her daughter’s side.

Christina pushed herself off the ground, cheeks flaming. "Don’t! I’m fine!"

"You sure?" Cassandra asked, gently brushing her hair aside.

"I said I’m fine!" Christina snapped, face now matching the color of the sunset. She spun around, refusing to look at either of them.

Shennong stood calmly, arms folded over his bare chest, a soft smile on his lips. "You put up a good fight, Christina. You’ve got fire."

"I am never accepting you!" she shouted, sprinting away without a second glance, vanishing behind the trees like a storm retreating from the battlefield.

Shennong chuckled, watching the space she had just occupied.

"...But you already have," he whispered, closing his eyes as the wind danced across his face once more.

***

The tavern bustled with life—boisterous laughter, clinking mugs, and the ever-present hum of low conversation. Smoke from longpipes curled above the heads of mercenaries, merchants, and wanderers. Among them sat a man who had seen something no one else had the right to witness.

Vane, one of the mansion guards who was training when the incident of Shennong and Christina’s confrontation happened, downed his fifth mug of firebrew. The memory replayed in his mind like a haunting melody—Shennong, tightly hugging Lady Cassandra who was supposed to be a noble lady with pride and power.

"I love you, Cassandra," he had said, like a secret whispered against the storm.

Vane slammed his mug down. "Damn fools," he muttered. "Doesn’t he realise what he’s done? Baron is going to kill him. How dare he act like that? Mere servant!"

The Marciel mansion was no place for soft confessions. Baron Jamie would crucify Shennong for such treasonous affection. Cassandra, the untouchable jewel of the Percival Mansion, wasn’t just a lady of the land—she was one of the most respected woman in Percival Barony. And Vane? He had seen it all.

"I need to tell others about this woman," he mumbled, pushing himself up. "People need to know what I saw."

But just as he reached for his mug, the door to the tavern creaked open.

A woman stepped in.

Hooded. Cloaked in midnight.

The flickering torchlight didn’t reveal much, yet all heads briefly turned to her, their chatter pausing like breath caught in a chest. Then the air seemed to thicken around her. With elegant steps, she approached the bar and—purposefully—stood beside Vane.

He blinked.

Her presence was... strange. Compelling.

"Evening," Vane said awkwardly, clearing his throat. "You look lost. Or maybe not. Either way..."

The woman turned her face slightly. He saw her lips—lush and red, curved with the faintest trace of a smirk.

Then she looked at him. Truly looked.

Vane’s breath caught.

Her eyes were not just eyes. They were mirrors—twilight and fire and something ancient lurking beneath. His body froze. His thoughts, already jumbled by drink, shattered like glass hitting stone.

What was I saying?

He stared dumbly at her, forgetting why he had stood up, forgetting the name "Cassandra," forgetting what had just happened in the morning.

"You should drink and peacefully go back to your place," the woman whispered, her voice low, musical... commanding.

"Yes," he replied in a slow, dazed tone. "That is a good idea."

"You didn’t see anything tonight. There was no confession. You remember nothing of Shennong and Cassandra. In fact... you were not even at the palace."

"I... was not even at the palace..." he repeated.

"Good," she said, then turned and walked away, her cloak billowing behind her like smoke in the wind.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Outside, Shennong stood in the shadows of the alleyway, his arms folded, silver-lined robes shifting in the breeze.

When the hooded woman approached, he stepped forward. "How did it go?"

The woman pulled back her hood. Beneath it was a vision both terrifying and beautiful—red skin like rich garnet, glistening in the street lights, and long, brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes glowed faintly with power, yet softened when she looked at him.

Yenissa.

"Everyone who saw it has been... persuaded," she said calmly. "The guards, the staff, even that old chamberlain. All hypnotised. The memory was removed. The order was planted."

Shennong released a long breath. Relief. Gratitude. Longing.

He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms with forceful need.

"I missed this," he murmured against her neck. "I missed your warmth since you were always busy trying to find someone to cure me."

His hands slid down her back, fingers gripping the curve of her ass with a mix of hunger and familiarity. She gasped softly, but didn’t pull away. Her body melted against his.

"My shameless boy!" she teased, her voice husky. "I missed your smell and touch,"

He chuckled. "I was dying without your touch."

Yenissa smiled, her fangs peeking slightly. "Then perhaps you should stop leaving me behind and take me with you when you’re working."

He pulled back enough to look her in the eyes. "Come home with me. Let’s leave the surface and go back to our dungeon. We are going to speedrun our making process while...you feed on my semen."

Her smile faltered for a heartbeat, emotions flickering across her face—fear, longing, defiance... and then peace and arousal.

"Yes," she said. "Let’s go home."