Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 93: Mutator

Chapter 93: Mutator

The soft breeze of Moonlight Forest rustled the silvery leaves above as Shennong stood near the moss-covered stone table, arms crossed and gaze calm yet expectant. Romina emerged from the thicket, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Well?" he asked, brows raised. "Did you do what I asked?"

Romina stepped forward, her boots crunching lightly on fallen leaves. Her smug smile widened.

"I didn’t just do what you asked," she said, her voice tinged with mischief. "I did more than extra."

Shennong tilted his head slightly, amused.

"Oh?"

Without another word, she reached into her satchelt, took a massive tome-like report, its leather-bound cover creaking as it landed with a heavy thud on Shennong’s hand.

"I documented everything—flora, fauna, even the new additions. You’re welcome," she said proudly.

Shennong arched an eyebrow and opened the book. His eyes scanned the meticulously organized data. Diagrams, rank classifications, behavioral notes—every page a testament to her effort.

"Moonlight boars... rank C. Tygros, rank B. The newly arrived orcs... interesting." He paused, tracing his finger along the parchment. "Ranked between C and B, huh? They haven’t undergone evolution yet."

"I even added theoretical evolution paths," Romina added, tapping the page with a flourish. "Based on mineral exposure, forest energy levels, and moon cycles."

Shennong chuckled softly, impressed.

"You certainly exceeded expectations."

Romina leaned forward slightly, arms behind her back, eyes sparkling.

"So... is there a reward for such excellence?"

Shennong’s smile turned unreadable. "Of course."

She blinked, a little taken aback at how easily he agreed.

He reached into his inventory, pulling out something she couldn’t quite see. Then he stepped behind her.

Romina stiffened slightly. "What are you—?"

"Stay still," Shennong said gently.

His fingers brushed against her hair, lifting it to reveal her neck. A strange warmth bloomed in her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak but faltered, her breath catching.

"Close your eyes."

His voice was soft, coaxing. She obeyed, heart pounding strangely in her chest.

A few moments passed.

"Open them," he said.

She did.

Her fingers immediately reached up, brushing against something cool and smooth around her neck. A necklace—beautiful and radiant—sat nestled against her collarbone. Amber jewels shimmered like captured sunlight, framed in intricate golden vines.

Romina stared, mesmerized. "This is..."

"I made it myself for everyone," Shennong said. "Each one is different. Yours is amber-colored."

She looked at him, confusion mixing with awe. "Why amber?"

"Because you shine brightly," he said simply. "Even when you try to hide in the shadows."

Romina’s cheeks turned crimson. She looked away quickly. "You’re... way too good at this, you know."

Shennong chuckled, stepping back. "I only speak the truth."

A silence stretched between them for a few heartbeats, charged and gentle.

Then, his tone shifted, more serious. "Romina."

She glanced up.

"Do you want to go back to Sturgon?" he asked. "Take revenge on the people who wronged you?"

Her expression faltered. The spark in her eyes dimmed as old wounds stirred.

"I..." She looked down, fingers curling into fists. "I’m still dying inside every time I remember what they did. My brother tried to protect me. My mother... they probably killed her, and they probably thinking I’m dead. And all I can do is feel this endless anger."

Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to continue.

"Every time I even think of using the power inside me... it’s chaos. It burns everything. I can’t control it. I don’t even know when it’ll come out. Sometimes it’s like the spirit inside me is just... waiting. Watching."

Shennong looked at her intently.

"Then why don’t you try to control it?"

"It’s not that simple!" Romina snapped, pain leaking into her voice. "It’s like... trying to hold a storm in a bottle. One moment I think I’m fine, and the next—boom—it’s like I’m possessed. It’s terrifying."

A long silence fell again. "But lately, it’s silent. I don’t know what it is doing."

Then Shennong asked, calmly, "Do you want to be normal?"

Her head shot up, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "I’ve developed something. I call it the Mutator. It’s a device. It can take the essence, power, or abilities of a sacrifice and implant them into a host. It can also remove power from a host entirely."

Romina stared at him in stunned silence.

Shennong continued, "Both processes are dangerous. Extremely. Even fatal. But... it’s possible. You could be free."

Romina looked down, her hands trembling slightly. The idea echoed in her mind—normal. No more fear of losing control. No more accidental destruction. No more haunted nights.

That incident came to her mind.

But...

"No," she said suddenly, lifting her gaze with quiet intensity. "I don’t want to lose it. Whatever it is inside me—this spirit, this fire—it’s mine. I don’t want to suppress it. I want to understand it. I want to enhance it. Use it."

A smile tugged at Shennong’s lips. "Good. Then let’s start working on that."

He stepped back, his expression shifting to something more focused.

"I’m leaving for Sturgon Academy soon," he said. "I’m going to meet Christina."

Romina’s eyes narrowed. "That place again..."

"I know you have history there. And I know there are... familiar faces."

Romina’s mouth twisted slightly at the thought.

"If you want," Shennong added, "you can come with me. Do whatever you want. Face them—not as the scared girl they once knew, but as the woman you’ve become. The woman who survived. And the woman who’s going to master the fire inside her."

Romina was quiet for a long time. The breeze stirred again, and somewhere in the distance, a moonlight boar let out a soft grunt.

"I’ll come," she said finally. "Not just for revenge. But for answers. And maybe..." She looked at him, something burning in her eyes. "To reclaim what they tried to break."

Shennong nodded. "Good decision!"

***

The human battalion emerged from the forest line and entered the burned-out remains of the old orc settlement. Ash clung to the wind, drifting like ghostly feathers across scorched earth and shattered bone. The smell of smoke still lingered, though the fires had long died out.

"This place..." muttered one of the knights.

"Completely abandoned," another said, stepping over the charred remnants of a primitive orc totem.

What had once been a proud, if crude, tribal encampment was now a graveyard of ash and ruin.

Sir Maron Vendal dismounted from his armored warhorse, his heavy boots crunching on debris as he surveyed the scene. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in silver plate etched with the sigil of Percival, his expression was unreadable beneath his open visor. His eyes swept across the battlefield, searching for answers.

He wasn’t the only commander, as there were several other knights sent by several nobels to inveistagte the scene.

Around them, a sea of adventurers and soldiers filled the clearing—nearly 300 strong. These were not amateurs. Cassandra had sent her finest, heeding the warnings of Shennong, whose quiet words had held the weight of thunder.

Adventurer teams had answered the call from across the region, drawn by rumors of destruction and perhaps the promise of untold treasures. Among them were some of the most feared and revered names in the guild books.

"Iron Vow" — warriors clad in blackened mail, known for surviving a four-month siege against mountain wyverns.

"Moonveil Blades" — a silent, deadly squadron of rogue-artists whose daggers struck before shadows fell.

"Crimson Oath" — mages and fighters bonded by blood-pacts, rumored to have ended a minor demon incursion on their own.

"The Roaring Ash" — explosive specialists and fire mages known for collateral damage... and results.

They were legends in their own right, and some of them were itching to add one more story to their name.

Sir Maron’s second-in-command, Captain Arlen, approached. "We estimate at least five hundred orcs once lived here. Based on the burn patterns and skeletal remains.."

"Which raises the question," Sir Maron said, stroking his chin, "why does it look like they left in a hurry?"

"You think they knew we were coming?"

"Perhaps not us," he replied darkly. "But something."

At that moment, a scout sprinted into the clearing, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Commander!" the scout barked. "We found something. Tracks—a lot of them. Fresh. And..."

He held out a bundle of ripped cloth and bent metal—a crude, rusted pauldron fashioned from scrap iron, unmistakably orcish in origin.

"These were found in the trees, a few hours east," the scout added, voice shaking slightly. "Whatever moved... moved recently. It’s a big group. Might be orcs with how big these are."

Maron narrowed his eyes. "Lead us there. Everyone, prepare to move out!"

A rustle of excitement passed through the assembled crowd. Swords were drawn, armor buckled tight, and staves hummed with gathering magic. Boots pounded as formation lines adjusted.

Captain Arlen called out over the chaos. "Standard patrol formation! Adventurer teams, stay with your units unless ordered otherwise. We move in fifteen!"

As the group advanced, they grew quieter, more cautious. The forest thickened, the canopy above painting everything in cool shades of green. The tracks eventually gave way to something stranger—a strange blue shimmer between a giant rock formation.

"...Do you see that?" murmured a mage from Crimson Oath.

They stepped forward into a clearing—and stopped.

Before them yawned a great chasm, its rim lined with glowing blue stone. The light pulsed rhythmically, like the beat of a heart. Down below, spiraling like an abyss, was a staircase carved into living crystal.

"What in the gods’ names is this?" one of the Moonveil rogues whispered.

Sir Maron stared in silence. The presence of the structure felt wrong—like something ancient had stirred beneath their feet.

"This matches the report Lady Cassandra sent two days ago," Arlen said grimly. "A dungeon. Newly formed. We didn’t believe it was active yet, but..."

"But it’s here," Maron finished.

"And it’s on our land," growled a knight behind him. "Just outside the eastern villages."

Sir Maron’s jaw clenched. Too close to home.

"Something is not right," he murmured aloud. "Not with this dungeon... not with Lady Cassandra’s house. What in the world is happening?"

"But what should we do?" Arlen asked. "Wait for orders?"

Several adventurers nearby were already restless. One, a cocky swordsman from Iron Vow, laughed aloud.

"Wait? For what—permission?" he scoffed. "It’s a dungeon! First ones in get first pick of the loot!"

Another voice, a woman from Roaring Ash, grinned. "C’mon, you think whatever’s inside is going to wait for us to have a meeting?"

A murmur of agreement rose among the adventurer factions.

"We should go in," said a tall elven ranger from Moonveil Blades. "The orcs may have retreated into this place. If we don’t act now, we lose the trail."

Sir Maron turned slowly, his voice cutting through the noise like steel.

"No one enters alone. If we go in, we go as one force. That’s the only way we have a chance."

"We’re not soldiers, commander," spat a rough-looking brawler from Crimson Oath. "We’re adventurers. You can take your orders and shove it up your ass,"

With those words, they entered Shennong’s dungeon while Arlen had a very displeased look at these so-called heroes of the commoners. "Vulgar as always,"