85 - Hatred of a Man
Nexha woke up with his body aching and his mind burning. The nightmare from the previous night, which once left him afraid, now only fueled his fury.
His breathing was still uneven, and the heat inside him refused to subside completely. It was as if something inside his skin had been broken and forcibly rebuilt.
He moved to get up, but the weight of his own body felt different—his movements were clumsy, and pain throbbed in every fiber of his being.
He touched his own tail, feeling the difference. The texture of the scales, the firmness of the muscles, the lengthening of the fins… Nothing truly felt like his.
He had wanted to grow slowly, adapting calmly to the changes. But that right had been stolen from him.
And the memory of the man in the dream burned like fire in his mind.
That sickly sweet voice that made his skin crawl.
That cold touch that sent shivers of disgust through him.
The way he spoke, as if everything had already been decided.
As if he had no choice.
He couldn’t remember ever being this furious since he died.
But those words haunted him more than anything else:
"Soon, you’ll be ready to become a beautiful woman, just as I remember."
The thought made Nexha tremble with hatred.
— I’ll show that son of a...
He cut himself off before finishing the sentence, remembering that the baby could hear him curse.
With a sudden movement, he got up, ignoring the dizziness, and left the bamboo house without looking back.
The cold morning water soothed his overheated skin, but it wasn’t enough to calm the pain still coursing through him.
He swam to his platform and looked at the forge.
His blood boiled with uncontrollable rage.
— Today... I will forge with my hatred.
If his copper knife had transformed beyond his expectations through his determination, then this weapon… this weapon would be forged with his deepest hatred.
Nexha grabbed the materials without hesitation, pouring the copper and tin into the stone pot. 67% copper, 33% tin.
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Precision and control were difficult for him right now; his body still didn’t obey like before.
The forge’s fire crackled, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
His fingers crushed and broke dry pieces of moray algae to fuel the fire further. The heat around him was suffocating, but still not enough. So he let it burn hotter, let it grow.
He prepared the mold with bamboo and moray algae, pressing every detail to craft a weapon with violent strength. It wasn’t just a mold—it was a prelude to the arrival of something new in this world.
Hours passed.
Hours where every second seemed to feed the temperature of the forge.
His eyes never left the molten mixture as the metals fused into something new.
When the metal was finally ready, he poured it into the mold.
The hiss of the scalding metal meeting the damp sand made his skin prickle. Nexha watched the smoke rise and the metal take shape in the sand with ferocity.
The temperature around him seemed to distort the air, and the smell burned his lungs. But still, he only waited.
Waited as the metal battled to take form, while time slowly stole its heat, solidifying it mid-struggle.
— Your time is up.
And then, without hesitation, he plunged it into the freezing water.
The explosion of steam shot up violently, and the sound of boiling bubbles echoed like thunder. It was as if the ocean itself was screaming at him.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his muscles tense in a body that still refused to obey him.
The metal gleamed in the water.
The trident slowly sank as the mold broke apart, still hot, still burning with an unnatural golden glow.
Even surrounded by the freezing water, the trident refused to lose its heat entirely.
Then Nexha grabbed his creation and pulled it from the water.
Without hesitation, he began refining the metal, each hammer strike accompanied by his fury.
Each blow was an outburst of his anger.
— I hate that pervert. Who gave him the right to decide for me?
The hammer came down hard.
— I hate his touch. I want to rip those hands off.
Another strike.
— I hate his voice. I hate the way he talks to me. I want to cut out that tongue.
Another strike.
— And I will take everything from him, so he never comes near me again.
The strikes became faster, more precise, more controlled—more like himself mastering this new body.
The metal shaped itself perfectly under his hands.
With every hammer blow, Nexha felt his rage pulse within the weapon. He could feel the trident absorbing every fragment of hatred burning in his soul.
When he finished sharpening the tips, a shiver ran down his spine.
The weapon gleamed, emanating an aura that made even the air around it feel heavier.
The metal exuded something wrong. Something dark.
He barely needed to touch it to feel it.
This weapon hated just as much as he did.
And then, Nexha looked at what he had created.
His heart pounded, and he didn’t hesitate.
— It’s going to be a bit generic, but… since I want to kill a guy on a throne, I’ll call you King Slayer.
The weapon shone with an intense crimson glow for a moment, and his eyes widened in shock.
— I… I think I overdid it a little…
Nexha felt his own breath hitch.
The trident in his hands felt different—it wasn’t just a weapon. He looked at its status, afraid of what he had done.
[Bronze Trident]
Name: King Slayer
Quality: Unique
State: Normal
Attack: 25
Title: The One Who Hates
Ability: Hate Charge
This weapon was forged with its creator’s deep hatred. All of that rage has accumulated in the blade, imbuing it with a sinister aura. Anyone who comes near it will feel the fury radiating from this weapon.
If the wielder feels hatred toward their enemy, the trident’s damage will double in proportion to the intensity of their resentment.
Additionally, the blade is designed with a guaranteed critical effect if used against a man's lower regions.
(This effect does not apply to women.)
Nexha swallowed hard.
The trident gleamed as if it were still alive.
As if it were breathing along with him.
His heart pounded.
— I think this is how you create a monster…
