The Bookmark: Posthumous Publication

Today, I witnessed the extent of their hatred. Not just the Patriarch's wives, but their children too. Even the maids, bound by duty, yet poisoned by loyalty, would eagerly carry out any command given by their masters, even if it meant their own death. It wasn't just hatred, it was resentment so deep it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

But I knew what had to be done. First and foremost, I needed to make Raina stronger, stronger than she had ever been.

Raina was no ordinary mage. She was the wielder of death itself, a power that sent shivers down the spine of even the bravest warriors. Her summon, a haunting skeletal specter draped in tattered black robes, moved as if caught in an unseen wind, chains rattled from its wrists, rusted yet unbreakable, and in its bony grip, clutched a massive black scythe, taller than any man, that seemed to drink in the very light around it. It obeyed her every thought, no strings needed, an extension of her will, her fury given form. But despite her power, she was still incomplete and I refused to let her fate repeat itself. Her mother's dagger was her constant companion, and thanks to Zora, she'd mastered hand-to-hand combat.

But in the webnovel , she never reached her full potential. In chapter***, she died, cut down in battle while fighting for the Wolfhards, giving her life for a family that never deserved her loyalty. Her mother's dagger, both a weapon and a burden was her downfall, clutched in her bloodied lifeless hands.

Arthur visited Raina and Sushila's graves one last time as a full-fledged demon lord, he then burned the Wolfhard estate to the ground, avenging the loss of his mother and a maid who was like a sister. The empire trembled beneath his wrath and the Wolfhards, once untouchable, collapsed. The name that once commanded fear and respect was reduced to nothing but ashes. Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard I, had built a legacy from the ground up, brick by brick, sacrifice by sacrifice. Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard II, had torn it to the ground.

The empire trembled beneath his wrath, but in the end, the heroine stopped him, forcing him to flee.

But that was then.

Not in this lifetime. Not on my watch.

This time, Raina would live. This time, she would become unstoppable. I would make sure of it.

A dagger was no longer enough. She needed something greater, a sword, long-range, deadly. Her blindness had honed her other senses to near-superhuman levels, but as sharp as they were, they could never replace sight. A dagger forced her into close combat. A sword would keep them at bay.

And so, I devised a plan.

Late that night, when the world was asleep, I slipped into the Patriarch's study. No guards. Of course, who would be foolish enough to break in? The room was pristine, lined with towering bookshelves, a grand table, and chairs fit for a king. It reeked of power, one shelf stood out, a dusty, torn book wedged among pristine tomes. It looked worthless, forgotten. But I knew better.

The moment I touched it, the shelf groaned, shifting aside to reveal a hidden armory. Instead of guns and explosives like in movies, it was just swords, raw materials, and relics of war. The sight sent a shiver of excitement through me. I had seen this scene in a spy movie once back on Earth and knew I had to include it in my webnovel. And now? Now it was real.

My gaze landed on one material, cold steel in its rawest form. A living metal, one that responded to its wielder's emotions, growing colder, sharper, deadlier in the hands of the vengeful. It was perfect for Raina. She carried so much pain, so much loss. This weapon would be the key to unlocking her true strength.

And no, it wasn't stealing. I wrote this world, didn't I? This was mine by right.

The next morning, I set off with Raina to the far west of the palace, where a lone cabin stood, a place belonging to the only man fit for this task. Thorin. Not just any blacksmith, but a legend. The founder of the Wolfhards had personally scouted him, and he had forged their blades for generations. The best there was.

I knocked.

The door swung open, revealing a gruff dwarf, bottle of alcohol in hand. His bleary eyes widened before he burst into laughter. "For a second there, I thought you were Arthur."

"I am Arthur," I said.

He snorted. "Not you, kid. The real Arthur. A greater man than that brat father of yours could ever hope to be."

Raina bristled, gripping her dagger. "How dare you insult the Patriarch!"

I placed a hand on hers, gently lowering the blade. "Let it go."

Thorin yawned. "What do you want, Number Two?"

"Mr. Thorin, would you make me a sword?"

Silence. Then, a booming laugh. "Everyone knows about your situation second—no, fifth young master. Fate hasn't been kind, has it? Sealing your ability to even touch a blade, and now you ask me to forge one?"

"It's not for me," I said, stepping aside. "It's for her."

She stiffened, silent. Even through the black cloth covering her eyes, I could feel her shock.

Thorin put his hand to his mouth, feigning shock. "Oh ho… What a lucky girl, you are. Your master is in love with you so much so, he wants to make you a sword. Is this a forbidden tale of a master and his maid? But isn't she a bit older than you, kid?"

"Now, goodbye. I need to get back to my sleep," Thorin said, closing the door.

I sighed. "Wait, would you look at this before you refuse?" handing him the design and stopping the door from closing.

He snatched it, ready to dismiss it, then his eyebrows furrowing as he scanned the intricate details. His eyes widened.

"Who made this?" he asked.

"I did."

Silence. Then, slowly, he grinned, a rare, wolfish thing.

"Arthur, you bastard," he muttered, looking toward the sky. "Even after death, you send me trouble." He turned back to me, eyes gleaming. "Fine. Let's do it, Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard II."

I smiled, handing him Raina's dagger, wand, and the cold steel, that was tucked away against my stomach, hidden beneath my shirt.

"You even steal, too," he laughed out loud. "You really are his descendant."

As we walked back, Raina clutched the black cloth over her eyes.

"Don't be upset," I said softly. "This will make you stronger, a fusion of your mother's dagger and your wand. A sword worthy of you."

She didn't speak for a moment. Then, finally, she smiled. It was small, fleeting, but it was there.

"I trust you, young master."

When we returned to the palace, Reginald and some butlers were unpacking a merchant cart. With a groan, the wheels collapsed, sending cargo tumbling.

"Damn thing," Reginald muttered, wiping his brow.

An idea struck me.

"Mr. Reginald," I called, feigning the innocence of a child. "Can I have those wheels?"

He blinked, then chuckled. "Sure, young master. I'll have the butlers take them to your room."

He must've thought, I was just a six-year-old child playing with scraps.

Oh, how wrong he was.

An earthly idea had entered this young mind of mine, and it was going to change everything.