Danmachi: The Quiet Reincarnate

Author: As promised here.

ENJOY

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The blinding golden light faded, leaving Cael a trembling, exhausted husk of himself. He lay on the floor where he'd collapsed, his body screaming, every muscle fiber feeling like it had been shredded and haphazardly reknit. Yet, beneath the searing afterglow of Crimson Rebirth, there was a familiar dullness.

His pain-nerves, once sharp and reactive, had grown accustomed to the unimaginable. The sheer volume of agony he'd endured since his transfer had forced his very physiology to adapt, blunting the raw edges of suffering into a more manageable, albeit still monstrous, ache. He knew the pain was still there, vast and consuming, but his body now processed it differently, a testament to his sheer endurance.

He was a man, and a man endured. Pain was not a barrier; it was the anvil upon which his strength was forged.

As Hestia worriedly hovered nearby, her voice a soft murmur in the ringing silence, Cael focused on controlling his ragged breathing. His mind, however, offered no such reprieve.

Images flashed behind his closed eyelids: the Apex Kobold's charge, the spray of its blood, the grotesque mutations of the irregular monster. And then, the familiar, unwelcome tendrils of a phantom pain began to weave through his limbs—a memory of agony that wasn't physically present but felt horrifyingly real, a ghostly echo of past torments. He knew these would likely coalesce into nightmares when he finally succumbed to sleep.

This was the price. The physical toll was immense, but the mental scars were deeper, constantly reminding him of his fragility, his fear. The fear of not being strong enough to protect, to provide. The fear of seeing those he cared for suffer because he hadn't pushed himself harder, endured more.

That fear was a far more potent motivator than any physical pain.

He slowly pushed himself up, his muscles protesting but obeying. He was Cael, still in his original body, a body now fundamentally reshaped and hardened by an alien curse.

The agony of Crimson Rebirth had left him utterly spent, yet a quiet resolve settled deep within his chest. He had endured. He had grown. And the path ahead, though fraught with suffering, was clearer now.

Hestia rushed to his side, careful not to touch him, her eyes wide with concern.

"Cael… you're alright?" she whispered, her voice laced with the lingering worry from his screams. The gentle pull of Grace of the Hollow Star intensified for her as she watched him, the cursed admiration rising, even as she remembered the cost.

Cael nodded, his voice hoarse. "I'm fine, Goddess." He was not fine, not truly, but he would be. He always was.

He allowed his mind a brief period of quiet recovery, letting the lingering mental echoes of the excelia rush settle. His mind, unlike his body during Crimson Rebirth, was not weak.

He found strength in channeling his frustrations. Every ounce of anger he felt at his own perceived weakness, at the fear of failing those he deemed important or worth saving, he funneled directly into his core. It became fuel. This conviction drove him.

He would train every single day, pushing his limits, believing that relentless progress was the only way to ensure he could always stand strong.

Days had passed since Cael's unprecedented Level Up. He had settled into a rigorous routine within the Hestia Familia home, his recovery marked by relentless, focused training.

The phantom pains of Crimson Rebirth still occasionally ghosted through his limbs, and nightmares waited for his sleep, but his dulled pain nerves allowed him to push through. Every swing of his simple iron sword was fueled by his fear of inadequacy, his anger at weakness, channeled into pure, unyielding resolve.

He channeled his frustration and fear into intensified discipline. His body, now Level 2, felt both lighter and denser, brimming with a new, contained power.

Hestia watched him, a silent mixture of pride and profound apprehension churning within her. She'd observed his rigorous routine, the sheer dedication that pushed him beyond normal limits.

Her own internal battle with Grace of the Hollow Star was a constant undercurrent—that subtle, pervasive craving for his attention, his warmth, even as her goddess's mind reminded her of its cursed nature. The secret of his full Falna weighed heavily, especially his question about Grace of the Hollow Star.

"Cael," Hestia called one morning, interrupting his practiced sword drills. She held a small, neatly folded map of Orario, a determined glint in her eyes. "Now that you've had a few days to recover, it's time we properly outfitted you. That iron sword won't do for a Level 2 adventurer, especially one like you."

Cael lowered his blade, wiping sweat from his brow. "My sword serves me well, Goddess," he stated, his voice even. He truly felt no discomfort from its dull grip; his Bladebond skill meant the connection was to him, not the weapon's inherent quality.

Hestia beamed, an almost annoying grin spreading across her face. "Perhaps for you, Cael. But there are still monster hides to pierce! And besides, we have the Valis! A good weapon is an investment. We're going to see Hephaestus. She makes the best." She thought for a moment, her grin fading slightly as a wave of worry washed over her. Hephaestus is my friend, but… what if?

Cael nodded a few moments of thinking, the sword in his hand was chipped and was slightly cracked, it made sense for him to a new weapon.

It was a step towards progress, towards being better equipped to protect and provide, he would not object.

The walk through Orario was a bustling affair. The city hummed with life, a vibrant tapestry of commerce, adventurers, and the occasional strolling deity.

Cael observed it all with his usual quiet intensity – the diverse races, the cacophony of vendors, the sheer scale of the buildings. He felt an odd blend of detachment and a burgeoning sense of belonging. This was his new home, for now.

They eventually reached the Hephaestus Familia's stronghold, a massive complex dominated by the rhythmic clang of hammers on steel, the glow of furnaces, and the acrid scent of coal smoke. It was a place of industry and raw power, far grander than Hestia's humble church.

Hestia led him through the main entrance, There, amidst the roar of a towering forge, a figure with fiery red hair tied back in a messy bun, and a distinctive eyepatch covering her left eye, worked with surprising grace, hammering a piece of glowing metal. This was Hephaestus, the Blacksmith Goddess.

Hephaestus didn't immediately look up, her brow furrowed in concentration. She heard the footsteps, then paused her hammering, glancing over.

Her gaze fell on Hestia, and a small, almost imperceptible frown touched her lips, quickly followed by a weary smile. "Hestia. To what do I owe the... pleasure? Don't tell me you're here for another loan. I'm not running a charity, you know."

Hestia, ignoring the jab, beamed, her hands clasped together like a child. "No, no loans today! Hephaestus, look! This is Cael Ardent! My first and only Familia member!"