The forge was suffocating. Due to the heat, the claustrophobic clutter of the space, and in the strong spiritual pressure emanating from Serena’s father and Exalted Grandmaster Halreth.
Kain could feel the heat pulsing off the nearest furnaces, the glow of spiritfire painting every surface in molten gold. The walls were lined with strange metals and half-finished weapons. But none of it held a candle to the man currently holding a jagged shard of ore between his fingers like it was sacred scripture.
Serena’s father stood to the side, arms crossed, impassive.
The old blacksmith—massive, bearded, and wearing a robe so singed it was probably older than Kain—was hunched over the worktable. His eyes flicked behind a lens attached to his face, scanning the shard’s surface with maddening precision.
“This one,” he muttered, rotating it. “Doesn’t conduct spiritual energy in the normal way… it reverberates it.”
He set that one down and picked up a black disk of mineral that shimmered like a pool of oil.
“This one’s density exceeds blackiron. And yet—no weight. And see here, the crystalline fragments at the edge? That’s normally only found in… no, this is new.”
His breathing was getting heavier.
Kain, standing awkwardly at the edge of the table, exchanged a look with Serena.
Her brow was raised, but she didn’t say anything.
Then the man picked up the smallest chunk.
It was the one Kain hadn’t really thought much about—an odd bit of dull red, slightly porous, no glow, no shimmer. Honestly, it looked like a brick fragment from a ruined building.
But the moment the blacksmith’s fingers closed around it, everything changed.
His expression froze.
His eyes narrowed.
Then—like lightning striking dry wood—he straightened to his full height with a suddenness that made Kain tense instinctively.
“Where,” he said, voice low, “did you get this?”
Kain’s lips parted. “That one? I—”
“No,” the man snapped. “Not just this. All of them. Where did you get these?”
The forge had gone quiet. Even the furnaces seemed to pull back their roaring as that last word echoed across the walls.
Kain kept his voice calm. “I can’t disclose the source.”
The man’s knuckles tightened.
“But,” Kain continued, “I can arrange to get more.”
That shifted the air again.
The blacksmith stared at him for a long time. Then… something changed. His intensity didn’t lessen—it sharpened. But the danger faded, replaced by something… almost fanatical.
“You can get more,” he said slowly, as if tasting the words. “You can get more of this.”
“I can,” Kain said, nodding once.
The blacksmith sat heavily on a stool, his giant frame folding over the table as he pulled the strange red ore closer. He didn’t examine it through lenses now. He just stared at it. Like it was alive.
“I’ve been forging for decades,” he said. “Longer, if you count the years apprenticing before my own mentor let me touch any metal. I’ve worked with Starsteel, Heartglass, and even Dust-Grade Souliron. I’ve crafted for generals, 9-star beast-tamers, and the royal family. But never… never have I seen a metal like this.”
He lifted it again. His hands trembled slightly.
“This is what I’ve been missing.”
Kain blinked. “Missing for what?”
The man looked up, and his expression was… almost deranged with hope.
“Ascension,” he said. “I’ve reached the limit of Exalted Grandmaster—the current limit for blacksmiths that is considered possible. I plateaued decades ago. Every breakthrough theory I’ve followed, every enhancement technique I pioneered, they all brought me close—but never over that gap into the next level.
Kain was still.
“There’s a theoretical level of craftsmanship,” the blacksmith went on, voice low, reverent. “One whispered about in the old texts. In the Celestial Ascension era during the empire’s founding, there was a man who supposedly reached this level—founder Amos Sans. They called him who reached this level a ‘Divine Craftsman.’ Not just because of his skill.”
He tapped the ore on the table gently.
“But because he breathed life into his creations.”
Kain’s eyes widened.
“Real life,” the smith whispered. “Not just pseudo-conscious golems or self-activating arrays. Real. Spiritual. Life. He could turn the most mundane weapon…into a living, breathing spiritual creature that is contractable.”
He looked down at the shard again, eyes gleaming with something dangerous.
“This has the echo of that potential. This metal… I don’t know how, or why, or what this is. But I’ve never seen a mineral structure like it… If I forge this right… I might be able to reach that level.”
Serena made a small sound of disbelief. “You really think you could…?”
“Yes.” The man’s voice was absolute. “And if I can create a weapon… a living weapon… and it chooses its wielder…”
Kain swallowed. “You’re saying it could become a contract beast?”
He nodded. “One with extremely high potential, at that. One whose form, abilities, and growth could be directed by the design and purity of its forged shell.”
Kain stared at the red fragment. It still looked like a mundane piece that chipped off of a red brick.
“Then you understand,” the blacksmith said suddenly, “why I need more.”
He looked Kain dead in the eye.
“I will pay anything.”
Kain, to his credit, didn’t let his face change. But inside, a little voice was dancing and screaming about finally winning the jackpot.
“I can bring more,” he said calmly. “But I’ll need a pre-payment. For the auction.”
The blacksmith didn’t hesitate.
“How much?”
Kain blinked. “You’re not even going to ask how much I can bring? Or ask for any kind of insurance to make sure I hold up my end of the deal?”
“You’ll bring it,” he said. “You know I want it. You’re not stupid. You’ll bring as much as you can manage. So, how much do you need right now?”
Kain considered it. Weighing how much he currently had against the estimated sale price for the object(s) he wanted during the auction
“Twenty billion credits,” he said finally. “And I need it by tonight.”
Serena looked at him like he’d just told the Empire’s best craftsman he wanted to sell him socks for 20 billion. And Kain tensed up, wondering if he’d been too greedy.
But the man simply nodded.
“Done.”
Kain froze.
“Done?” he repeated.
“Done,” the blacksmith said again, already scribbling out a spiritual bank note on a gilded, rune-inscribed slip. “I’ll have the transfer finalized within the hour. If you deliver more of this… I’ll double it next time.”
Kain took the slip, his fingers tingling.
Serena exhaled slowly beside him, then gave Kain a sidelong glance.
“You keep getting richer by the hour,” she muttered.
Kain barely heard her.
He was already calculating what this amount of money would let him do at the auction.
And wondering—
Just how much of Aurem’s hoard he could sneak out next time without the dragon completely losing its shit and trying to attack him.
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