The Spirit of smoke descended, hovering inches from the ground. Its presence stifled the whispers of the Shadow stirring within Nameless's veins.
"I know what has transpired..." the Spirit began, its voice cavernous. "Aegis... made a desperate choice. She imprisoned the Void... within a vessel of flesh. But the seal is fragile, [***]."
Milo, though terrified, stepped closer to listen. The Spirit turned its hollow orbs toward him.
Milo's Legacy
"Little blacksmith... heir of Balthazar... Your hands know steel, but not the soul of the Dragon. To repair the Gloves... you must learn Astral Smithing. Within this dungeon... I have preserved fragments of ancient texts. Study them. You are the only one capable of stabilizing the artifacts... without shattering them further."
A manuscript of black leather, surrounded by a violet aura, appeared before Milo. This was the foundation he needed to become more than a mere companion: he was to be the Champion's Personal Armorer.
The Spirit's Gift: Radar and Stability
The Spirit extended a vaporous hand toward Nameless's gloves. A jolt of cold energy surged through the boy's body.
The Dragon's Compass: The gloves began to glow softly. Nameless suddenly felt a precise direction—a distant pulsation coming from the Northeast. "The Gloves now hunger for their brothers... they will guide you to the next piece: the Storm Spear."
Stabilization (10% Boost): Nameless felt the crushing weight lift slightly. The Spirit had injected its essence into the flaws of the defective gauntlet. For the first time in months, Nameless felt he could tap into his strength without collapsing. But the warning was immediate: "You have only ten percent of your power. If you force it, the 'bandage' will snap, and the Shadow will devour your mind."
The Shadow of the Traitor
The Spirit drew itself up, its form becoming unstable, as if revealing these truths carried a heavy price.
"But beware... Aegis and I are not the only ones watching you. The Traitor... the one who orchestrated the fall of your clan during the Great War, has awakened. He felt Aegis's call. He seeks the pieces of the regalia... just as you do. If you arrive after him... the world shall know no further dawn."
Nameless clenched his fists, feeling the dark energy of the spirit circulating in his arms. He was no longer just a fugitive; he was in a race against a ghost from the past.
"Why are you helping me?" Nameless asked.
"Because if you fall... I shall vanish... along with your memories. Now go. The Spear awaits you... in the Frozen Peaks... where humans dare no longer venture."
In a swirl of smoke, the Spirit vanished, leaving Nameless and Milo alone in the crystal hall with a plan, a forbidden smithing book, and a direction.
Walkers of the Northeast
The exit from the dungeon felt nothing like their arrival. Nameless walked with a steadier gait, while Milo clutched the black leather grimoire to his chest as if fearing it might evaporate.
The Ten Percent Test
A few leagues from the dungeon, a Warrior-Bear (C-Rank)—a massive beast with claws reinforced by rock—blocked their path. Two months ago, they would have had to flee. Today, Nameless stepped forward alone.
He closed his eyes, seeking the connection established by the Spirit. He felt the mental "dam." He opened it just enough. An invisible shockwave vibrated the air around him. His eyes flared electric blue.
In a movement almost too fast for the human eye, he drew the Sword of Silence. The bear charged, but Nameless did not flinch. He parried the strike, feeling the raw force of the gloves absorb the impact without his bones shattering. With a backhand slash infused with a tiny spark of draconic mana, he rent the beast's chest open.
The bear collapsed. Nameless panted, a thin trail of black smoke escaping his gloves. "It's... stable," he murmured. "But the Shadow... it's hungry. I felt it pushing against the door the moment I struck."
Seven Days of Discovery
The journey to the Frozen Peaks began in earnest. During a week of intensive trekking through wild plains and dense forests, each learned to master their new "buffs":
Nameless and the Compass: He learned to interpret the vibrations of his gloves. It wasn't just a direction, but a melody. The further Northeast they went, the more complex the melody became. He also discovered he could "feed" the gloves by letting the sword absorb the mana of defeated monsters, which stabilized his emotional state.
Milo and Astral Smithing: Every night at the campfire, Milo studied the manuscript. He realized that to repair the gloves, he didn't need iron, but Soul Materials. The book revealed that the gloves acted like circuits; if a piece was missing (like the Spear), the circuit was overloaded. Milo began tinkering with small "discharge runes" on the gloves to help Nameless endure the 10% output for longer periods.
The Changing Horizon
On the seventh day, the air turned abruptly glacial. Green grass gave way to persistent frost. Ahead, the mountains loomed like giant teeth piercing the clouds.
They had left the influence of the Kingdom of Solis. They were entering a neutral zone—a dangerous merchant crossroads that served as a buffer with the next realm.
"We're here, Nameless," Milo said, huddling into his fur coat. "We're out of range of their regular patrols."
Nameless fixed his gaze on the peaks. His gloves burned with a savage impatience. "It's not just the Spear I feel... There's someone, Milo. Someone waiting for us on this road."
A few hundred meters away, near an old stone bridge marking the border, a hooded figure sat on a rock, distractedly playing with a bone knife.
The Chimera's Blood
The stone bridge marking the border between Solis and the Kingdom of Val-Brumal—a sovereign nation known as a haven for demi-humans and outcasts—creaked under their boots.
The Guardian of the Bridge
The silhouette on the rock stood with inhuman grace. Beneath the wide hood, only a flash of amber was visible: eyes. Reptilian eyes, vertically slit, which seemed to scan Nameless's soul in a fraction of a second. Nameless froze, his dragon blood resonating with the stranger's. A sensation of heat and savagery, identical to his own.
In a soft, almost childlike voice, she broke the silence: "What are two strangers from Solis doing in Val-Brumal, the kingdom where humans are not welcome?"
Milo, hand on his forge satchel, was on guard, but the stranger didn't seem to want immediate combat. She knew. She smelled the sulfur and the scale on the boy.
"Follow me," she said simply, turning on her heel. "One does not speak of such things to the wind. I am staying at the Silver Horn Inn. If you want answers, come."
The Appearance of the Survivor
Despite Milo's doubts, Nameless signaled to move forward. Balthazar's words echoed in his mind: "Since the Fall, the dragons are no longer united."
The inn was located in a dark alley of the lower town, populated by creatures with pointed ears or furred limbs. Once in the privacy of a cramped room, the girl pulled back her hood with a sharp motion.
The shock was brutal. Blood-red hair, cut short, framed a face with fine features but marked by crimson scales on the temples. But her body was the most terrifying part: her forearms and legs were no longer human. They were covered in dense scales, ending in sharp black claws—perfectly mimicking a dragon's anatomy on a human scale. She was a living chimera.
The Dragon's Grasp
Milo, whose nerves had been stretched to the limit for weeks, suddenly felt his legs give way. Without warning, he collapsed heavily to the floor, unconscious.
Nameless looked down at his friend, worried: "Milo!"
It was the rookie mistake she had been waiting for. In a fraction of a second, faster than Nameless could track, a powerful scaled tail—previously hidden under her cloak—lashed out and wrapped firmly around the boy's throat.
Nameless was slammed against the wooden wall, his feet leaving the floor. He felt the girl's claws rest gently on his chest, right above the Shadow's seal.
"Now, 'Little Brother'..." she whispered, her face inches from his, her eyes burning with predatory light. "Tell me why you smell of death, and why you carry the relics of our clan when you can't even keep your eyes open in front of me. Are you a gift from the heavens... or an insult to our ancestors?"
Nameless suffocated, but instead of fear, he felt a cold rage rising. The Shadow, deep within him, began to snicker.