Chapter 183: The Ironveil Forge
Su Tianhao left the Thousand Beast Pavilion a few minutes later, the required materials now safely stored in his spatial ring. A satisfied smile played on his lips.
"That went surprisingly well," he muttered to himself.
After purchasing the materials, he had sold off the beast corpses and cores harvested from the Verdant Mist Forest. Among the corpses was the Crimson-Eyed Rockmaw Bear he had slain on the first day of his training—its body parts, along with the others were just far too valuable to waste.
During his three weeks of intensive training, Su Tianhao had killed at least six to seven grade four beasts every day. The results had been excellent—not just in cultivation but in raw combat instinct, killing intent, and sheer efficiency. But his haul had grown significantly as well.
In total, he had slain over two hundred spirit beasts. Out of those, one hundred and fifty-two were grade four. Even though he had deliberately targeted grade four beasts, a few reckless grade three creatures had still attempted to ambush him, only to meet swift death.
Besides the tremendous progress in his overall strength, he had walked away with one hundred and fifty-two grade four beast cores, seven valuable beast corpses, and one grade six spirit herb—the Moonshadow Orchid.
Of the one hundred and fifty-two beast cores, one hundred and twenty-five were sold for a total of 23,000 gold coins. Most 1st level cores went for 100 gold coins each, while 2nd level cores fetched 200 gold coins—the standard price, but there were some expections depending on the specimen. For example, the mutant grey wolf cores, sold for almost twice their normal value—especially the Mutant Grey Wolf King core, which fetched 600 gold coins despite being only a 3rd level grade four.
Of the remaining twenty-seven cores, seven were reserved for upgrading Shadowfang—with the Dark Nether beast core being the most important. While the other twenty were stored away for future use.
The seven beast corpses sold for 14,600 gold coins in total, thanks to their valuable body parts and spiritually rich meat, which was highly sought after by prestigious restaurants.
In the end, the exchange had earned him 37,600 gold coins—equivalent to 376 spirit stones. Even though he could have easily earned a lot more, he chose to hold onto the Moonshadow Orchid for a future auction where it could fetch a much higher price.
Adding this to his previous wealth, Su Tianhao's total fortune now stood at 2,800 spirit stones.
---
While his mind ran through the final calculations, his legs moved steadily toward the Ironveil Forge, following the directions given to him by Wei Chang.
He moved through the midday crowd with practiced ease, both layers of concealment active—the cloth mask over his face and Formless Sovereign technique active, though only a small version of it.
Soon, he arrived.
The Ironveil Forge sat at the end of a quiet side street, well away from the main avenues. There were no golden signboards here, no beautiful attendants arranged at the entrance, no gleaming weapons mounted behind glass to catch a passing customer's eye. The building was constructed from dark, soot-stained stone reinforced with plain iron plating—wide, sturdy, and entirely uninterested in appearances. Thick black smoke rose from several chimneys in steady, unhurried columns. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal rang out clearly even from the street.
The only marker was an iron plaque above the wide entrance, its characters deeply carved and plain: "Ironveil Forge."
The doors stood open. Through them, Su Tianhao could see roaring furnaces and rows of heavy anvils receding into the dimly lit interior. The heat rolled outward in waves. The air carried the sharp bite of molten metal and scorched stone.
No chairs for waiting customers. No decorative displays. No concession to comfort.
Just tools, fire, and purpose.
Su Tianhao's lips curved slightly.
This was exactly the kind of forge Master Shen Bao would run.
He stepped across the threshold, the intense heat washing over him immediately.
Seven young men worked the floor, each stationed at their own furnace—shirtless, upper bodies glistening with sweat, muscles shifting under the orange glow of open flame. They were fully absorbed, each one locked in private battle with their creation, utterly indifferent to the visitor who had just entered. The hammers rose and fell with mechanical rhythm, each strike precise, controlled, deliberate.
Su Tianhao observed in silence.
"Not bad," he murmured.
---
A few minutes passed before one of them finished. He stepped back from the anvil, chest heaving, and set his work down.
He looked to be about nineteen or twenty—the youngest among the apprentices, yet already a 7th level Martial Core Realm expert.
Despite his age, he was huge and heavily muscled. Where Su Tianhao's own build was lean, refined, and precisely proportioned, this young man was built like a small mountain—broad shoulders, thick arms corded with dense muscle and a powerful frame that spoke of raw physical strength.
He had short, fiery orange hair, strong jawline, and a handsome face that carried both youthful ethuthisam and focused discipline.
He was Huo Yan. Master Shen Bao's final apprentice and by far his most talented one.
Su Tianhao's eyes drifted to the weapon on the anvil.
A massive great sword—no decorative engravings, no ornamental flourishes. Razor edges, reinforced hilt, clean and brutal in its simplicity. But the density of spirit energy contained within it was unmistakable.
High-grade Mortal Rank Weapon.
'A natural born prodigy,' Su Tianhao thought, with something between admiration and dry amusement. 'Compared to this guy and his achievements in the weapon dao and cultivation, the so-called prodigies of Oakwood city isn't worth mentioning at all.'
Master Huan, hailed as one of Oakwood city's best—was well past fifty and still sat at the same rank. This young man hadn't even reached twenty!
The young man turned, spotted Su Tianhao by the entrance, and his face broke into an easy, broad grin. He waved a hand in greeting as he crossed the floor.
"Hey, brother! Here to buy something?" His voice was warm and carrying, the kind that filled a room without effort. "You came to the right place—we do it all here."
He raised three fingers and ticked them off with cheerful precision. "Weapons for sale, custom orders and upgrades, and short-term forge rental. Whatever you need, we've got it covered. So what'll it be?"
Su Tianhao studied him for a moment, then spoke—his voice emerging as the steady, matured tone of a full-grown man rather than a sixteen-year-old.
"I'd like to see your master. Is he available?"
He had adjusted his voice through Formless Sovereign—a small application of the technique, far more economical than a full appearance alteration.
Huo Yan's grin didn't vanish, effortlessly shifting from easy friendliness into something more measured. "My master doesn't take visitors. Too busy. Anything he'd handle, I can sort out for you—what do you actually need?"
Without a word, Su Tianhao reached into his spatial ring and produced a black token bearing the symbol of two crossed hammers over a flowing veil of flame, with a single glowing rune at the center—the personal insignia of the Ironveil Forge. Wei Chang had pressed it into his hand before he left the pavilion, with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what it would do.
Huo Yan's casual expression vanished like mist beneath the morning sun.
"Where did you get that?" His voice dropped, eyes fixed on the token with a mixture of shock and sharp curiosity.
"That's not important," Su Tianhao replied evenly. "What's important is that I need an audience with your master. I have business with him."
Huo Yan's brows drew together. He glanced once toward his senior brothers—all still deep in their work, hammers falling in steady rhythm, completely elsewhere.
He decided not to disturb them.
He turned back, voice lower now, the easy friendliness replaced by something genuinely respectful. "I'll inform him. But I can't promise he'll agree to see you."
"I'd appreciate that," Su Tianhao said simply.
"Follow me."
---
Huo Yan led him out of the main forge and through a narrow covered walkway that connected the workshop to a separate rear structure—Master Shen's dwelling.
The contrast was immediate.
Where the forge was raw and industrial, this section carried a different kind of weight. The walls were thick dark stone, each block fitted with the unhurried precision of someone who had built not for appearance but for permanence. Iron sconces lined the corridor at measured intervals, their flames burning low and steady, casting long amber light across the floor. The ceiling was high and vaulted, its beams blackened from years of forge smoke, hung with old tools and faded diagrams of weapon structures that had long since been memorised and discarded.
At the corridor's end stood a heavy oak door—reinforced with iron banding, its surface worn smooth by decades of use. No ornament. No nameplate. Just a door built to last.
Huo Yan knocked twice and stepped back.
Silence.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
He didn't knock again. He simply waited—still, unhurried, with the practised patience of someone who had stood at this door many times before. Su Tianhao waited beside him, golden eyes moving quietly over the corridor's details.
Four minutes. Five. Six.
Only after a full six minutes did a deep, gravelly voice rumble out from inside the apartment like grinding stones: "...Who dares disturb this old man's focus?"
The sound of heavy footsteps and creaking wooden floorboards echoed from within, growing louder and closer with every step.
Then—Creak.
The heavy door swung open with a loud groan.
A man stepped out, his face twisted in clear annoyance.
Master Shen Bao was a man of average height—not tall and not short either—but built like a human furnace—broad, muscular frame, thick corded arms, and a powerful chest that strained against his soot-stained leather apron. His head was half-bald, with short, bristly black hair remaining only on the sides and back. A thick, wild beard covered most of his face, and his skin had a permanent reddish tint from years of standing before roaring flames.
His gaze swept from Huo Yan to the masked stranger beside him, and his expression shifted into something openly unimpressed.
"Boy! You of all people ought to know better than draggin' strangers to my doorstep at this hour." He roared, his voice carrying obvious disappointment.
Huo Yan flinched involuntarily. "I—"
But Master Shen didn't give him any chance to explain, he turned sharply to Su Tianhao.
"And you." The sharp eyes narrowing into a hostile glare. "Who in the hells are you, and what do you want?"
Su Tianhao's expression remained unchanged and his unnatural calm only unsettled Shen Bao further. "Who I am doesn't matter, all that matters is that I need your help."
A beat of absolute silence.
Then—
"Hah! Cheeky little bastard. Get off my doorstep!"
His aura flared without warning—the full, unrestrained pressure of a 1st level Martial Master, dense and suffocating like a collapsing mountain. The temperature in the corridor spiked sharply.
Huo Yan took an involuntary half-step back.
Su Tianhao didn't move. Didn't blink.
Into the silence, he extended his hand—and produced the black token.
Master Shen's aura died instantly.
The grinding hostility drained from his face. His eyes fixed on the token—and for the first time, something crossed his features that wasn't contempt or impatience. His broad chest rose and fell once, slowly. His hands—those iron-bending hands—trembled almost imperceptibly.
"...Where did you get that?" His voice had dropped to something low and careful.