The old shopkeeper with the glass eye stared at the pouch of silver, then at Kael, and let out a dry laugh that sounded like sandpaper rubbing together.
"Rent the forge? For a full night?" The old man shook his head. "Boy, this forge hasn't been touched by a real blacksmith in years. It burns with 'Lava Coal,' and the heat alone can melt bone before it even touches metal. Are you sure you don't just want to buy a finished sword and go to bed?"
Kael didn't answer. He simply placed the pouch of silver on the rotting wooden counter and stared with his calm, lethal eyes directly into the old man's good eye.
The old man stopped laughing. He felt an unnatural coldness radiating from this youth, despite his request to use a blazing furnace. "Fine, fine... your money, your funeral. Follow me."
The old man led him to a back room, then down into an even deeper cellar. There, in the middle of a stone chamber, sat a massive forge built from black volcanic rock. The flames inside pulsed with a deep orange hue, and the heat in the room was enough to make any ordinary person collapse unconscious within minutes.
Kael went to work immediately. He stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean, hard body covered in faint scars and a dim blue core pulsing in the center of his chest beneath the skin.
He grabbed the black iron sword—the "Dead Iron"—and tossed it into the heart of the roaring flames.
"Are you insane?" the old man shouted from a distance, wiping sweat from his face. "Dead Iron doesn't melt with ordinary flames! It needs—"
The old man cut himself off when he saw Kael extend his right hand toward the fire. He didn't touch the flames; instead, he began to channel the "Azura" energy from his chest with extreme precision, exactly as he had learned in the glass cup training. A microscopic thread of blue mana slid from his fingertip and merged with the orange fire.
In an instant, the flames inside the furnace turned from orange to a brilliant white, then to a searing sapphire blue. The Dead Iron, known for being impossible to reshape, began to soften, glowing a deep, vibrant crimson.
Tink... Tink... Tink...
Kael began to strike. His blows weren't random; they followed the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. With every hammer strike, he hammered "Star Steel" dust into the pores of the Dead Iron. The Star Steel would give the blade the ability to absorb impact rather than shatter, while the Dead Iron ensured the sword wouldn't leak Azura energy outward, preventing enemies from sensing his true power.
Hours passed. The shopkeeper watched from behind a stone barrier, his glass eye nearly popping out of its socket. He had never in his life seen a blacksmith weave mana into metal with such purity. The mana wasn't being added to the sword; it was being woven into it like nerves in a living body.
As Kael was lost in his work, he didn't notice the shadow watching him from a small vent in the cellar ceiling. It was a figure wearing a bronze mask, their eyes gleaming with lethal curiosity. "A magical blacksmith in the Shadow Market?" the shadow whispered to itself. "The Syndicate will love to hear about this."
As dawn approached, Kael plunged the glowing blade into a vat filled with "Earth Dragon Oil."
TSSSSSSSSSSS!
A thick cloud of steam erupted, filling the entire room. When the mist cleared, Kael was holding his new sword.
It wasn't a shiny or ornate blade. It was a longsword, forged in a deep, matte black that seemed to swallow the light around it. However, if viewed from a certain angle, tiny specks glittered within it like stars in a moonless night. The hilt was wrapped in rough Earth Dragon leather, providing a perfect, non-slip grip.
Kael swung the sword through the air. The blade made no sound, as if it were slicing through the void itself. It was heavy enough to crush plate armor and sharp enough to split a hair in mid-air.
"What will you call it?" the old man asked in a low, awestruck voice, stepping closer.
Kael looked at the blade, then at the dawn light trickling through the cellar vents. He thought of his past life as an oppressed blacksmith and his new life as a hunted monster.
"Nameless," Kael replied coldly, sheathing the sword in a simple leather scabbard. "Names attract attention. This sword was made to kill in silence."
Kael stepped out of the Shadow Market, the black sword on his back. He was no longer just a disciple with uncontrollable power; he now had the perfect "vessel" for his strength.
As he walked back toward the Academy, he felt something strange. The Azura energy in his chest wasn't raging as usual. It was... quiet. As if it had accepted the new sword as part of its own body.
"Seven days until the tournament," Kael muttered, looking toward the distant Academy peaks. "Darius... I hope your armor is strong enough."