Author Note:

This chapter ends on a bit of a sharp cliffhanger that breaks immersion. If you hate being left hanging, feel free to wait for the next update. Otherwise, enjoy!

Ps: Don’t raise your expectations too high or else even if the chapter is good you can be disappointed.

Of course, this had nothing to do with the present Mikael who had just left the Mission Hall, as he didn’t have a clue about the ‘wild gossip’ that would spread about him or the surge in popularity he would experience in the following days.

At the moment, all of his attention was fixed on repairing Sangrelia, or else he would have difficulty relaxing knowing that his loyal sword, who had burnt herself for him, was still ‘hurt’.

Without wasting time, he once again took flight and quickly ascended upward—with his speed, it didn’t take long for the Inner Court to disappear behind him as he rose higher and higher, and just like last time, with his ascension came a sharp increase in the Qi’s quantity and quality, so much so that each breath felt heavier, denser, more nourishing.

Soon enough, the Core Court reappeared in front of him, still as majestic and otherworldly as he remembered. Floating islands suspended in the air were connected by bridges of light, waterfalls of glowing Qi cascaded down from the peaks, gathering into crystal-clear basins surrounded by calm herb gardens and sword-imbued monoliths.

The Qi was nearly liquid, thick enough that even the air shimmered faintly with every shift in light. Unknowingly to him, Mikael had unconsciously slowed down as he took this sight in—it was a truly awe-inspiring spectacle, and even if it wasn’t the first time he saw it, it remained just as marvelous as before.

After a moment, he shook his head, remembering that he had something important to do and couldn’t waste time ‘sightseeing’; with that thought in his mind, he resumed his flight.

Moving as a black and silver blur, he crossed the nearly empty Core Court in seconds, the solemn beauty around him left behind as his destination came into reach. The temperature began to rise—not in small increments, but sharply, passing from comfortable to scorching in a matter of breaths, and while such heat might have already been unbearable for a mortal, for Mikael it was simply confirmation that he was getting close.

Below him, several buildings came into view—none like the others in the sect. Their structure was wide and low, forged from obsidian-colored stone reinforced by alloy beams, with fire-resistant arrays carved directly into the walls, while flames and smoke bled through controlled vents in the upper chambers, casting waves of heat that shimmered through the air like ripples on molten glass.

‘The Forging Hall.’

He descended straight toward the largest of the structures, the one from which the temperature was highest, and where the heat distorted the air so intensely it looked as if the building itself were burning.

Without hesitation, he landed at the threshold. The massive black-metal doors bore faint traces of something that instinctively made him think of the sensation he had when approaching sword intent, but it was undoubtedly different—so much so that for a moment, Mikael nearly stopped to examine the doors more closely, but he quickly shook himself out of it, as his attention was focused on Sangrelia, with everything else being secondary.

A curious thing was that neither this building nor the surrounding ones seemed to be guarded in any way, but as he approached the door and felt an almost tangible presence, he understood.

These doors weren’t guarded, and if his instinct was right, nor were they locked, but… they didn’t need to be—people instinctively knew better than to come here and cause trouble.

Ignoring this intangible pressure with a decisive step, Mikael pushed the doors open and entered.

The first thing that greeted him was the thick scent of smoke, hue, and burning metal, and the second… was the temperature, which took another leap upward—at this moment, it was high enough that even a Peak Body Forging Realm cultivator would have difficulty enduring it.

His gaze wandered to the wooden parts of the building, and for a moment, he wondered how they hadn’t caught fire yet with this kind of heat—but then he realized they were likely made from some kind of special wood, reinforced by arrays protecting them from combustion.

Step, step, step.

His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he advanced, his gaze sweeping across his surroundings and catching sight of row after row of weapons of various types placed on racks.

There were some of all types, ranging from longswords, spears, warhammers, whips, shields, and more—every type one could think of and that existed was present on these racks, but…

Not all weapons in this shop had the ‘chance’ to be placed onto racks; in truth, the ‘lucky weapons’ displayed properly were the minority, as the majority were carelessly dropped into piles scattered across the corners of the shop.

There were also some armors, ranging from metal to leather, passing through chainmail and other materials—but compared to weapons, they were far less numerous, making it clear that weapons were in far greater demand.

As he scanned the room, one of his eyebrows rose. ‘No clerk?’ he remarked internally, noting that the counter where a clerk would usually be stationed was, oddly enough, completely empty.

At that moment, Mikael understood—the Forging Hall wasn’t some kind of boutique selling high-end weapons with blacksmiths quietly creating them in the back. No, no no, it was the opposite.

It was a forge first and foremost, with a boutique layered on top simply to sell the weapons produced—nothing more, nothing less.

Seeing how there was nobody to cater to him upon arrival, Mikael didn’t get angry or frustrated like a young master would be; on the contrary, a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

‘A place like this…’ he took in the room a second time, ‘...should be able to repair Sangrelia without difficulty!’ he inwardly thought, already satisfied with the Forging Hall even without having met the blacksmith.

On that note, he approached the counter—and more particularly, a small silver bell he had seen earlier—and without hesitation, he pressed it.

Ding.

A small ding sound resounded, so faint that, with the constant clamor of clashing metal that had been ringing through the air since he neared the Forging Hall, it should’ve been impossible to hear.

But Mikael wasn’t worried about not being heard, as he had already caught a subtle Qi fluctuation manifesting into existence the moment he pressed the bell.

He understood that the sound wasn’t the real mechanism behind this silver bell; it was undoubtedly the Qi fluctuation that served as the true signal, warning the ‘clerk’ or blacksmith of the shop that a guest had arrived.

Because of this understanding, he didn’t hesitate before comfortably resting his back against the counter while he waited.

He didn’t have to wait for long, as soon enough he caught heavy footsteps approaching from behind the counter, and when he turned his head, he caught sight of a large burly man—the kind that had arms thicker than a normal man’s torso—sporting a wild beard, long messy hair, and a tunic covered in soot.

With a quick walk, the man approached Mikael, his loud voice resounding, “How can I help ya, lad?”

Clank.

A delicate metallic note rang out as Mikael gently placed the cracked form of Sangrelia on the counter. “I would be here to have her repaired, as she was damaged in one of my previous fights. If it could be done as soon as possible, it would be for the best.”

‘Her and she?’ the burly man thought while raising an eyebrow, before inwardly deciding that he didn’t care.

“Straight to the point, aren’t you?” he exclaimed, giving Mikael another look. “Can’t say I dislike a lad like you that doesn’t turn around the pot—and repairing this longsword shouldn’t be a problem…”

A hint of a smile appeared on Mikael’s visage before the burly man continued,

“Unfortunately, doing it rapidly won’t be possible, as until a month in the future, all of our blacksmiths—myself included—are entirely booked, so until then, it won’t be possible to begin repairing your sword.”

“This long?”

The burly man shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say, lad? We’re the best blacksmiths in the entire sect, so everyone wants our services. Of course the waiting line is long.”

“Of course, if the wait is unbearable for you, you can go see some lower-class blacksmith in the Inner Court—but their ‘services’... yeah, it won’t be up to par with what we can do here!” he declared, and in his eyes, the disdain for those so-called ‘blacksmiths’ was clear as day.

Mikael had a certain understanding of the sect and believed that what the blacksmith said—while probably biased toward his own Forging Hall—contained a large part of truth, and considering how he wanted the best for Sangrelia—

He let out a small sigh before speaking, “In this case, I would like to book an appointment in a month to repair my longsword. Is this possible?”

The burly man grabbed a small notebook from the counter and scribbled something down. “Sure it is, but which Master blacksmith do you want to take an appointment with?” he asked, pausing mid-scribble and raising his head to look at Mikael.

Mikael thought about it for a second, but not knowing them, he asked the ‘expert’, “Which would you recommend me if I want the best result?”

“The best result would be either Master Kaelgrim or me—Master Mardoc—but are you sure you want to ask for either of our services? Because the price in contribution really won’t be cheap! And honestly, I don’t think it’s necessary. Your sword is just damaged a little, Master Garron or Master Thorne, both lesser Masters, would be enough—”

He stopped mid-sentence, trailing off as he took Sangrelia’s cracked form more seriously. Earlier, it had only been a casual glance to estimate the extent of the damage, but now…

“Interesting,” Master Mardoc murmured to himself, completely tuning out Mikael as he crouched down for a closer look at Sangrelia, and as a look of stupefaction passed over his visage, he muttered with growing fascination, “Fascinating… it’s like the sword destroyed itself from the inside. I’ve never seen something like that.”

After a couple of seconds spent analyzing Sangrelia, Master Mardoc suddenly rose from his position and turned to look at Mikael, an excited gleam in his eyes. “Lad, your sword is truly fascinating! What do you say to selling it to me? I’d pay a huge amount of contribution points.”

For a moment, the atmosphere seemed to freeze, and even the previously burning-hot temperature seemed to drop below sub-zero, replaced by an unnatural stillness—as if the very air itself had frozen.

“No.”

It was just a single word, a ‘simple’ no, but if Mikael's earlier tone had been somewhat respectful with a hint of casual undertone, now it was something else entirely. His voice was terrifyingly cold, carrying with it a chill seemingly capable of cooling even the hottest of flame.

Even with Master Mardoc’s 1st layer Core Formation Realm cultivation, he felt a shiver of pure dread course down his spine; in that instant, the ‘lad’ standing before him looked more like a terrifying beast ready to devour him at any moment.

‘This lad is terrifying!’ realized Master Mardoc, before hurriedly raising both hands in front of him. “Sorry lad, that was a slip of the tongue—I didn’t mean it to be offensive. I just got excited because of the unique state your longsword is in. Forgive me.”

He excused himself, and the excuse was sincere—not because the lad’s aura was terrifyingly oppressive, but simply because it had truly been a slip of the tongue brought on by excitement. After all, the words he had just spoken were particularly offensive in a sect like the Wandering Sword Sect.

A sect of sword fanatics that generally had a close relationship with their weapons, where asking something like he did was almost the equivalent of saying, “How much for your wife?” Of course, it wasn’t quite as insulting, but it wasn’t far behind either, which was exactly why he had sincerely apologized

A second passed, and then another… and another, before Mikael, with one last cold gaze at Mardoc, extended his hand and took Sangrelia, repositioning her across his back—and then, only then, did he look at Mardoc and coldly say, “Excuse accepted.”

💬Got Thoughts? I read every comment, and your words genuinely shape Mikael’s path.

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A/N:

Sorry, no Author Note, today as I found it to be a bad place to write one, I’ll do a longer one tomorrow to compensate as I would talk about both chapters at the same time.

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Glad you’re walking this path with me.

— End of Chapter —