CHAPTER 73: NEW SWORD

"How do you feel?" Kaelor asked, his voice calm, measured.

The moment Mildred replied, her voice echoed with a strange resonance, an otherworldly vibration that sent a dense, smoky pulse rippling through the air. It wasn’t a scream, nor a shriek, but it pierced Kaelor’s ears like a hidden detonation.

His body stiffened as the sound collapsed into his eardrums, making his skull ring as though he had stood too close to a violent blast.

He clutched his ears, teeth clenched tightly, pain roaring through his head like a pounding drum.

’I wish you would be loyal to me like you were to my mother.’

Mildred froze. The voice was Kaelor’s, but it hadn’t come from his lips. It rang from within, spoken straight from his heart. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as though a phantom had whispered her deepest shame.

Kaelor staggered backward, the pain morphing into a sharp fury. His aura, previously calm and quiet, surged outward like an erupting wave. His will solidified, becoming a wall of invisible pressure that blasted outward. Mildred cried out as it struck her like a gust of divine wind, sending her stumbling back until her back slammed into the table behind her, knocking over a chair.

"My Lord... I-I didn’t mean to!" she cried, horror in her voice, her eyes shimmering with tears and dread.

Kaelor’s expression had hardened into stone, his eyes unreadable. Silence hung in the hall, heavy and sharp.

Then he exhaled, a long, quiet breath. He stepped forward, his face softening just enough as he reached out and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

"You’re a powerful Acranist witch now," he said softly. "Once I have the money, I’ll travel to the nearest city and purchase Focus Crystals. I’ll have them fused for you, a Diamond-ranked Focus Crystal, your own."

His voice was steady, but behind it lay a quiet promise.

Mildred’s heart pounded at his words. The warmth of his hand burned through her shoulder, not from heat, but from the weight of his words and the promise they carried.

"M-My Lord..."

"You just lost control for a brief moment. That’s all. I can handle it." His gaze held hers for a heartbeat, then he turned toward the tall doors of the hall. "I’ll be leaving now. It’s already late."

As he stepped outside, the midday sun poured down, washing over him like golden rain. The heat kissed his skin, and the light traced the outline of his faint smile as it widened.

Before him stood the rising heart of his town.

Two-storey buildings, freshly constructed with neat masonry and straight beams, lined the inner section like disciplined soldiers. More were under construction, the sound of hammers and axes echoing through the warm air.

He passed through the street, Titan lumbering behind him like a silent shadow. Among the workers, Kaelor noticed something that made his smile deepen, slaves still in chains, sleeves rolled up, sweat on their brows... working.

Not from command, but choice. Hope shimmered faintly in their eyes as they saw the changes around them.

They labored alongside free folk, carving out a new place in a growing town.

[Town loyalty increased to 50%!]

His plan was working.

And the slaves, seeing others freed, clothed, and given homes, had found a glimmer of belief that maybe, just maybe, their chains could break too.

He went straight to the blacksmith’s place, the rhythmic hammering of metal echoing faintly down the path. The scent of burning coals and molten iron thickened the air as he approached the forge.

Now that he had a growing force of Armourers and Mailers, Vulcanus could no longer monopolize all the ore. After all, five thousand pounds of wrought iron wasn’t a trivial amount; it was the kind of haul that could arm a company and reinforce a town’s defenses tenfold.

Redwood Town was no longer the humble settlement it once was. It now bustled with skilled hands and thriving craft. Over a hundred Armourers and a hundred Mailers had been gathered, working in tandem with nearly fifty Armor Tailors, thirty additional blacksmiths, and hundreds more skilled workers spanning every imaginable trade, from tailoring and shoemaking to masonry, carpentry, and beyond. Six hundred skilled hands. A burgeoning city forged from chaos.

But today, Kaelor wasn’t here for administration. He needed a new weapon, one suited for the man he was becoming.

As he stepped into the forge, the heat welcomed him like a heavy cloak. The interior was dim, lit only by the glow of molten metal and the embers dancing in the main furnace. There, shirtless and broad-shouldered, Vulcanus stood hunched over a whetstone, grinding the edge of a much thicker-than-usual longsword. Sparks flared from each pass of the blade, casting brief flashes across his scarred arms.

The sword itself was a curious thing. It lacked ornate beauty, no gleaming jewels, no elaborate crossguard, but Kaelor’s eyes locked onto something unmistakable. Runes. The very same style of inscription he’d seen etched into Eric’s armor, ancient, purposeful.

Without even turning to see who had entered, Vulcanus spoke in his gravel-deep voice. "You’re here."

Kaelor stepped closer, nodding. "Have you been given your share of ores?"

Vulcanus grunted in reply, the sound like the shifting of tectonic plates. "I have."

Kaelor cleared his throat. Vulcanus was no ordinary man. Mysterious, powerful, and notoriously unimpressed by rank or status, he was not someone to be ordered lightly. "There are about thirty novice-ranked blacksmiths. I don’t want you to take them as your apprentices. Just lead the smithing department. Guide them."

Vulcanus stopped his work. Slowly, he straightened his back, looming like an ancient golem of metal and soot. His eyes, bright red, turned to Kaelor.

"Now you recognize this old man’s worth," he said, a dry rasp of humor laced beneath the words. "I shall do as you ask. But this forge..." He gestured to the cramped, soot-dark space around them, crowded with half-forged weapons, broken molds, and barrels of iron scraps. "It’s too small. Build me a forge worthy of an army, and I’ll begin."

Kaelor nodded in silent agreement.

Right then, Vulcanus held out the sword, the thick blade balanced with ease in his calloused hand. He offered it hilt-first.

"This is your new sword. I called it Keranous, or at least, that was what I wanted to create, if not for the weak nature of steel," Vulcanus muttered, as if disgusted by the material. "For now, consider it an upgraded version of Ignis."

Kaelor reached out and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. The moment he lifted it, his arms buckled slightly under the unexpected weight. Ignis had been ten pounds at most, Keranous was nearly twenty times heavier. Two hundred pounds of brutal, runic-forged steel.

The crossguard was wide and utilitarian, gleaming like polished silver beneath the ambient forge light. The hilt was wrapped in a leather grip, softened with wax and cloth-bound to prevent bruising. When Kaelor stood upright, the blade nearly reached his belly button, massive and menacing.

But the most captivating detail... were the runes.

Two of them, etched deeply into the blade’s broad surface, shimmered faintly with latent power.