CHAPTER 105: OTHERWORLDLY SKILLS

Short black hair clung messily to his forehead, his complexion was lightly tanned from the sun, and like the dog before him, his own body bore signs of malnourishment.

He was shirtless, his thin frame revealing ribs and collarbones too defined for someone his age.

His shoulders were narrow, his body weak-looking, and yet... there was something unmistakably different about him. Something beneath that fragile appearance.

As if sensing another presence, the boy’s head suddenly snapped to the side. His eyes widened in surprise the instant they landed on Riley standing by the doorway.

For a moment, silence filled the air.

Riley simply stared at him, the corners of his lips pulling into a faint, warm smile. His eyes softened, a glimmer of recognition flashing within them.

Koel was young—shockingly young, given the weight of the name Riley remembered.

In his past life, the blacksmith he came to know, the one whose reputation had spread far beyond the borders of the northern territories, had already been twenty when their paths first crossed.

By then, his skill with the hammer and forge was unparalleled, his creations spoken of with awe and envy alike.

But now... now he was only fourteen.

Riley’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though his smile never faded.

He had expected this, but seeing it with his own eyes still felt strange.

To think that such an unassuming boy, frail in body and slouched with weariness, would one day become a master whose name alone could sway guilds and factions alike.

Koel blinked rapidly in surprise as he stared at him. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, skin shadowed beneath from long nights of sleepless work.

The lids drooped low, as though weighted by exhaustion, but they could not hide the spark that flickered in his gaze.

His mouth hung open slightly, lips parted in a stunned expression he couldn’t quite suppress.

The brown dog before him barked once, sharp and sudden, its thin frame trembling with the effort.

It positioned itself between the boy and Riley as though to guard him, though its malnourished state made the gesture pitiful at best.

Riley, however, paid it no mind. His eyes remained fixed on Koel, calm and unwavering.

Koel’s thoughts spun wildly in that moment.

’His armor... it looks damaged. Badly damaged. Don’t tell me...’ His pulse quickened, his eyes widening further as the thought crystalized. ’An actual customer!’

It had been so long. So unbearably long since anyone had walked through that door with the intent to ask for his craft.

People passed by a few times, glancing at the decrepit shop, but no one entered.

No one had believed in a boy, especially not one who looked half-starved and weak, with little more than scraps of metal lying around.

But now—maybe—just maybe—this time was different.

Koel’s body tensed, and then, before he even thought of it, he shot up from the floor.

His bare feet slapped against the dusty planks as he rushed forward, almost stumbling in his haste.

His eyes, wide and shining with sudden hope, locked firmly onto Riley as if afraid that if he blinked, the man might disappear.

"Do you need your armour repaired?" Koel blurted out, his voice carrying a sharp edge of nervous excitement. "I—I could do that for you... at a cheap price!"

He didn’t stop there. Words tumbled out of his mouth one after another, his pitch rising as he rushed to fill the silence.

"My services are the best around, you’ll see! I can fix dents, cracks, and even polish the plating to look brand new. I could actually help you—I really can!"

Riley’s brows furrowed slightly. He listened in silence, though inwardly, he couldn’t help the thought that surfaced. He really is just a kid at the end.

"Yes," Riley finally said, cutting through Koel’s frantic babbling with a calm, steady tone. "I do need some repairs on my armour."

Koel’s head bobbed quickly in a nod, his messy hair bouncing in rhythm. "I can help with that for sure."

He whistled then—short and sharp—and the skinny dog that had barked earlier immediately perked up.

It darted to the side of the cluttered workshop, weaving between piles of discarded tools and half-broken scrap metal.

Sniffing through the mess, it latched its teeth around the wooden handle of an old hammer lying on the ground, before trotting back proudly to its master.

Koel bent down, taking the hammer into his hand. He weighed it up and down a few times, the way one might test an object for balance, before letting out a wry smile.

’I’m going to chase him away at this rate,’ he thought grimly.

It had been his first customer in almost three years. Three years of silence, of passing faces who never once stepped in. And here he was, fumbling like an amateur.

’Father always said first impressions matter...’ The thought stung as he glanced at Riley again.

Mustering what courage he could, Koel turned fully towards him, flashing an awkward, toothy smile.

"You can ignore everything... around here," he said quickly, his tone wavering between confidence and desperation. "I can actually do this. I can."

Riley gave a small nod in response, his expression unchanged.

Then, without a word, he unequipped his armour.

The Champion’s set fell to the ground with a heavy clink, each piece landing in sequence. In its place, the plain novice cloth from the starting village reappeared on his body, a sharp contrast to the intimidating gear he had worn moments before.

The room grew quiet save for the faint scuffle of the dog’s paws, and the faint rattle of the champion armour as it settled against the dusty floor.

Koel bent down, reaching for the armour with both hands.

He tried dragging it across the floor, but the heavy Champion set barely shifted an inch. His arms trembled, his face reddening with strain, until he finally let out a shaky breath and stopped.

Embarrassment flushed across his features, his lips parting like he wanted to explain himself, but no words came.

He stood frozen, fingers still clutching the edges of the armour as if refusing to let go.

Riley didn’t say anything. He simply stepped forward, his expression calm, and grasped the set himself.

With little effort, he dragged it to the table sitting at the far end of the room.

The metal clanged softly with each shift, leaving faint scratches on the dusty floor until it finally came to rest on the work surface.

Koel stared at it for several seconds in silence. His eyes traced along the dents, the chipped edges, and then lingered on the deep gashes running across the side of the chest piece.

He slowly reached out, his fingertips brushing over the scarred grooves.

’These are dagger cuts...’ he thought, following the trail with deliberate care. His breath quickened slightly, excitement swelling in his chest.

’These are merely little issues.’ His eyes shone with joy, his earlier embarrassment vanishing like smoke.

Riley simply watched him, his eyes narrowing faintly. Even without words, he could feel it—the boy’s joy, his unrestrained eagerness just to finally use his blacksmithing talent.

’Too bad... he died in my past life.’ he thought, a strange glint flashing across his eyes.

The memory flickered vividly in Riley’s mind.

After humanity’s strength and weapons surged to heights no one thought possible, the demons had quickly grown suspicious.

It hadn’t taken them long to realize that something—or other, someone—was responsible for the change.

Through a spy planted deep within human forces, they uncovered Koel’s identity. His downfall had been sealed the moment his existence became known.

And Terry, in his usual arrogance, only hastened it by openly celebrating the young blacksmith’s work, painting a bright target on his back.

At only twenty-three, Koel had been hunted down and killed by the demons.

His death had torn a hole through humanity’s fragile advantage, tipping the balance of war once again toward despair.

Riley’s gaze lingered on the boy now, hammer in hand, eyes burning with a light that had been extinguished too early once before.

’I won’t let you die this time... I won’t let anything go wrong.’ he thought.

Meanwhile, Koel gripped the hammer at his side, the weight of it looking almost comical in his small hands.

His posture straightened, shoulders stiff with determination, and then he raised it high above his head.

With a sharp exhale, he brought it down.

Clang!

The sound rang through the quiet forge as sparks scattered from the collision.

Riley’s eyes narrowed instinctively, but then they widened as he saw it—the torn ridges along the chest piece knitting together before his very eyes.

The jagged lines of the cuts smoothed, the deep tears closing as though the metal itself was alive and obeyed Koel’s command.

’So this is why they called his skills otherworldly...’ Riley thought, his breath caught in his throat.

Koel didn’t stop. His hammer rose and fell again and again, each strike sending another ripple of light and sparks through the armour.

And with every strike, the wounds of battle melted away, replaced with a seamless, gleaming surface.

Before long, the Champion set no longer looked like it had been through a war.

Every cut, every scar, every dent had vanished, leaving behind a luster so rich it gleamed under the dim forge light.

It shone as though it had just been freshly crafted—brand new, untouched by any blade.

Koel stepped back, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I’m done," he muttered, his voice quiet but filled with pride.

He reached forward and gently tapped the chest of the armour, his palm resting there a moment longer, almost like he was admiring his own work.

His droopy eyes softened, exhaustion mixing with satisfaction, and for that moment, it looked as though nothing in the world could make him happier.