CHAPTER 367: THE DUEL BEGINS

"Run away? Again?" one of them jeered, shoving him hard toward the floor. "You worthless piece of shit, you don’t get to crawl back to your hole so fast."

Leonel struggled weakly, his protests drowned out by their mocking laughter. His eyes brimmed with desperation.

The so-called master smith stepped forward then, his voice dripping with scorn. "Pathetic. Still the same coward who fled the moment his talent was tested. Do you think I’ll allow a dropout to tarnish the sanctity of my forge? No... I will grind you down once more, so every apprentice here remembers what failure looks like."

His gaze turned cold and cruel. "Stand, worm. Face the hammer before you crawl back to the mines where you belong."

Leonel shook his head frantically, his lips trembling, "P-please... I-I don’t want this. I can’t—"

But before the intimidation could continue, a figure moved between them. Damon.

His cloak shifted as he stepped forward, placing himself squarely in front of Leonel. "That’s enough." The laughter stopped instantly.

The master smith bristled. "Stay out of this, intruder. This boy is mine to discipline."

"No," Damon said. "For now, he is not. Maybe after the duel. But not right now."

The guy grimaced and then turned around without saying anything. It was as if it were beneath him to dignify all of this. Soon, preparations for the duel began. Apprentices scurried to ready the forges, fetching ingots. The challenge was quickly set. A head-to-head forge duel, the master smith against the boy he had crushed years ago, under Damon’s banner.

Damon leaned down toward Leonel. "You’re not running. Not this time. I don’t care how broken you think you are. Stand, strike, and I’ll handle the rest. Forget about everything else and forge a weapon to your heart’s content. Today isn’t about whether you win or lose. Forget about that idiot. Forget about me. This contest. Forget about everything. Just pick your best weapon and forge it to your heart’s content."

Leonel’s hands trembled, his throat dry, but something in Damon’s words rooted him to the spot. For the first time in years, the boy didn’t turn away. Damon took out a top-tier healing potion and handed it to him.

Leonel trembled as he slowly accepted it. Before long, the stage was set, and it was time to start forging. The great bell was struck, its heavy chime echoing like a death knell across the hall. Apprentices whispered among themselves, eyes flicking nervously between the hulking figure of the master smith and the trembling, soot-stained Leonel.

Leonel stood before the anvil, his knees threatening to buckle. The healing potion Damon had given him had dulled the ache in his arms and steadied his breathing, but it could not heal the scars in his spirit. He glanced sideways at Damon.

With a trembling breath, Leonel picked up the hammer. It felt impossibly heavy at first, the iron shaft digging into his palm. The master smith smirked at his struggle, already mocking him without a word.

Yet, when Leonel raised the hammer overhead and brought it down, the sound that rang out was clean and sharp, metal singing instead of cracking. Gasps ran through the apprentices, for they had expected him to falter instantly. The master smith’s smirk stiffened. Damon’s smile, however, only grew wider.

The duel began with the roar of the forge.

The master smith moved with the confidence of a predator in his own den, his every gesture smooth, commanding, sure. Sparks danced as he struck ingot after ingot, hammer blows so precise they seemed to split the very air. His every movement was a display of dominance, a reminder of why no one had dared to challenge him in years.

Across from him, Leonel looked pitiful in comparison, frail arms shaking as he tried to lift his hammer, shoulders hunched as though every eye in the hall pressed down upon his back. The apprentices who had jeered earlier snickered openly, waiting for his first mistake, ready to pounce on his failure like vultures.

Yet Damon’s presence lingered just behind him, silent but unyielding, as if a wall stood between Leonel and the world. And when Leonel hesitated, Damon’s voice reminded him. "Don’t worry about others. You are already at rock bottom. What more could happen? Forge as you are. Forget the crowd. Forget the monster across from you. Just strike."

Leonel swallowed, set his jaw, and brought his hammer down. Each strike was clumsy, but each carried intent. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his soot-streaked skin, yet with every blow the rhythm began to settle, awkwardness giving way to stubborn persistence.

Something deep within him stirred, a memory of the passion that had once burned before failure and humiliation had snuffed it out.

The master smith sneered, doubling his speed, hammering the glowing metal into a blade shape with brutal efficiency. Sparks burst like fireworks, his every strike deliberately louder, faster, meant to drown out Leonel’s hesitant rhythm. "Pathetic," he spat, voice loud enough for all to hear. "A worm cannot forge a weapon. A dropout cannot defy me."

"I still don’t know who you are, but let me give you some free advice. You should stop this farce and either compete against me personally or choose one of my top students. Don’t be this naive and lose your face in front of everyone here. I think you have come here to recruit some cheap labor. Fine by me. Take these idiots with you. As many of them as you want. But you don’t have to be humiliated, right?" The master smith sneered.

However, Damon completely ignored the guy, his full attention of Leonel and his work. It was a rare privilege to watch a true prodigy forge, and he was not about to miss this chance.

"A fool wouldn’t know a good thing even if it sits on your face." The Master Smith sneered and continued his hammering. His movements were smooth and efficient, and in just a few minutes, his weapon was close to completion.

Everyone stared in awe as they watched the Master’s talent. To them, the duel already looked decided.

On the other side, Leonel’s arms shook with every swing, his strikes uneven, sweat dripping freely from his brow. To the crowd, it looked hopeless. Compared to the master smith’s perfect rhythm, his hammering seemed clumsy, childlike. Snickers echoed from the apprentices.

He’ll collapse before the metal cools," one whispered.

"He hasn’t changed at all," another scoffed.

The master smith was happy to hear everything. Everything was going just as he expected. Bringing Leonel here had been a gamble, but it looked like he had nothing to worry about after all.

But Damon’s gaze never left Leonel. He didn’t even spare the master smith a glance, as though the man’s display was nothing more than background noise. Instead, his eyes narrowed at the flicker of glow on Leonel’s half-formed blade.

The master smith noticed the shift too. His confident sneer faltered, just slightly, when he realized the dropout’s work wasn’t collapsing. He felt slightly uneasy. He was pretty sure that the idiot would fail, but he should not leave anything to chance.

His strikes grew harder, more vicious, as though he were trying to crush Leonel by sheer intimidation alone. The clang of his hammer thundered like war drums, shaking the air, demanding the crowd’s awe.

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