CHAPTER 369: PIPE DOWN

The master smith stared at the scene with his mouth wide open. He had only just been ecstatic that this whole crappy situation was finally coming to an end. The whole thing had been a mistake to begin with.

He should never have been hot-headed enough to accept a challenge from an unknown person. His gut feeling was already telling him that the guy in front of him was not simple. He even ended up summoning that problematic Leonel out of nowhere.

How did he even know about him? He had made sure to erase the useless guy into oblivion and yet here he was today, standing in front of him and smithing no less.

The master smith instantly knew that he had fucked up. His only hope was that the idiot would as usual end up forging something useless out of his nervousness. But to his dismay, even that did not happen.

Even after all this time, the damned guy’s talent was intact. In the end, the bastard cooked something impossible from random, cheap materials, and that too in record time.

The master smith had thought that everything was over right then and there, and his charade was finally coming to an end. He had been terrified that everything he had worked so far was coming to an end just like that.

But the holy goddess did not desert him just yet. The master smith saw an opportunity when the ignorant idiots in his class shouted loudly, singing his praises, completely blind to what the other person had accomplished.

These fools would never know the true value of that piece of crap metal. As long as fools like these were around him, the master smith knew that he would never need to worry about his reputation getting tarnished.

This single event had been an anomaly, and he would never allow any such thing to repeat ever again. No more fucking duels. He let out a big sigh and was about to get the hell out of there when suddenly the fucking asshole was once again stirring the hornet’s nest.

Who the hell was he anyways? The fact that the guy did not even bother introducing himself was infuriating! He should have chased this guy away from the academy a long while ago, calling the guards.

The master smith’s eyes then widened in shock as he watched the impossible. A rune?

The damned madman was actually scribing a rune? Was he crazy? Was he a lunatic? How could this useless piece of trash metal withstand something like this? No. It shouldn’t. It can’t. His heart started beating faster, and sweat poured out of his head.

"Stop this! You... you don’t even know the craft! Do you think runes can be scribbled like chalk on a wall? You are just wasting everyone’s time, and you are disrespecting the ancient art of smithing! You are a pig wanting to devour a feast! What nonsense do you think-"

His words stopped in his throat as his eyes widened at the sight of the impossible.

The rough blade in Damon’s hands ignited.

The faint veins that had shimmered moments ago now blazed like molten rivers, the rune he had inscribed flaring to life with a brilliance. The air rippled with heat, waves of fiery aura licking outward.

Right in front of everyone’s eyes, the half-baked sword actually started emitting a fiery aura. If one fought with it, no doubt the damage would at least be ten times more than what the master smith’s perfect sword would achieve.

It was so damn apparent. Even the dullest student in the entire big lecture hall could clearly see that. Many apprentices gasped, recoiling, some even stumbling back from the sheer intensity.

"It... it accepted the rune," one whispered, his voice trembling. "Common ore doesn’t do that. It can’t!"

Another apprentice shook his head violently. "No, no, no... that’s impossible! Runes reject cheap iron. They always crack. I’ve seen dozens of failures, and yet... this..." He trailed off, staring at the blade as though it were some cursed miracle.

Gasps spread like wildfire.

"But how?!" another demanded, voice shrill with panic. "The master’s sword is perfect, flawless, every strike smooth, and yet this... this dropout forges something like this?"

Some apprentices, too stunned to hide their thoughts, muttered bitterly. "Was the master wrong all along?" one whispered, his face pale.

"Shut up!" another barked in denial, but his wide, fearful eyes betrayed him. "Don’t say such nonsense! The master is... the master is..." He faltered, unable to finish under the blazing hum of the fiery aura.

Damon grinned. The hall was now a storm of confusion, awe, and dread, all of it swirling around Leonel’s trembling blade and Damon’s calm, merciless smile.

The master smith’s hand twitched on his longsword. His face darkened to a furious shade of red, veins bulging across his temples. He could hear the murmurs of doubt spreading like cracks through stone.

These idiots. These ungrateful worms he had trained, fed, and ruled over. They were daring to look away from him, toward that dropout, and toward that smug bastard.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, his voice breaking into a snarl. His aura surged, oppressive and suffocating, as if he could hammer the room back into submission with sheer force of will.

The master smith’s composure snapped completely. With a vicious swing, he raised his flawless longsword and pointed it directly at Damon, his spittle flying as he screamed, "You dare mock me in my own forge? You think you can humiliate me in front of my students?! You somehow switched the materials at the last minute! Admit it! You are a fraud!"

Damon only casually laughed in response. He used his finger to push the sword aside with no effort at all. "Didn’t I already say that you have won? Now what is with all this drama? Pipe down and don’t make me repeat myself. Take your victory." Damon even mock-clapped for the guy with a big old smile.

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