Chapter 80: Echoes of a Legend
News of the mysterious blacksmith's reappearance at the Greyhold Adventurer's Guild spread like wildfire. By sunrise, the entire city buzzed with rumors—some exaggerated, others eerily accurate.
Whispers of a sword forged from six legendary blades, of a man who bent mana as if it flowed in his veins, and of a motorcycle crafted with sorcery and steel echoed through taverns, alleyways, and merchant stalls. Some swore they'd seen it all firsthand. Others called it a setup. By noon, street vendors were selling "I Saw the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales" pins outside the guild.
Inside, the Adventurer's Guild teetered on chaos. Newbies and gold-ranked veterans alike swarmed the halls, trying to glimpse Garrett or his mythical blade.
The guildmaster rubbed his temples and muttered, "We're gonna need a bigger notice board."
Across town, the noble academy came to a standstill. Professors halted mid-lecture as students scrambled to discuss the massive magical flare detected near the guild. A team of advanced mages attempted analysis—only to realize the energy signature was like nothing in imperial records.
Far across the sea, a cloaked warrior brushed her fingers over the sword on her back. Once silent, it now pulsed—alive, as if answering a distant call.
In the Ashen Cliffs, a masked warlord hurled a goblet against stone walls.
"Find him. Burn his forge to ash."
Deep underground, in the secret halls of the dwarves, forgemasters paused mid-strike. An ancient, blind dwarf tilted his head and smiled, listening to the wind.
"The young flame roars," he murmured. "Just as his soul once promised."
Back in Greyhold, Garrett sped through the city on Fenrir. The magic-forged motorcycle purred beneath him like a living beast. People stared, pointed—some even bowed.
Liora, riding alongside on horseback, laughed. "So? How does it feel to be a living legend?"
Garrett grinned, wind tossing his hair. "Loud."
---
At dawn, Liora embraced her mother tightly in their cottage. Her father lingered nearby, arms crossed, his usual stern expression softened with sorrow.
"You're really going, then?" he asked, voice gruff.
"I have to," she said, managing a smile.
He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, holding her like he didn't want to let go. "Just… come back in one piece, alright?"
Her mother smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, hush. Don't come back until I'm a grandma."
"M-Mom!" Liora turned bright red.
Her mother winked and handed her a packed satchel. "You heard me. Now go light the world on fire, sweetheart."
With mist in her eyes and a quiet laugh, Liora strapped on her gear, tucked Reyn's repaired rune book into her pack, and stepped onto the road.
The forest greeted her with fangs. Wolves tainted by corrupted mana emerged from the thickets. She danced through them, blades flashing and spells igniting the air.
A giant boar, tusks glinting like metal, charged. Liora slid beneath it and blasted its belly with concentrated mana, leaving it crumpled and dazed.
Then came the crawler—a centipede-like beast with armor plates and venomous fangs. It lunged. She was already in the air, spinning. Her rune-lit blade struck, and it fell, twitching.
By the time she reached the clearing, blood mist clung to her coat. Her breath came hard, but her eyes gleamed.
And then she saw it.
Reyn's forge had changed.
Where once stood a hidden smithy nestled in the woods now loomed a mechanical giant.
Massive legs of rune-carved blacksteel rooted it to the earth. Folded wings—crafted of dragonbone and enchanted iron—stretched along the roof, shimmering faintly with stored mana.
A crooked chimney shaped like a dragon's snout puffed rhythmic smoke. The entire structure creaked and groaned, shifting as if waking from slumber.
Liora blinked. "What… did you build, you mad genius?"
This wasn't just a forge. It was a mobile fortress. A flying legend.
As she stepped closer, the forge's steel doors hissed open, warm orange light spilling out.
The familiar clang of hammer on metal rang from within.
"Took you long enough," Reyn called out, casual as ever.
Liora stepped inside, heart pounding. "I had to fight a centipede demon and two wolves. What's your excuse for turning your forge into a walking monster?"
Reyn looked up from the anvil, sparks lighting his grin. "We'll need to move when the world realizes what we're building."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate necklace—black-metal chain, gemstone shaped like a tiny anvil, wreathed in golden flame.
"I made this for you." He placed it gently in her hands.
"It's a spatial enchantment. Think of a suit of armor, and it'll equip you instantly. I've loaded a few already."
Her eyes widened as he continued. "Light armor, heavy plate, stealth gear, elemental-resist sets, even a magic amplifier. Still testing a few more. Figured you'd like it."
She stared at the necklace. Then at him.
"You made this… for me?"
"I make a lot of things," Reyn said softly. "But this one's special."
She stepped forward and hugged him, tight.
A quiet moment stretched—until a loud cough broke it.
"Ahem. Am I interrupting something?"
They turned. Kael stood in the doorway, arms crossed, brow raised.
"You are," Reyn muttered.
Kael smirked. "Good. Thought I'd have to kick the door down."
Liora rolled her eyes. "Did you come just to ruin the mood?"
"No," Kael said, stepping inside. "The capital's exploding with rumors. Monsters are acting strange. And Reyn here built a walking forge. Thought I'd check in before the next apocalypse hits."
Reyn gestured vaguely. "It only walks if I want it to."
Then he froze.
A voice echoed in his mind—ancient, distant, and unmistakably familiar.
"The first wave of demons has arrived, little spark. Sharpen your flames."
The voice of the Blacksmithing God.
Reyn didn't flinch. Just exhaled, a smile tugging at his lips.
So it begins.
He didn't tell them. Not yet. Let them rest, he thought. There would be time.
His gaze drifted to the vault beneath the forge—where blueprints slept, drawn under divine inspiration. Designs for weapons that could absorb and convert demonic energy.
True Devil Arms.
He opened a drawer, revealing a half-finished schematic sketched in glowing lines.
"We'll need more trials," he murmured. "And a bit more chaos."
Outside, Liora sparred with Kael, her armor shifting forms with each strike—light to plate to stealth in seamless flow.
She didn't yet know that the next forge fire would be lit not with mana… but with war.