Reincarnation of the magicless Pinoy!
From zero to hero! " No magic?, No problem!"
Chapter 18 : No magic ? No problem!
The battlefield was a graveyard.
Smoke swallowed the horizon. Flames licked the shattered stones of what was once a proud fort. Magic shields flickered out. Screams came and went—cut off by thunderclaps of destruction.
And through it all, Groteus lived.
The crystals were half-buried in obsidian armor or nestled in deep muscle. Every step from the monster warped the land, a ripple of unnatural pressure twisting the mana in the air.
Mages around them collapsed from the sheer aura. Knights gritted their teeth, eyes wide with fear.
But Rolien didn't flinch.
It had no right to still be moving. Three of its crystals were gone. Its left arm had been blown apart. And yet—it was healing.
Flesh slithered over broken bone. Scales reformed in seconds. A black steam hissed from its body, thick with corruption and raw mana.
Lady Lerien gasped. "It's... regenerating."
Marcellus stared, face pale. "No. No, we hit everything. We shattered the cores—"
"Not the main one," Elian muttered. "We missed the true heart."
Groteus' chest cracked open, revealing a still-pulsing stone, buried deep and glowing with nuclear fury.
And then—it opened its jaw.
The roar split the heavens.
Groteus' jaw unhinged with a thunderous crack, the plates of its skull folding back to reveal a glowing, molten abyss deep within its throat.
Rolien's eyes locked onto it. The breath... it's coming.
The air vibrated. Static energy rippled like heat waves. Everyone on the field froze.
And then—
A beam of pure annihilation erupted from its mouth.
White-hot. Wide as a canyon. Screaming like a god's fury.
Rolien sprinted.
He didn't think. Didn't breathe. Just moved.
"ELIAN!!"
His brother turned, eyes wide.
Rolien leapt.
Fist clenched.
Time slowed.
The last remaining energy surged through his broken gauntlet. Blue lightning crackled across the runes. The seal burned bright.
His skill—his trump card—awakened.
"KAIROS PUNCH!"
Impact.
His fist met the atomic beam—and the world screamed.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
The collision wasn't instant.
It dragged.
The beam pressed forward like a tidal wave trying to swallow the sun.
Rolien's punch met it head-on—time itself cracking around his knuckles.
The force pushed against him, inch by inch. His boots dug trenches into the ground. His legs shook violently.
Sparks exploded from his gauntlet, lighting the battlefield.
Elian watched in horror. "Rolien…?"
"GRRAAAAHHH!!"
His scream echoed for miles.
The beam flared, doubling in size.
His armor cracked. Blood poured from his nose, his eyes, his ears. His entire body was breaking under the pressure—but he refused to fall.
One second.
His skin blistered.
Two seconds.
His shoulder was dislocated.
Three seconds.
The beam blasted against his arm, and then—
CRACK.
His right arm snapped, bone piercing flesh.
But still, he stood.
Still, he resisted.
He roared back at the monster that threatened to erase everything.
And then—he stepped forward.
Through the beam.
Just half a step.
But enough.
The beam flickered.
Cracked.
And then—
SNAP.
His arm, finally overwhelmed, shattered completely—disintegrating from the elbow down.
Rolien collapsed to his knees, breathing ragged.
The beam died.
The sky fell silent.
Smoke drifted between them. His stump dripped blood onto the scorched earth.
His brother ran to him, eyes wide. "Rolien, you—"
BOOM.
Groteus charged.
Its regeneration kicked in again. Bones reset. Muscle snapped into place. Its claws dug deep into the ground as it barreled forward—straight at Elian.
Rolien's fading gaze flicked up.
His legs moved before his mind could protest.
He ran.
One arm left. Bones broken. Vision blurred.
But he ran.
"Ugh Fuck!!"
He tackled Elian out of the way.
And in that final moment—
The jaws came down.
CHOMP.
The beast's jaws closed around him.
And Rolien was gone.
--- moments later inside the groteus stomach.
Rolien's eyes cracked open. Darkness swallowed everything. It was wet. Rotten. Breathing.
The stench hit him hard—like acid mixed with death.
He was inside. Inside Groteus.
He groaned, barely able to move.
Each breath cut his lungs. Every inch of his skin screamed.
He pushed himself up with one arm—his other one was gone. Nothing but blood-soaked cloth where it used to be. He slipped on half-digested limbs, shredded armor, twitching pieces of monsters and men.
Like a graveyard trapped in a stomach.
Then, a faint glimmer caught his eye.
A mana cluster stone.
His eyes widened.
"The one I gave…" he rasped.
"Use this, Father, if things get dicey. Just make sure you and Mom can still run after. It might blow up a small mansion."
Grand Duke Edric had tossed it in to save him.
A flicker of pain and love hit him all at once.
"…Thanks, old man."
He gritted his teeth and grabbed the stone—but stopped when he saw it.
Deep within the stomach, past layers of pulsating walls and glowing sinew—there it was.
The mana heart.
It beat like a twisted, molten engine. A sphere of corrupted life, pulsing with immense energy.
But he had nothing to destroy it with.
Nothing sharp enough. Nothing strong enough.
Unless…
Rolien glanced around. The stomach walls stretched like flesh curtains, hiding piles of remains—and loot.
Glowing scrolls. Gears. Vials. Fragments of crystals.
His heart skipped. He limped toward a still-glowing parchment and tore it open.
Item Box: Permanent Storage Creation.
He blinked, stunned. "No mana… But maybe…"
He held it close, bracing.
A surge of magic hit him—lightning in his chest.(error no magic detected skill won't work properly!) "Tch. This will do for now"
[Item Box Acquired.]
Capacity: 60/60 (Limited due to zero mana reserves)
Rolien huffed, almost laughing. "Sixty, huh?"
He let out a shaky breath, sweat sliding down his jaw.
"…That's enough for now. We'll think about it later."
His head snapped to the side, eyes locking on the glittering loot heap.
"But first things first."
He scrambled like a wounded beast—grabbing anything small, useful, unstable.
Mana stones. Refined metal shards. Alchemy cores.
Bomb material.
He stuffed as much as the box allowed—bits ticking up in the UI.
[17/60]
[34/60]
[48/60]
[59/60]
[60/60]
Full.
He dropped to his knees, panting. Then grabbed the mana cluster his father gave him—and mashed it together with the unstable fragments from the loot.
It sparked. Fizzed. Began to vibrate.
Raw. Dangerous. Unrefined.
A new cluster bomb.
He limped forward through the bile and burning heat, toward the heart that was still beating—taunting him with each pulse.
It loomed.
Massive. Alive. Vulnerable.
Rolien stared up at it and gave a crooked grin.
"…Let's finish this, you motherfucking lizard."
And he hurled it.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
An explosion ripped through the beast's insides.
The mana heart burst, sending a shockwave out in all directions.
Flesh tore. The stomach walls collapsed. Groteus' entire body convulsed.
Meanwhile right after Rolien was eaten by Groteus everyone is still fighting with all they got still not enough. And then something happens.
Elian stood frozen, bruised and bloodied, watching the monster charge its breath once again.
That light. That familiar glow.
He had seen it just seconds ago—when Rolien stood in front of it, arm raised, shouting, "Get back!"
Then the blinding flash. The roar. The shockwave. And…
Rolien was gone.
Eaten.
Swallowed whole by that damn monster.
Elian's legs gave out, but he didn't fall.
He couldn't.
Rolien's voice still echoed in his ears.
"You're always the one protecting us… Let me do it this time."
His little brother.
The one who never even awakened magic.
Who stood alone against that thing.
And now, as the atomic breath started to crackle again at Groteus' throat—brighter, louder than before—Elian gritted his teeth.
He gripped the broken hilt of his sword, heart heavy.
This was it.
The remaining soldiers—mages, knights, even the injured—stood silently behind him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Accepting.
No one had anything left.
Mana drained. Weapons shattered. Hope? Long gone.
They stood together… because they didn't want to die apart.
A blinding blue core of light surged into Groteus' mouth.
The end.
And yet—
It never came.
The air changed.
The glowing light inside Groteus' throat began to flicker. The hum faltered. Sparks sputtered out like a dying engine.
Then—
Its eyes widened.
Its colossal body jerked. One step back. Then another. Its head snapped to the sky, its massive arms flailing.
Groteus began to convulse violently.
Veins of red and blue light raced across its skin.
Its chest cracked.
Steam burst from its back like geysers.
"…W-What's happening?" one of the knights gasped.
Elian looked up, eyes wide with disbelief.
He stepped forward. "No…"
Then the impossible happened.
The beast started collapsing.
Piece by piece. Its insides burning from within.
Something had gone off inside it.
"RUN!!" Elian roared, voice cracking as he grabbed the closest soldier. "IT'S ABOUT TO FALL!"
The remaining forces scrambled, slipping on rubble, dragging the wounded, sprinting with the last of their strength.
Behind them, the monster that had shattered the city, torn armies apart, and devoured his brother—fell.
A slow, world-shaking collapse.
The ground quaked as Groteus' body hit the earth with a thunderous crash, carving a crater into the ruins it had created.
Elian stopped only once they reached a safe distance, panting, looking back at the wreckage, his eyes wide, his chest tight.
The silence after Groteus fell was deafening.
Its body twitched once—then lay still. Smoke drifted up from the cracks in its scales, carrying the acrid stench of burning mana and flesh.
Grand Duke Edric didn't wait.
The dust hadn't even cleared before Grand Duke Edric was already sprinting toward the still-smoking corpse of Groteus.
His cloak whipped behind him, tattered and ash-streaked. Lady Lirien ran beside him, hands shaking, eyes wide with dread. Elian, barely able to breathe, followed in silence.
Groteus' body was still twitching in death. Steam hissed from open wounds. Its chest, split wide from the inside, looked like a half-collapsed cathedral of bones and flesh.
"Search the core!" Edric barked, his voice thunderous with desperation. "He was in there—I know he was in there!"
Soldiers scrambled, prying open massive ribs, digging past melted tissue, ignoring the heat that blistered their gloves. Smoke made it hard to see. Mana still sparked faintly around them.
Then—
"Here! Inside the heart chamber!" a knight shouted.
Edric vaulted into the crater without hesitation.
What he saw made his blood freeze.
Rolien.
His son.
Lying motionless in the ruined remains of Groteus' mana heart. One arm gone. His body covered in burns, dried blood, and glowing residue. His face pale. His lips blue.
He wasn't breathing.
Lady Lirien dropped beside him, her trembling hands checking his neck, his chest.
"No pulse…" she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
Elian stared down, a hollow ache spreading in his chest.
His knees hit the flesh beneath him as he whispered, "No… no, you promised… Rolien, you promised—!"
"Don't just stand there!" Edric roared. "Move! Help me!"
He dropped beside Rolien and immediately started compressions.
The Grand Duke's hands were slick with blood and mana as he pumped his son's chest, over and over.
"One, two, three—breathe!"
Lady Lirien forced air into Rolien's lungs. Her hands shook. Her tears fell freely.
Elian joined them, pressing down harder, faster. "Don't quit now! Damn it, breathe!"
Minute after agonizing minute passed. The world had gone quiet, save for the sound of desperate hands slamming against his chest.
Then—
A jolt.
Rolien's body twitched.
His eyes flew open.
He gasped—a ragged, violent inhale, like a man dragged from drowning. His whole chest convulsed.
Everyone froze.
Then relief crashed into them like a tidal wave.
Lady Lirien sobbed openly as she pulled him into her arms. "You're alive—you're alive…"
Edric exhaled a shaky breath and knelt back, wiping his face with a trembling hand.
Elian let out a broken laugh through the tears. "You stupid bastard… you did it…"
Rolien coughed, blinking slowly, his voice hoarse as hell.
"told yah I'm strong!"
Then he blacked out again—but this time, they held him close.
He was breathing.
He was alive.
And that was enough.
One Week Later
The sky above the capital was clear for the first time in days. The smoke had lifted. The rubble had been cleared from the main roads.
The banners of mourning still hung from the castle walls, but today… there was light in the silence.
The bards called it "The Siege of the Titan Lizard."
Others named it with a little more fear:
"The Fall of Groteus."
In the capital's archives, they had already started carving the name into history stone:
> "In the Year 807, Month of Emberfall, the Cataclysm of Groteus brought ruin to the western walls and five legions to their knees.
The one who felled the beast from within… was Rolien Grey, youngest son of Grand Duke Edric Grey. A boy with no magic. A boy who never yielded."
The story spread like wildfire. Across noble halls, peasant inns, and even distant border towns, they whispered the name Rolien Grey like a legend being born in real-time.
Children reenacted his final stand. Scholars debated how a magicless boy could have done it. Some speculated divine intervention. Others said it was sheer, reckless genius.
But while the world buzzed with his name—
Rolien hadn't woken up once.
He lay still on a padded hospital bed in the castle's private wing.
His chest rose and fell steadily, thanks to the menders who worked day and night. His skin was pale, his lips dry. Bandages wrapped tightly around the stump of his right arm.
Lady Lirien sat beside him, every day, without fail. Reading to him. Telling him what the healers said.
Whispering old bedtime stories he hadn't asked for since he was six.
Elian visited every night, quietly placing a carved wooden sword on the table beside the bed. "So you don't forget what it means to fight."
Edric never said much. He stood by the window most visits, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He'd say one line before leaving each day:
"…You're still not done, boy. You've still got more to do."
Even with only one arm left… they all knew Rolien wasn't finished.
He was still breathing.
Still here.
And when he opened his eyes again—the world would change with him.
It was the eighth morning since Groteus fell.
Light filtered through the curtains, catching on the dust motes suspended in the quiet of the room.
Birds chirped faintly outside the castle window. The world had long moved on from screams and fire—but inside this room, time felt like it had stopped.
Then—
A shallow breath hitched.
Rolien's fingers twitched.
His lone eye fluttered open slowly, unfocused at first. His head ached. His body felt heavier than ever before. When he tried to sit up, pain lanced through his shoulder—and he realized something was missing.
His right arm.
Gone.
He stared at the bandaged stump in silence.
"…Tch," he muttered dryly, trying to laugh and cough at the same time. "Should've figured."
The door slammed open a few moments later.
"ROLIEEEEEEN!" Lady Lirien burst into the room, nearly tripping over her dress.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees beside his bed, cupping his face.
He blinked. "…Mom?"
"You absolute idiot—!" She hugged him tight, careful not to jostle his shoulder. "We thought you—! You weren't breathing! You were cold, and the mages said—!"
"Sorry," Rolien rasped. "Guess I overslept."
Elian arrived next, bursting in, panting.
"I knew you'd wake up, dumbass!" He tried to grin, but his eyes welled up. "Took your sweet time though."
Rolien leaned back on the pillows, exhaling deeply. "What happened to the lizard?"
"You happened to it," Elian said, placing a wooden sword back on the nightstand.
"The moment it opened its mouth for one last blast… it just fell. Like something broke it from the inside."
A faint smirk tugged at Rolien's lips. "Good. Hope it choked on me."
---
The Political Fallout
Word of Rolien Grey's awakening spread fast.
Faster than the rumors of his survival.
By sundown that very day, messengers had been dispatched across three nations.
Banners of the Grand Duchy were raised higher, and the public square overflowed with people bringing flowers, prayers, and carved wooden effigies of the one-armed boy who saved them all.
A statue was already being sculpted near the crater where Groteus fell.
The Council of Lords issued a decree:
> "Henceforth, let the name of Rolien Grey be inscribed into the Hall of Eternal Flame, where only the greatest defenders of the realm may stand. Not as a boy without magic… but as a hero whose defiance turned the tide."
The Holy Church of Ardan called it a miracle.
The northern kingdoms called it a warning—that if even the youngest son of House Grey could destroy a monster from legend, then perhaps the Grand Duke's bloodline was not to be underestimated.
Some whispered that Edric Grey would push for Rolien's future knighthood. Others feared what it might mean if this boy became more than just a noble's son.
But none of it mattered to Rolien right now.
Because that night, alone in his room, staring at the stump of his arm and the faint burn scars across his chest, he whispered to himself
"I lived through hell… Now what?"
He didn't have an answer yet.
But whatever came next—
The world would be watching.
And he wouldn't run from it.
Rolien had only been awake for two days, and already, he was starting to regret it.
The first morning, he woke up to a sunbeam across his face and a dull ache in the space where his right arm used to be. The second morning, he woke to chaos.
"Sir Rolien!"
"Young Lord Grey!"
"Hero of the Crater!"
"Will you autograph my soap bottle?!"
Elian leaned against the doorframe, casually munching on a fruit. "You should've stayed asleep."
Rolien groaned, glaring at the mountain of letters, gifts, and flowers overtaking his room. The butler looked ten years older.
"My lord," the man said with a pained bow, "you have… guests."
"Which ones?"
"All of them."
The first wave was comforting.
Merchants from the lower district arrived bearing gifts—his own handmade soaps, now rebranded with names like Hero's Grit and Grey Mist Shampoo. Many of them had once been skeptical customers, now proudly flaunting their association with the boy who ended the "Siege of Groteus," the cataclysmic battle already etched in history books.
"You fixed my back rash, lad," one grizzled man said, gripping Rolien's left hand. "If anyone deserves to be called a hero, it's you."
Next came hunters and adventurers. Old drinking partners. Clients. A few who'd sparred with him in dusty tavern yards. One grinned and offered him a beast horn. "Heard you lost a hand but gained a legend. Fair trade, eh?"
Rolien rolled his eyes. "Sure. I'll trade you this legend for your arm then."
Then came Elian's classmates from the academy. Dozens of uniformed nobles—boys and girls—half of them shy, half gawking. Some brought snacks. Others had sketchbooks, notebooks, and too many questions.
"You really have no magic?"
"You beat that thing with a sword and bathwater?"
"Wait—you're that Rolien?"
One girl handed him a charcoal sketch of the ruined battlefield with him at the center. It was rough, but honest. It made him sit quietly for a while.
"You made me look taller," he said at last.
She blushed. "I thought it fit the moment.
Trumpets echoed by midday.
"The hell is that?!"he muttered as he peer at the window.
The Grey estate had been cleaned to a shine. Knights in gold armor marched in formation. Lady Lirien wore her formal dress, poised and proud beside her son's bedside.
Then the Emperor walked in, flanked by the Crown Prince and—
"...Sophia," Rolien said, before she even stepped into full view.
The Third Princess wore a sky-blue traveling coat over a pale gown. No tiara. Her hair was braided simply. She smiled the moment their eyes met.
"Still alive, I see," she said.
"Barely."
She walked past the guards and nobles like they weren't even there, stopping just in front of him. Everyone in the room watched as she reached out and brushed a stray curl from his forehead.
"You look terrible."
"You should see the crater."
The Emperor chuckled. "Still trading insults, I see. That hasn't changed since the bandit affair."
The Crown Prince smirked. "Hard to believe it's only been two months since that. I remember when Sophia came back talking about some sharp-tongued commoner who threw a bandit's boot at her head."
Rolien shrugged. "She was about to step on a trap rune."
"You didn't have to throw the boot."
"You weren't listening."
Sophia rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. There was warmth in the way she looked at him. It was clear to everyone—even the clueless nobles behind her—that this wasn't some royal courtesy. This was personal.
"You two are dangerous together," the Crown Prince said, shaking his head. "In fact, I might as well say it now. When you both turn fifteen, I'm pushing for your engagement. Might as well keep the chaos in one place."
Everyone blinked.
Rolien sat up straighter. "Wait, you're serious?"
The Prince just sipped his wine. "I'm never serious. Except when I am."
Sophia's face turned slightly pink. "Don't joke like that."
The Emperor laughed. "He might be joking, but I've heard worse proposals. Besides, it's not like we're starting from scratch. Rolien's been part of our circles for a while now."
"Even if he did call your son's smile weird," Lady Lirien muttered, sipping her tea.
"I heard that," the Crown Prince said, raising an eyebrow.
"Still true," Rolien added.
That broke the room. Even the palace knights cracked small grins. The tension dissolved in an instant.
Then Sophia knelt beside Rolien, holding a small, wrapped package. She opened it slowly—revealing a carefully polished dagger.
The one he gave her. The one from that bandit ambush two months ago.
"You said it was dull," she whispered. "But it saved me again. I kept it sharp. Just in case."
He looked at it quietly for a long moment, then gave her a tired grin.
"When you come visit again, bring food. I'm not allowed out of bed yet."
She smiled wider. "You want royal sweets?"
"No. Your cooking."
Her eyes lit up, surprised, but she nodded.
"I'll bring both."
One week after the Siege of Groteus
Rolien sat alone in the forge room beneath the Grey estate, lit only by the blue glow of the crystal lamps and the faint shimmer of relics sprawled across the table. It had been a long week.
He organized each artifact recovered from Groteus's remains with mechanical care. Scales harder than mythril. Bones etched with ancient mana circuits. A shattered crown fused into its flesh. But most importantly, tucked deep within the beast's ribcage, he'd found it—
A core. No—a heart.
It pulsed with black-blue light. A mass of condensed mana, rage, time, and death. The heartbeat of a summoned apocalypse. And it was still beating, whispering power.
> "WARNING: Spiritual Resonance Detected."
"Mana Core Grade: Cataclysm."
"Condition: Stable. Begin absorption?"
He didn't hesitate.
The pain nearly broke him. His circuits roared to life, every inch of his body pulled into a vortex of burning ether. Muscles twisted. Vision blurred. He screamed for hours—until Lady Lirien, holding him through it all, whispered lullabies like when he was five and scared of shadows.
> "Spiritual Core Synchronization... COMPLETE."
"Quest [Build the Foundation: Step 1/5] fulfilled."
"Mana Flow Unlocked: Threshold Exceeded."
Just like that, he had stepped into a realm few ever reached. His spiritual body was no longer dormant—it was forged. Alive. He hadn't just survived Groteus.
He became something because of it.
---
Discovery of a God's Metal
Days later, while sorting through a strange organ in Groteus's stomach—part stone, part mechanical—he unearthed a fragment of dark silver metal. It shimmered not with light, but gravity. Reality bent subtly around it.
> "Appraisal activated."
"Name: Orricalcumm."
"Origin: The Axis Between Time and Creation."
"Forged from the bones of the War-God 'Val'Torr, Who Burned the Starfields.' One of only three divine-forged materials."
"Warning: Interdimensional artifact detected."
Rolien dropped the fragment.
His breath caught.
"...Another world?" he whispered.
The weight of the truth sat on his chest like stone. This wasn't just about Groteus anymore. This wasn't even just about this world. Something larger was moving behind the veil.
He wiped his face. And smiled.
"I'll make something… divine."
---
Four Years Later — Age 14
Whispering Pines Forest, 6th District Training Grounds
Rolien leapt backward as the thunderbolt split the air. His mechanical arm glowed blue, absorbing the charge before it could fry his internal circuits. Sparks flickered along the trees. Birds scattered.
"That one was bigger," Sophia noted, crouching nearby. "You're getting better."
He stood tall, face slick with sweat, but calm. "Thunderclap's reach is now twenty-five meters. Paralysis field holding for six seconds."
"You're turning into a walking siege engine."
Rolien smirked and flexed his artificial arm—Chaos Breaker: Version 2.7. Sleek, chrome-blue with gold seams, it hissed with built-in mana coils. Thundercrack plates pulsed along its forearm.
On his other arm sat Hell Fist, jagged and rough, forged from Groteus's ancient bone. It resembled a knight's gauntlet from hell, with glowing red seams and vents. The knuckles hummed.
He raised it toward a boulder.
FWOOM!
A crimson blast ripped out like a condensed beam of atomic flame. The boulder didn't just explode—it vaporized, leaving behind molten earth.
"Still can't match Groteus's original breath…" he muttered, shaking the arm as smoke hissed out.
Sophia sighed, tossing him a canteen. "Because it was a monster, not a 14-year-old boy with a dead god's toy box."
Rolien caught it with his foot, kicked it up, and drank. "Fair."
Sophia stood beside him now, arms crossed, sword strapped to her waist. She'd grown taller too—still two inches under him—but her aura had changed. Less royalty, more knight. Her hazel eyes stayed locked on him.
Especially when nearby girls peeked from the woods.
"Is that the Hero of the Crater!?"
"He looks like a painting!"
"Is it true he's single?!"
Sophia's left eye twitched. "You're attracting pests."
"I'm literally wearing a cannon."
"Girls love cannons, apparently."
She stepped closer. Too close.
"I'll start wearing your uniform," she whispered.
"That's not fair," he said, trying not to smile.
"Good. I'm not here to play fair."
Back at the capital, Elian and their older sister Eira had both graduated early and were now full-fledged cadets under the Royal Academy's elite track. Letters came often, full of pride, teasing, and news.
Next year, Rolien would join them.
But for now, he trained.
He trained to control his arms. He trained to rebuild his techniques. And he trained to one day step beyond this world, because somewhere out there was a forge capable of handling Orricalcumm. And a secret only the dead gods whispered.
He would find that forge.
He would surpass the divine.
To be continued..