Beyond the buried forge hall's cracked ribs, the ruin's throat widened into an ancient passage — half-choked by root tangles, cold mist seeping from old ward stones that once sealed the sect's hidden heart from the outer wilds.
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Li Tianyin's breath rattled in his chest — the forging fang clutched tight in tiny hands still raw with fresh rune burns.
Every step hissed pain through cracked ribs — the rune brand pulsing faint ember veins up his throat, where each heartbeat struck a vow: Flaw devours limit. Fang devours path.
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The pact sang low in marrow flame — the wolf's echo bristled in bone shadow, forge ghost humming along cracked veins: The Dead Forge Gate waits. Cross or break.
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He passed the last slag rack — rusted tongs hanging like old fangs above his crown.
A low moan of iron breath brushed his neck — the forge shades that once roamed here now caged forever in his hammer seed's echo.
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The tunnel split wide at last — stone jaws opening on the Dead Forge Gate.
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It was no gate of grand bronze or Heaven's jade.
Just three broken pillars — each crowned with cold runes that flickered faint in the ruin's stale wind.
Between them, an arch of spirit iron veins twisted through cracked stone — ancient forging arrays woven deep in the root wall, whispering secrets older than any sect elder still buried in the outer graves.
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At the base, scattered across broken tile, lay the corpses of failed guardians: rusted iron puppets half-eaten by creeping moss, eyes dull pearls of extinct spirit fire.
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But no corpse stays quiet before flaw's hiss.
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The forging fang trembled — hungry for more echo slag, more marrow iron to bite.
Tianyin's feet dragged him closer — each step striking a soft ring from the rune-cracked floor.
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The wolf's echo flared: Guardians sleep. Wake them. Test the fang.
The forge ghost coiled through marrow: Cross with blood.
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He crouched beside the nearest puppet corpse — a once-mighty guardian forged from layered spirit iron plates.
Its throat plate lay open, gears exposed like a rotted beast's jaw.
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On Earth, he'd cracked open an old scrapyard safe, fists raw, iron crowbar stolen from the rail yard.
Rust teeth cut him deep — but the lock split, and the copper veins inside fed his coil fire for days.
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Here, the lock was the guardian's rusted jaw — the coil was spirit iron marrow waiting to be devoured.
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He pressed the forging fang's crude edge to the puppet's throat — the blade hissed on contact, ember runes crawling bright where rust flaked away.
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A faint click. A groan of old iron plates.
Dead gears bit stale spirit ore.
A shiver. A flicker of dull pearl flame in the puppet's empty eyes.
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The Dead Forge Gate had woken its keeper.
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Its head jerked — rusted joints creaking like dying bellows.
Arm blades scraped tile dust — half-shattered spirit talismans flickering to life across its cracked spine.
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It rose — blind eyes locked on the child who dared feed marrow flame to its throat.
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The pact pulsed through Tianyin's cracked ribs: Cross or break. Bite or die.
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The guardian lunged — rust blade sweeping for the flaw that should not live.
Tianyin stepped in — ribs cracking wider, forging fang flaring bright white where the rune brand seared pain across his collar.
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The child's tiny palm struck first — forging fang's jagged edge slammed into the puppet's throat plate, ember hiss singing as spirit iron met flawed bone echo.
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Sparks rained.
The forge ghost roared.
The wolf's echo bit the puppet's half-dead core.
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Its arm blade swung down — but struck empty air as Tianyin rolled under rust plates, ribs shrieking against stone.
He slammed the forging fang up, into the puppet's spine root — marrow flame tearing old echo slag from dead gears.
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The puppet's pearl eyes flickered once — then dulled.
Spirit iron core hissed soft — raw slag marrow spilling down the forging fang's crude edge.
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Pain washed through Tianyin's fists — but the flaw drank it like an endless cup.
The forging fang pulsed stronger — runes crawling deeper up its jagged length, binding spirit iron from guardian's corpse to its flawed tip.
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Behind the dead puppet, the pillars cracked wider — the forging array's runes humming awake at last.
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A hush.
A hush broken by the wind that drifted through the Dead Forge Gate's split throat — a taste of rootless dusk beyond ruin walls.
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Li Tianyin stepped past the corpse — forging fang clutched tight in raw palms, cracked ribs wide enough to drink the world's echo.
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Above the ruin's crown, the Silent Dao Bell sang low — the flaw's vow drifting out to the vast wilds waiting beyond.
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End of Chapter 21
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