The Anvil of Progress
Four days of relentless training had etched their progress in bone-deep fatigue and quiet triumph. Yao Xuan felt the shift within him—a consolidation of power. His soul power had crested the threshold to Level 19, a steady, controlled ascent. More subtly, the daily cultivation of the Creation Soul Forging Technique had burnished his spiritual sea; his mental power now stood at 197 points, a refined instrument growing sharper by the day.
The true crucible, however, remained the combat sessions. Under Wu Zhangkong's glacial pressure, the Ancestral Dragon's legacy within him was not just awakened, but drilled. Each clash was a lesson written in impact and instinct. The bounty was substantial: nearly 80 Golden Evolution Points harvested from the intense, twice-daily battles. He invested them without hesitation, feeling the ancient bloodline within him thicken and resonate, its concentration now at 11.7%.
Yet, the System was a stern accountant. As Yao Xuan adapted, as his movements lost their rookie hesitations and gained predatory efficiency, the points awarded diminished—from twelve per session to nine. The message was clear: foundational leaps were over. Now came the arduous, incremental climb of true mastery.
The battles also forged something else: unity. The chaotic, individual flailing of the first night had slowly crystallized into coordinated pressure. Yao Xuan and Gu Yue, in particular, moved with an uncanny, wordless synchronicity. A flick of her wrist would send a wind blade to open a path his claws would instantly exploit; his sudden, drawing aggression would create the space for her elemental barrage. It was a dance Xie Xie and Tang Wulin observed with a mixture of envy and awe, a connection that seemed to bypass language and reside in pure, tactical instinct.
Walking beside Tang Wulin through the waking streets of East Sea City towards the Blacksmith Association, Yao Xuan silently cataloged these gains. Satisfaction was a warm, steady flame in his chest. Wu Zhangkong's brutal pedagogy was a grindstone, and he could feel his edges being honed to a deadly sharpness.
The Blacksmith Association's imposing facade soon rose before them. A flash of their tokens granted entry, and they were guided to the private sanctum of Master Mu Chen.
Mu Chen's forging room was a temple to the craft, a stark contrast to Mang Tian's functional workshop. The air itself hummed with contained power. Intricate soul-guiding arrays were etched into the walls and floor in silver and gold, their glow a constant, soft pulse. They pulled at the ambient soul power, concentrating it within the room to a density nearly four times that of the outside world. For a blacksmith, especially one aiming for the soul-consuming heights of Spirit Forging, this was not luxury; it was essential infrastructure, a testament to Mu Chen's stature.
"Come, Yao Xuan, Wulin." Mu Chen's voice was warm, dispelling the room's solemn energy. He stood before a workbench, a spatial soul tool glinting on his finger. With a flick of his wrist, a velvet-lined tray appeared, resting on red cloth. Upon it lay two badges.
They were works of subtle art. Hexagonal, with a deep blue enamel field, each centered on a finely wrought, three-dimensional hammer. To either side of the hammer, two small, brilliant stars caught the light. The badge of a Level 2 Blacksmith.
With deliberate ceremony, Mu Chen took the first badge and pinned it over Yao Xuan's heart. He repeated the gesture for Tang Wulin, his touch firm and proud.
"Wulin, Yao Xuan," he said, stepping back to admire them. "Do you know what you've done? You've shattered the record for the youngest to achieve Level Two in this association's history. This is not just skill; it is promise. Nurture it."
"Thank you, Master! We will!" Their voices overlapped, filled with genuine gratitude and pride.
"There is more." Another flick of Mu Chen's wrist, and the tray vanished. In his palm now rested two rings. They were simple bands of a pale, brushed cobalt blue, traced with fine, nearly black dendritic patterns that resembled frost on a windowpane. "Spatial soul tools. Ten cubic meters each. They will serve you for submitting work, carrying materials, or your personal tools." He handed one to each boy. "These are on loan from the Association. They become permanently yours upon reaching Level Four. Consider it… motivation."
Tang Wulin's eyes shone as he slipped the ring onto his finger, feeling its slight, cool weight. "Thank you, Master!"
"Now," Mu Chen's demeanor shifted from proud mentor to master craftsman. His smile faded, replaced by a focused intensity. "We move from reward to rigor. Listen closely. Forging is not the mindless beating of metal. It is a conversation with the material. You must listen with your soul and respond with your life force. True mastery lies not in creating a shape, but in awakening a potential. In the highest art, you do not forge metal; you midwife life."
Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin stood rapt, the philosophy settling into them as deeply as any technical instruction.
"Watch. I will demonstrate the heart of Thousand Refining."
A forging hammer appeared in Mu Chen's hand. It was not the bulky, practical tool of Mang Tian's studio, but a masterpiece of the smith's art—its head gleaming with a peculiar, hungry light, its haft wrapped in dark, frictionless hide. He opened the forge, and the room's concentrated soul power seemed to rush towards the blooming heart of fire.
What followed was not mere hammering. It was a symphony of precise, measured force. Each strike of Mu Chen's hammer rang with a different tone, a harmonic language speaking to the metal block on the anvil. Yao Xuan's enhanced perception allowed him to see more than the physical action; he could feel the pulses of soul power Mu Chen channeled with each blow, subtle vibrations that rearranged the metal's internal structure at a crystalline level.
Finally, with a last, singing strike, the metal sang back. A column of silvery light, pure and resonant, erupted from the anvil, rising a full meter and a half before fading. The block now gleamed with an inner, watery sheen.
"That," Mu Chen said, the hammer vanishing from his hand, "is Thousand Refinement, First Grade. Some call it 'Semi-Spirit Forging.' It is the threshold. Your goal, before your fifteenth year, is to stand where this metal stands—awakened, resonant, and waiting for its spirit."
"We understand, Master," Yao Xuan replied, his voice low with reverence. Tang Wulin could only nod, his eyes wide.
"Good. The master opens the door; the disciple walks the path." Mu Chen produced two slender, leather-bound booklets. "These are my personal notes on the principles and pitfalls of Thousand Refining. Study them. When the words fail, come to me. Henceforth, you will each spend half a day here every week. Do not let your hands forget the iron, understood?"
They accepted the booklets like sacred texts. "Understood!"
"Wulin, you may begin your practice at the secondary forge. Yao Xuan, remain. I have questions for you."
Once Tang Wulin had moved away, his attention already consumed by a fresh billet of metal, Mu Chen gestured. A ripple of soul power emanated from him, forming a gentle, sound-dampening barrier around them.
"Yao Xuan," Mu Chen began, his gaze penetrating. "Tell me truthfully. What is the highest grade of Thousand Refined metal you can reliably produce?"
Yao Xuan met his eyes. "Currently, Master, I can achieve Second Grade. But my success rate is unstable. Perhaps one in ten attempts reaches Second Grade. Most settle at Third or Fourth. It is… inconsistent."
"Second Grade?" Mu Chen's breath caught. The controlled, masterful demeanor fractured for an instant, revealing pure, unvarnished astonishment. "You… you are already touching Second Grade?"
He stared at Yao Xuan as if seeing him for the first time. The boy's calm admission was a detonation in the quiet room. "By the heavens," Mu Chen murmured, a fierce, proud light kindling in his eyes. "I knew you were exceptional, but this… If your soul power cultivation keeps pace, you will be knocking on the door of true Spirit Forging long before fifteen. This is my expectation for you. No, this is my demand of you."
He placed a firm, heavy hand on Yao Xuan's shoulder, the weight of generations of craftsmen in his grip. "Work. Refine. When you can produce First Grade metal with consistency, come to me. That is when I will begin teaching you the secrets of breathing a spirit into steel. Do not disappoint this expectation."
Yao Xuan felt the weight, the charge, the immense trust. He straightened his spine, looking directly into his master's burning eyes.
"I will not let you down, Master."