The deep forges of Varnhollow hissed with heat and steam as molten metal poured into channel molds, casting the bones of machines yet unborn. Ironshop, once an abandoned steelworks at the edge of the ruined district, had become something far more ambitious—a secret factory, a cradle for golems unlike anything in the region.
Fornos stood near the observation walkway, watching as sparks lit the gloom like fireflies. Below, dozens of workers—many newly acquired—moved in tight, synchronized units, their motions efficient and mechanical. He turned as footsteps approached behind him.
Konos entered with his usual grim composure, accompanied by Roa and Peter.
"So, how is it going?" Fornos asked, not turning.
Konos answered, "We have gathered an additional hundred people from the slave market." His tone didn't shift, as if discussing lumber or stone. "Now, we number 250, excluding the 20 children."
He paused, checking his notes. "We now have 70 engineers, 80 logistics personnel, and a hundred combatants. Most are former laborers, mercenaries, or dispossessed refugees. A few are even self-sold debtors."
"You all must have been surprised," Fornos said, finally turning to face them.
"Yeah," Roa nodded slowly, her arms folded. "I didn't know that people actually sell themselves willingly."
Fornos allowed himself a faint, unreadable smile. "You still have a lot to see."
She didn't answer. There was something unsettling about how easily he spoke of human capital as if they were steel and stone.
"And how is the training?" he asked.
"Good," Roa said, recovering. "All the new ones are willing and obedient. The older ones are mixing well with them. There's minimal friction, thanks to Konos laying out strict caste-based duties. No one steps beyond their role unless ordered."
Fornos turned to Peter. "And what about the golems?"
Peter didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gestured toward a nearby assembly bay, where three engineers guided a set of small, multi-armed golems with stunning precision. The smaller units moved quickly, passing tools and components to one another as they built a larger frame—its limbs plated in iron and core housing already embedded in the chest cavity.
"Your idea worked brilliantly," Peter said. "We've been able to iterate through prototypes like it's nothing. The small assembly units aren't combat-capable, but they're more precise than human workers and tireless."
"Don't be that happy, boy," Konos cut in, his voice a rough bark. "We still have to construct all the worker golems with our own hands. These are just extensions."
"And we still haven't finalized the main prototype," Martin added, entering the room with a sooty apron and a stack of blueprints. His forehead glistened with sweat. "We're weeks from anything we can mass-produce."
"Oh, don't worry." Fornos reached into his bag and pulled out a leather-bound scroll folder. He unrolled six parchments on the worktable. "I have a better idea."
Peter leaned over, eyes widening. "Wait… these are golem specs?"
Fornos nodded. "Specifically, what kind of golems we'll be building."
"You mean we're building multiple types of golems?!" Peter sputtered.
"Impossible," Martin snapped, half-panicked. "We don't have the time or resources for something like that! Please reconsider."
Fornos looked at him coldly. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Martin flinched and stepped back. "No, sir."
"I'm not asking you to build an army," Fornos continued. "I'm telling you to build four templates. The skeletal framework—the base chassis—will be the same. We'll adapt weaponry, core capacity, and Codex layering based on the role."
He tapped the first parchment. A broad-shouldered design with reinforced limbs and dense plating. "This is our Vanguard. Heavy armor, heavy weapons. Designed for construction, heavy lifting, and marching straight through enemy fire."
Then the second. A slimmer build, sleek plating, and swept-back leg joints. "This is the Flanker. Smaller core, lighter frame. Inspired by Thornjaw tactics. Designed for speed, ambushes, and slicing enemy formations."
Next, the third: a boxy monster with large central compartments and stabilized limbs. "Walking siege guns. Pure artillery. No frills."
Finally, the fourth: a skeletal, elegant frame with multiple cargo slots and long arms. "Support type. It's our supply lifeline. Lightweight, fast, coded for battlefield relay, maintenance, and recovery."
Fornos stepped back, letting the silence settle. Then Konos squinted at the remaining two scrolls. "Wait, what about the other two?"
"The fifth one is a list of Kindling upgrades I want integrated into the core design," Fornos said casually. "Everything we can scavenge from abandoned noble tech. The sixth... is yours."
"Mine?" Konos asked, surprised.
"Yes. Use it for experimental loadouts. New armor plating. Modular weapons. Whatever the hell you want—as long as it doesn't explode."
The group was quiet—until Peter slid a fresh stack of parchments onto the table.
"I'd like to make a suggestion," he said. "Instead of building both the Vanguard and the Flanker separately... what if we make this one?"
Fornos raised an eyebrow as Peter unfolded the design. A hybrid frame—thick central torso, but detachable armor segments, modular sockets on each limb, and shock-absorbing joint layers. Its legs were digitigrade for speed, but reinforced with burst pistons for charge attacks.
"This is actually good," Konos muttered, examining the details. "When did you design this?"
"In my free time," Peter replied, a little sheepishly.
Martin leaned in. "Its versatility is promising. But it'll eat metal. A lot of it."
"I have that covered," Fornos said. "By the end of the year, we'll have a steady supply line out of Nozgar. Refinery waste, scrap reclamation, and mine by-products. We won't be short."
Konos straightened. "Then we scrap the Vanguard and Flanker prototypes?"
Fornos nodded. "Yes. We go with this hybrid model. One design, one production line, maximum efficiency."
Roa let out a low whistle. "This could actually work."
Fornos turned away, already walking toward the upper stairwell. Below them, the forge's roar had grown louder.
The others remained silent as he disappeared up the steps, his coat catching the firelight.
In Ironshop, amid ash and steel, the future marched forward—on legs of iron.