Nareth and Vulkan started running at the same time.
The instant they took their first step, they left the other Nocturne contestants far behind.
Nareth once again didn't unfurl his golden wings, he simply ran on foot.
One tall tower after another blurred past him.
Within moments, he had covered a kilometer, pulling ahead of Vulkan by one body length.
The gap between them widened, ten meters, then more.
Vulkan's eyes, burning like twin volcanoes, fixed on the golden wings on Nareth's back.
He could tell Nareth hadn't even flapped them; the other was relying purely on physical power to outpace him.
Vulkan's body felt aflame. Even the Shade Wraiths, far swifter than any Nocturnean, had never matched his speed.
Yet for the first time, he faced someone faster than himself. His skin crackled and seared, burning hotter as he sprinted with everything he had.
But no matter how hard he tried, the distance between them continued to grow.
His breathing came like gusts of molten air, eyes blazing with volcanic fury.
He had never faced such a formidable opponent, one whose strength was almost his equal but whose speed was undeniably superior.
By the time Vulkan caught sight of the massive lava gemstone ahead, Nareth had already lifted it.
Still, Vulkan didn't stop; as a competitor, he would finish the course, even knowing he had lost.
On the return path, the two met face-to-face. Nareth gave him a brief smile, then sprinted back toward the city.
The contestants watching from afar erupted in cheers when they saw the blazing gemstone, only for those cheers to falter when they realized the figure carrying it was not their Flame Lord, but the pale, black-armored giant.
They froze in disbelief.
Nareth ran into the city, the lava gem glowing fiercely in his arms.
The Emperor and Alpharius both smiled as they saw him approach.
The Nocturnean crowd fell silent when they realized the victor was the outsider, Nareth.
His superiority was undeniable.
The elder from the noble council recovered from his shock and loudly declared, "Winner of the race competition, Nareth!"
Nareth set down the gem, thinking to himself:
'Not an alchemical material, but a rare and precious forging one.'
For the first time in his life, Vulkan returned empty-handed.
"Flame Lord, invincible!"
"Vulkan never loses!"
The chants filled the air as Vulkan strode up to Nareth, heat rolling off him in waves.
"Need to rest?" he asked.
"No," Nareth replied calmly. Though he'd removed his crimson chain, he felt no fatigue.
The golden wings on his back functioned like an endless power furnace, feeding his body energy; he could never tire.
For the next six days, Nareth and Vulkan faced one competition after another.
The Nocturneans were stunned; their Flame Lord did not achieve overwhelming victories.
Most contests ended in draws; sometimes Vulkan won, but Nareth would triumph in the next event soon after.
On the eighth day, the noble council elder announced: "Today's contest is the anvil lift, a test of strength, and above all, endurance!"
Nocturne's contestants strained their muscular arms to lift heavy anvils forged from refined ore.
For the two giants, however, special anvils had been prepared, each fitted with four massive iron plates.
Each plate was so heavy that no other Nocturnean could hope to lift even one.
Nareth and Vulkan both grasped their anvils, their arms tightening as they raised them high.
Vulkan, bare-chested, eyes blazing like molten furnaces, hoisted the anvil aloft.
The crowd erupted in wild cheers:
"Flame Lord!"
"Vulkan never loses!"
But as the cheers subsided, they noticed that the outsider, Nareth, had also lifted his anvil with ease.
They weren't surprised. After days of contests, they had already seen that Nareth's strength rivaled Vulkan's.
The true test would come down to endurance.
From sunrise to midday, the two held the anvils aloft, arms unwavering. The massive weight that could crush a normal man seemed nothing to them.
From noon until sunset, they still stood like statues, steady, unchanged, unshaken.
Even those who had always believed their Flame Lord would prevail began to doubt.
After tense discussion, the noble elders finally declared, "Neither the Flame Lord Vulkan nor the outsider Nareth could best the other in endurance. The anvil lift ends in a draw!"
Nareth lowered his anvil. With the power of the Burning One's shard within him, his stamina was effectively limitless, yet he knew Vulkan's physiology was beyond mortal limits as well. Even if his endurance was greater, it would take days to show.
That the outsider Nareth could match the Flame Lord Vulkan across so many trials left the Nocturneans utterly astonished.
They soon accepted the outcome; after eight days of competition, it was only fair. Ten days earlier, none of them would have believed anyone could rival Vulkan, but after witnessing it, they knew the draw was just.
As the crowd fell silent, a dark-skinned noble elder adorned with gemstones stepped forward.
"The final contest," he proclaimed, "belongs solely to the Flame Lord Vulkan and the honored outsider Nareth."
"The task: within one day, forge a weapon by hand, and use it to hunt a Fire Drake from the Death Volcano. The one who slays the largest drake shall be declared the ultimate victor!"
"Vulkan will triumph!" the Nocturneans roared in unison.
They believed their teacher, the one who had taught them the secrets of pattern welding, metal folding, alloys, and bonding, would surely win.
Vulkan and Nareth walked to the forges.
Vulkan began first, skillfully taking up ore and hammer, his movements practiced and sure.
Nareth, though he had never forged with his own hands, recalled with perfect clarity the processes he had observed while managing the Magneto Steel Foundry, how the workers forged Miguel Steel.
He picked up the ore, lifted the hammer, and struck according to the Miguel forging method.
The Emperor, watching both of his sons, turned to Alpharius.
"Who do you think will win?"
Alpharius looked at Nareth; his movements were swift, precise, showing the talent of a fine craftsman.
Then he turned to Vulkan, the dark-skinned giant's every motion carried rhythm, every strike was art.
The difference was clear.
"Vulkan will win," Alpharius said. "Though Nareth was born on the industrial world of Vostroya, he's never forged a weapon himself."
"By a beginner's standards, he's excellent, but Vulkan is a master smith. Only Ferrus Manus and Fulgrim can match him."
After recalling his two earlier wrong guesses, Alpharius hesitated, then added, "The Death Volcano is his domain; he knows it well. Combined with his superior craftsmanship, I believe he'll win for sure."
The Emperor slowly shook his head. "After gaining those golden wings on Medusa, Nareth mastered the power of fire. Compared to Vulkan, called the Flame-Born, he is the true master of flame."
"Fire is the forge of iron. If he wields that power well, he can bridge the gap in craftsmanship."
"More importantly, the contest isn't about killing the drake, it's about finding the largest one. And in that, Nareth's gift surpasses even Vulkan's familiarity with his world."
As they spoke, golden flames began to dance within Nareth's forge.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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