The forge terrace was louder than usual the next morning. The hiss of bellows, the ringing of hammers, the roar of the main furnaces — all of it swelled together, but underneath ran a restless murmur. The word had spread fast: the outer disciple who had completed eleven forging missions in record time was returning to craft custom weapons.
When Haotian stepped through the wide gates, he found more than just apprentices and journeymen waiting. Full-ranked forgemasters were scattered among the crowd, their crossed-arm stances and intent gazes making it clear they weren't here for idle curiosity. Elders from the hall stood at the back, their expressions neutral but their eyes fixed on him.
The forgemaster who'd struck the deal yesterday met him at the entrance. "Everything's ready. The materials are here. Remember — you work, they watch."
Haotian gave a short nod and moved to the central workstation, a broad bench directly under the hall's main skylight. A crate of materials waited: sky-iron ingots, tempered starsteel, and strips of deep-green verdant jade — each chosen for the weapon's intended wielder.
He set the crate down and drew out the first ingot of sky-iron. The Eyes of the Universe flickered in his right eye, overlaying its internal structure in his vision — grain patterns, microfractures, density gradients. He noted them all before setting the ingot on the anvil.
Clang.The first strike rang through the hall, clean and sharp, silencing the low murmur.
He moved with the same steady economy as before — heating the sky-iron to the exact point where its core color shifted from orange to molten white, folding in strips of starsteel for resilience, each fold struck in precise rhythm. Sparks sprayed upward, and the gathered forgemasters leaned forward almost unconsciously, tracking each angle of his hammer.
When the basic blade form emerged, Haotian shifted to fine work. He used verdant jade inlays along the spine — not decorative, but calculated qi-conduction channels tailored to the wielder's elemental pattern. Each segment was set and sealed with molten alloy so fine that the join lines vanished.
A forgemaster whispered under his breath, "He's… blending conductive channels without a separate core? That's—"
"—Impossible unless you can see exactly how the metal's reacting," another finished quietly.
Haotian ignored them. The shaping moved to the quenching stage, but instead of a single plunge, he alternated between mineral-rich water and tempered oil, locking different temper grades into different parts of the blade for optimal flexibility and edge retention.
When he finally set the weapon on the bench, it gleamed under the forge-light — a longsword balanced to a hair's breadth, the jade inlays pulsing faintly with stored energy.
The forgemaster who'd made the deal stepped forward, testing the balance with a few swings. "It's alive," he said finally, his voice low. "The qi flow's so smooth it feels like an extension of my own arm."
Haotian was already cleaning his tools. "Next weapon," he said simply.
Around the hall, the division's smiths and elders exchanged glances — some in disbelief, others with the growing recognition that they weren't just watching a good craftsman. They were watching a method none of them could yet replicate.
The next morning, the forging hall was already half-full before Haotian arrived. Word of his quiet rejection of the forgemaster's earlier offer had only made the Forging Hall more restless. By the time the wide bronze doors creaked open, nearly thirty artisans — apprentices, journeymen, and senior smiths — were gathered around the central hearth.
When Haotian stepped in with his forging kit, the air grew taut. Without a word, he set out the first bundle of raw materials. Both eyes shimmered.
The Eyes of the Universe opened fully — twin irises swirling with golden starfields, faint constellations gliding over silver rings. Even the most jaded elder of the hall straightened unconsciously. This was no mortal technique.
The first piece was for the youngest of Lianhua's guards — a liu ye dao (willow-leaf saber). Haotian examined the blacksteel billet until his gaze locked on an invisible flaw in the grain. He struck it once — CLANG! — and the vibration in the hall changed. Folding and drawing, he shaped the curve so the draw-cut would flow seamlessly from the guard's preferred stance. When quenched in snowmelt, the blade gleamed like moonlight over a lake, the hilt bound in dark green silk for steady grip.
Next came a qiang (spear). He selected a shaft of refined cloud-bamboo reinforced with steel along the core, aligning the natural fiber twist with the spearhead's centerline. A dragon-patterned spearhead of brightsteel was socketed perfectly; the balance was so precise the weapon seemed to float in the wielder's palm.
The third was a jian (straight sword) for the most agile of the guards. Haotian folded silversteel with streaks of thunder-iron, weaving faint lightning-aspected qi into the core. The blade emerged with a subtle shimmer, edges keener than frost, the tang wrapped in black rayskin beneath pale cord.
For the fourth, a yanyue dao (crescent-moon guandao). Haotian adjusted the head's weight by microscopic degrees — undetectable to the eye — ensuring its sweeping arcs would strike faster without losing momentum. The steel's surface caught the forge light in rippling waves.
Fifth and sixth: paired hudiedao (butterfly swords) for the dual-wielder. Their spines were slightly thickened for parrying, and Haotian tuned each to resonate with the other when crossed — a faint hum like cicadas in summer.
The seventh was a ji (halberd), its forward blade etched with a qilin motif, the rear hook honed to catch and wrench weapons from the foe. Haotian heat-treated the shaft so it could flex under impact yet never warp.
Eighth — a broad rattan-shield plated with dragon-scale steel, designed to absorb shockwaves. Haotian inlaid a qi-conducting ring within its boss, allowing the wielder to channel defensive energy through the entire surface.
Ninth — a chang dao (long saber) with a gently sweeping edge, perfectly counterbalanced for heavy downward cuts. The fuller was inscribed with a mist-pattern to reduce weight without compromising strength.
Tenth — a pudao (horse-cutter blade) tempered for sheer stopping power. Haotian reinforced the tang and bound it in triple-layered leather, ensuring it wouldn't slip even if drenched in rain or blood.
Finally, the eleventh: Lianhua's own jian.
Here, Haotian slowed. The Eyes of the Universe deepened, constellations shifting faster. He chose a star-iron core clad in froststeel, folding until the surface flowed like drifting clouds over ice. In the spine, he carved runic etchings that would draw qi toward precision and control rather than brute force. The crossguard was shaped into twin phoenix wings, the grip bound in pale azure silk.
When he handed it to her, Lianhua's first cut through the air sang like crystal struck by windchimes. The forging hall fell utterly silent.
One by one, the guards stepped forward, tested their weapons, and bowed.
No applause. No chatter. The Forging Hall stood frozen in the knowledge that what they had just seen was not mere blacksmithing, nor even master-crafting — but the shaping of living weapons bound perfectly to their wielders.
The moment the last weapon was handed over, Haotian did not pause. The forging hall was still locked in silence when he set aside the final quenched blade and began laying out fresh materials — sheets of tempered steel, cured leathers, lacquered scales, and bundles of high-grade silks.
His Eyes of the Universe shimmered brighter, constellations turning like an astral compass. One by one, the guards stepped back, making room. The Forging Hall leaned forward as if drawn by gravity.
He began with the women's armor sets — Lianhua's first. The foundation was a layered lamellar of light froststeel plates, each no thicker than a fingernail yet able to turn a thrusting spear. Beneath that, a vest of woven cloud-silk and soft moonweave padding, weightless and breathable, allowing her to move without a single restriction. The sleeves tapered into fitted gauntlets, their backs engraved with subtle phoenix patterns in gold wire. Her greaves were slender, shaped for speed, with an inner lining of silk-cotton blend to prevent chafing. At the breastplate's center, a small ornament in jade and gold — not for vanity, but to channel defensive qi into a dispersing flow.
The next female guard's set was brigandine, each steel plate hidden beneath a robe of black crane-feather satin, trimmed with silver-thread borders. The gauntlets flared slightly at the wrist for hidden-weapon access, while the greaves bore dragon-scale embossing for strength without excess weight.
Each female's armor followed the same philosophy: high-end fabrics for unbound agility, but each plate, seam, and stitch engineered for survival in a killing field.
Then came the men's sets. Haotian's hammer strokes grew deeper, heavier — CLANG!… CLANG! The first was a heavy lamellar harness of blacksteel, each plate secured with leather thongs over a padded gambeson. The pauldrons were wide, layered like overlapping dragon scales, ready to catch and deflect blows. Gauntlets were forged from brightsteel with reinforced knuckle ridges, and the greaves locked into place over leather boots shod with thin iron soles.
For another, he made brigandine reinforced with boiled leather over the abdomen and lower back, offering both flexibility and a solid defense against crushing impacts. The helm's brow plate was etched with qilin motifs, the cheek guards hinged for visibility in duels.
The largest of the men's sets was scale mail — broad bronze-edged plates linked with leather backing, the scales alternating between brightsteel and tempered iron for an almost living texture under torchlight. The greaves had a ridge down the center to deflect sliding strikes, and the gauntlets were fitted with jointed plates for full wrist rotation.
Each set was tailored to its wearer's build and fighting style. Every measurement was perfect, every seam smooth, every plate aligned for balance in both standing and moving guard. The Eyes of the Universe missed nothing — even where a guard unconsciously favored one leg over the other, Haotian adjusted the weight distribution to compensate.
By the time the last set was completed, the hall smelled of quenched steel, oiled leather, and warm silk. The forging division's masters exchanged glances, some swallowing hard, others gripping their hammers without realizing it. They had seen masterwork before. This was beyond it — this was artistry aligned with destiny.
The guards stood in their new armor, weapons at their sides, like an elite unit stepped out of a legend. Lianhua's gaze swept over them, then to Haotian — and for the first time, the forging hall broke its silence.
Dozens of palms struck together, the applause echoing like rolling thunder against the rafters.
The final echo of hammer and anvil faded, replaced by the heavy stillness of the forging hall. Then, as though a cord had snapped, the watchers stirred.
"By the ancestors…" one of the senior smiths whispered, leaning on his hammer. "Those sets aren't just fitted — they're alive to the wearer's intent."
A younger apprentice blurted, "That lamellar—how did he balance froststeel to weigh less than half standard measure without losing hardness?!"
Another master blacksmith shook his head slowly. "The layering. He aligned each plate's grain with the qi flow of the body. You can't learn that from blueprints. That's… instinct."
A merchant who'd wandered in to watch was openly gawking at the female guards' silk-lined gauntlets. "High-grade cloud-silk in armor? And the embroidery's not just for show — it's a qi channel! Who forges defensive weaves into silk without making it stiff?"
From the back, a grizzled elder of the Forging Hall stepped forward, voice carrying. "You've forged to their breathing, boy. I've seen men tailor armor to measurements, but not to the heartbeat. Tell me, where did you learn that?"
Haotian simply met his gaze. "I watched. And listened." His tone was calm, but the words rolled through the hall like a quiet truth no one could refute.
A few elders exchanged looks, murmuring in disbelief. Others pressed in with questions about quenching times, alloy blends, hidden joints, and even the subtle balance in the scale mail. Haotian answered sparingly, offering technique where it was harmless, silence where it was not.
When the last gauntlet was buckled and the final strap tied, the Forging Hall stood as one, a mix of awe and reluctant respect in their eyes. Some bowed. Others simply stepped aside to clear the path.
The newly armed and armored group stepped forward — steel plates glinting, silks flowing like ripples in water, each guard moving with the ease of wearing a second skin.
Outside, sunlight spilled over the courtyard like molten gold. The clangor of the hall faded behind them as Lianhua turned, her new phoenix-crested breastplate catching the light.
"Formation," she commanded. Her voice carried, sharp but not harsh.
They obeyed instantly, boots striking the stone in unison, the sound crisper now under the weight of balanced greaves and reinforced soles. The air seemed to hum as they took their places.
Lianhua's eyes swept over them once, then she gave the first order. "Advance drill. Defensive formation, five steps forward, engage!"
The group moved as one, shields sliding into position with the seamless precision of a single body. Spearpoints angled forward, blades drawn, the polished surfaces flashing under the sun. The new armor flowed with them — no snags, no drag, no unbalanced weight.
From the side, Haotian observed silently, his Eyes of the Universe marking each angle, each micro-adjustment in their movements. The armor's balance was perfect. Their footwork was sharper, stances stronger, blocks cleaner.
Within minutes, the courtyard rang with the crisp rhythm of their strikes and the satisfying thunk of blades and spears meeting shields. Their coordination deepened with each pass, the harmony between weapon, armor, and wearer becoming visible to all who watched.
The onlookers from the Forging Hall had followed outside. They whispered among themselves:
"They're faster in heavy defense than some light infantry."
"No wasted motion… it's as if they've worn those sets for years."
"This isn't just forging. This is… battlefield rebirth."
Haotian allowed himself the faintest of smiles. The forging was complete — but the real proof of craftsmanship had just begun.
The first hour was drills.
Lianhua had them cycle through shield wall shifts, spear thrust rotations, and paired-blade sweeps until the rhythm settled into their bones. The courtyard rang with the clash of steel, the muted thud of spearbutts hitting shields, and the slide of greaves across stone. Sunlight flashed over polished plates and flowing silks, the colors of the new armor alive with every movement.
But Lianhua wasn't here for them to just look good.
"Enough patterns," she called out, voice cutting through the air like a drawn blade. "We see how well you move — now we see how well you fight."
She snapped her fingers, and the formation broke into combat pairs. Shields raised, blades at the ready, they faced one another. "Live drills. Armor's made to take hits, not to shine in the sun. Strike to win — I'll stop you before you lose teeth."
The first clashes were tentative, testing weight and movement. But soon the metallic ring of swords meeting spears, the clack of polearms catching shields, and the dull thump of bodies colliding began to fill the courtyard.
Haotian, standing off to the side, watched in silence, his Eyes of the Universe shimmering faintly in both eyes now. The layered visions showed him the strain points in the armor, the qi flow through each seam, the subtle lag in stance recovery after certain strikes.
"Too slow," he murmured.
Without warning, he stepped into the sparring ring. The combatants froze for a heartbeat, unsure if they should yield.
"Attack me. All of you," Haotian said simply.
Lianhua smirked. "You heard him. Don't hold back."
They came at him in two waves — the front line lowering spears while the back swung in with blades.
Haotian moved like water over glass. He slid past the first spear, a twist of his wrist sending the haft snapping harmlessly to the side. A half-step pivot let a sword glance off the curve of his bracer without losing balance. He redirected each blow without effort, forcing them to recover, forcing them to think.
"Armor isn't an excuse to stand still," he said, parrying a spear and kicking its wielder back three paces. "It's the promise you can move through the strike and keep fighting."
They adjusted quickly — shields coming up faster, footwork sharpening. One guard tried a feint into a low sweep. Haotian's eyes caught the shift instantly; he sidestepped and tapped the guard's helmet with his knuckles. "Dead."
The battle built heat. The sound of metal rang louder, faster. Boots scraped and slammed against the stone as sweat began to bead under the high-grade fabrics and steel. The armor flexed and breathed exactly as designed — no strain, no drag, only a perfect extension of the fighter's intent.
When the last guard staggered back, panting but still on his feet, Haotian let the tension in his stance drop.
"They'll do," he said simply, meeting Lianhua's gaze.
Lianhua's lips curved into the faintest smile. "They'll do more than that. They'll win."
The forging hall's elders, still lingering at the edges, exchanged glances heavy with something between disbelief and pride. They had just seen their craft not only tested but proven — under the hands of someone who knew exactly how to push it to the limit.
And Haotian was far from finished.
The transition was immediate.
Lianhua's whistle cut the courtyard noise short, and her hand gestured toward the southern gate. "Move. Endurance trial."
They filed out into the training grounds beyond, where a wide obstacle field waited — a patchwork of water-filled ditches, uneven stone runs, heat pits lined with coals, and suspended platforms swaying on chains. The air was already dry and harsh here, the sun pressing down like a smelting furnace.
"Armor's new," Lianhua said, her tone carrying the faint curl of a challenge. "Let's see if it holds up when the ground's trying to kill you."
The trial began with the ditches. The first few leapt over without trouble, but the added weight of brigandine and scale mail pulled at their balance, sending one guard knee-deep into water. The splash was followed by a muttered curse as he struggled out.
Haotian's voice cut in from the sideline. "Shift your center forward on the jump — you're letting the armor drag you back. Keep the chest higher than the hips mid-air."
They adjusted, and the next pass was cleaner.
The stone runs were worse. Jagged slabs forced them to place each step with precision or risk a rolled ankle. The lamellar creaked as one of the women took the narrow crossing — but the high-end fabrics gave her enough range to vault the last stretch. Haotian's eyes flared faintly, marking the angle of her landing.
"You're bracing too late," he called. "Land on the front third of the foot, let the armor's weight carry into the next step — don't stop to absorb it."
They moved faster.
Then came the heat pits. Waves of heat shimmered above the coals, making vision blur. The men's leather-and-metal sets began to hold the heat, while the women's reinforced fabrics allowed slightly better airflow — but still drew sweat in minutes.
Haotian stepped into the path without hesitation. "Shorter steps here. Keep the knees bent — the heat rises, so stay lower between breaths." He demonstrated, moving fluidly across the hazard without losing pace.
By the time they reached the suspended platforms, fatigue had set in. The chains groaned under shifting weight, and every motion of one fighter rocked the others. A spear haft slipped, almost sending its wielder tumbling.
"Distribute load," Haotian ordered, already stepping onto the swaying chain-link himself. "Anchor points at three, six, nine — keep opposite weight balanced. Match your rhythm, or you'll drag each other off."
They followed, and slowly, the rocking evened out. The group moved as a single coordinated flow, weapons sheathed, armor glinting with heat-haze and dust.
By the end of the circuit, every guard was breathing hard, sweat tracing dark lines into fabric and leather, but no one had fallen out. Their stances were tighter. Their movements, sharper.
Lianhua nodded once, satisfaction in her eyes. "Now they look like they belong in that armor."
The Forging Hall elders, still watching from the shade, murmured in quiet awe. These weren't just weapons and armor — they were a living extension of Haotian's hands, refined with each trial.
Haotian's gaze swept the group, his eyes still carrying that faint, celestial shimmer. "Rest for now," he said. "Tomorrow, we begin real combat."