Smithing Master Iji raised his head, gazing up at the towering walls of Stormveil Castle, and let out a sigh of awe.
"After all these years, Stormveil remains just as magnificent."
When Blaidd received Lucian's letter, he immediately contacted Ranni. Though the promised supplies had not yet arrived, Lucian had already dispatched many Tarnished to explore the underground. Along the way, they also recaptured Fort Haight beyond the forest, securing half of the Dectus Medallion that led to the Altus Plateau.
Ranni, seeing that Lucian had already mobilized so many hands—and not a small number at that—was quite satisfied. A partner who could act on his own initiative was rare. Thus, she instructed Blaidd to reply:
She would send him an exceptional smith, one whose craft would not disappoint.
That Smithing Master was none other than Iji—who also served as her War Counselor.
This time, Iji did not come merely to forge. He carried with him the things Ranni had promised Lucian before: sorceries, incantations, and equipment.
Dragging a heavy iron chain, Iji pulled behind him a massive wagon. A thick tarp covered its contents, though its stone chassis, carved with runes that glowed faint blue, was still visible. The magic inscribed there lessened the burden of its weight.
This wagon was Iji's own creation, designed specifically for transporting supplies. Upon it lay the promised goods—along with his enormous forge and anvil.
As he arrived at Stormveil's gates, the Storm Knights on duty immediately approached. The castle was now open to all, yet guards still rotated shifts at the gates—four knights at a time. Their presence served less as protection and more as a silent warning to would-be troublemakers.
"Are you Smithing Master Iji?" one knight asked.
Lucian had already instructed them beforehand; a troll-smith would be arriving soon, and they were to treat him with utmost respect.
As agreed, Iji produced the sigil of Caria—emblazoned with sword and staff—proving his identity.
"In that case, please, come with me inside."
"One moment," said Iji. "Before I meet Lord Lucian, I would like to take a look around Stormveil. We already spoke of this beforehand."
"Of course. Would you like to leave your supplies in the outer bailey courtyard for now?"
"That would be best."
Iji pulled the wagon through the gate, leaving it in the courtyard under a Storm Knight's guard. Another knight guided him deeper into the castle.
Iji's eyes were sharp. He examined everything carefully, for this was his own request to Ranni: he wanted to gauge the true strength of this new ally.
The first district they entered was where the Tarnished resided.
There were many. Far more than he expected.
Each Tarnished was given a stall for trade, and those with special skills could apply for shops: smithies, enchanting services, and more. Judging by the number crowding the streets, Iji estimated there were at least two thousand Tarnished here.
Deeper still lay a massive training ground. Countless Tarnished were gathered, practicing under the watch of Storm Knights.
Lucian had established a system: Those who swore loyalty to him could train for free as soldiers. Others could pay with runes to learn independently—though most eventually pledged service anyway, as fees were returned upon enlistment.
The majority, unsurprisingly, chose the first path. They had little wealth, and more importantly, they saw in Lucian—a Tarnished like themselves—a leader worth following.
The Lands Between were hostile to Tarnished everywhere. Only Lucian welcomed them. And though most Tarnished knew they could never become Elden Lord themselves, they also knew this: like their forebears, they could fight beside a king who might.
A smaller group chose the independent path. Many came from Roundtable Hold—sorcerers, ambitious dreamers unwilling to swear fealty so soon. Yet even they flocked to Stormveil's training ground, for in this world only strength guaranteed survival, and only the living could still speak of dreams.
Roughly eighty percent of Stormveil's Tarnished trained in arms. The rest? Some too timid, shifting into logistics. Others studied sorcery or faith.
Iji's brow furrowed. The potential here was staggering.
After the Shattering War, every great power's armies had withered. Only Leyndell still commanded legions, its numbers supported by sheer population.
Radahn's Redmanes in Caelid were shattered—first by war, then by the Scarlet Rot. Radahn himself was lost to madness.
Rykard's Volcano Manor had long since dissolved into chaos, its knights scattered.
As for Miquella and Malenia's Haligtree—sealed away after Malenia's battle with Radahn, its state was unknown.
And those soldiers that remained were often no longer men at all, but corpses. Tarnished, however, remained human—driven, hardened by their journey abroad.
Stormveil, Iji realized, had war potential greater than most. These Tarnished only needed training and steel. With proper arms, they could become a terrifying host. Unlike the common folk who required years to train, Tarnished were already warriors, descendants of those chosen by Grace.
And how many Tarnished wandered the Lands Between? None could say.
Quietly, Iji raised Lucian's importance two notches in his heart.
Past the Tarnished quarters, they entered districts where Misbegotten and demi-humans lived.
To Iji's surprise, they coexisted in relative peace. Supervision was lax—limited mainly to hygiene and order. At least they now used latrines instead of fouling the streets, though old habits, like eating insects raw, remained.
Their quarter lay in a remote corner of the city, away from others. Prejudice lingered, but Lucian's order held firm.
As for the trolls, their massive frames had no place within the walls. They remained on Stormhill—though their numbers had greatly dwindled after Godrick's bloody purges.
By the time Iji completed his circuit, he had a clear picture.
Lucian had indeed opened Stormveil to all races. The city was orderly, its functions well planned: smithies, markets, libraries, even chapels.
For now, its strength lay more in promise than in present might. Beyond the Storm Knights, the garrison was thin. But the Tarnished—given time—would become an army unrivaled.
At last, Iji returned to the inner bailey. Hitching his wagon once more, he followed the knight to the plaza before the throne.
There they waited, as a Storm Knight went to fetch Lucian from his lessons with Thops.
While waiting, Iji drew back the wagon's tarp, revealing the goods beneath—so that Lucian might see them all at a glance.
Soon Lucian arrived, striding from the halls. His eyes first fell upon Iji's towering figure, encased in his gleaming mirror helm. Then, upon the wagon piled with supplies.
"So you must be the Smithing Master Ranni spoke of—Iji."
"That I am."
Iji bowed slightly, then offered his praise.
"I toured Stormveil on my way here. Its order is admirable. I had heard much of you from Lady Ranni, but the truth exceeds the telling. You surpass every rumor, Lord Lucian."
Lucian chuckled, waving it away.
"Enough courtesy. Show me what you've brought."
"Very well. These are the items Lady Ranni promised you."
Iji produced a list—the same one Ranni had shown Lucian before. Then he handed over a thick stack of scrolls, filled with copied incantations and sorceries.
Lucian checked the inventory carefully.
The incantations were varied: Golden Order incantations, flame rites, and more—clearly gathered from many sources. The sorceries were more numerous still: Raya Lucaria's glintstone arts, as well as Carian techniques such as the Carian Greatsword and Carian Phalanx.
All were copies, safely transcribed.
There were also weapons and staves: the Carian Regal Scepter, the Carian Glintblade Staff, and even arms bearing rare Ashes of War, like the Ice Spear.
Lucian nodded, pleased. Even if he could not wield them all himself, Stormveil's coffers now brimmed with knowledge and arms.
His eyes then turned to the massive forge and anvil Iji had brought.
"The goods are received. Our partnership begins well." His lips curled into a smile. "Now then—I've been waiting long enough. When can you begin forging my armor? Do you need rest first? The work will be a vast undertaking."
But Iji shook his great head.
"I need no rest. I rest too much already. Forging is one of my few joys. Show me the design, and I shall begin at once."
Lucian produced the blueprint, handing it up.
Iji studied it through his mirrored helm, nodding slowly.
"I understand the design. All I require now are your measurements. Then I can begin."
"Oh—one thing," Lucian added, almost idly. "Is there a way to make armor that changes size with its wearer?"
He expected no more than a laugh. But after a long silence, Iji actually nodded.
"Such a technique does exist. It was once used on the Grave Wardens' gear—enchantments that gave their bronze serpents life. Applied to armor, it would let it grow or shrink with its master's form. Few remember it now; with the arenas gone, it has all but vanished. Were you not to mention it, I might have forgotten it myself."
Lucian's eyes lit up. This was more than he had hoped for. Clearly, he had chosen the right smith.
For his part, Iji felt a stir of excitement. It had been too long since he worked with such fine material. His hands ached to begin.
Without hesitation, he hauled down his forge and anvil, setting them in the plaza.
And there, before the throne of Stormveil, he prepared to forge.