The Stellar Forger's Legacy - Chapter 3: The Tempering of Steel
In-Game Date: 3rd Cycle, Year 512, Harvest Season | Time: 09:23
The air in the abandoned forge still carried the scent of ozone and disturbed stone dust. The residual energy from Klaus's [Anvil Strike] sparked in the air like embers frozen in time. And now, a new tension, thin and sharp as a blade, settled in with Kaelon's presence at the entrance.
Klaus maintained his guard, the Hammer of the First Flame firm in his hands, his eyes locked on the swordsman. His [Forger's Eye] activated instinctively, scanning Kaelon. Unlike the PKers, there were no glaring red weak points. Instead, Kaelon's form was a silhouette of polished steel and contained energy, with only a few areas glowing in soft amber, indicating "opportunities" for armor penetration, not blatant flaws. It was the sight of a high-level opponent, nearly perfect in build.
"Disturbing?" Klaus repeated, his voice echoing faintly in the circular chamber. "That's one word. I'd prefer 'effective.'"
Kaelon didn't smile. His expression was a mask of stone. "Effectiveness is often synonymous with disturbance. Aethelgard's balance is delicate. A unique class, a power that lets a level 10 scatter three level 20 players... that creates ripples. Ripples that larger guilds won't ignore."
He took another step inside, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword, but without explicit threat. It was a stance of readiness, not imminent attack.
"The 'Iron Claws' are a minor guild, but they're connected. They'll spread the word. They might not come back for you themselves, but they'll go to the lauded Crystal Thrones or the relentless Obsidian Wings. And then, Stellar Forger, what will you do?"
Klaus lowered his hammer an inch, but his vigilance didn't wane. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm following a legacy."
"In a world like this," Kaelon said, his gaze piercing, "a legacy is trouble. It's a magnet for trouble. The question remains: What do you intend to forge?"
The question echoed Elara's. Klaus glanced at the hammer in his hand. He felt the weight of the spectral anvil, the potential of the sword he'd crafted from scrap.
"For starters," Klaus said, his voice gaining a spark of dry determination, "I need to forge a blade that doesn't fall apart after a single battle. And then, perhaps, alliances that don't break under pressure."
He turned and walked to the pile of scrap. His golden eyes analyzed the metals, assessing their composition, density, and potential. He found a long, thin bar of serrated steel, a common metal but notably resilient. He picked it up and tossed it onto the spectral anvil, which still pulsed softly with the remaining minutes of [Field Forge].
Kaelon watched, silent, his posture curiously relaxed, like a feline observing a potentially dangerous artisan.
Klaus didn't use [Anvil Strike]. His Cosmic Energy was too low. Instead, he began hammering the metal bar with rhythmic, precise strikes that echoed through the chamber with a metallic CLANG... CLANG... CLANG. It was a primordial sound, the music of creation. Each strike wasn't just about shaping the metal; it was about Klaus internalizing the flow of cosmic energy, understanding the material's resistance, feeling the exact point where the smith's will fused with the essence of the raw material.
He wasn't just making a sword. He was practicing. He was becoming.
Kaelon watched, fascinated, as the metal bent, flattened, and sharpened under Klaus's hands. There was no crafting interface, no visible progress bar. It was pure skill, augmented but not wholly governed by the system.
After several minutes of focused work, a new blade took shape. It was simple, with a matte finish and a straight, keen edge. It lacked the ornamentation of monster-dropped swords, but there was a raw integrity to it, a sense of purpose.
[Creation Successful: Stellar Apprentice's Longsword (Quality: Rare)]
Damage: 38-52
Bonuses: +8 Strength, +5 Agility
Durability: 120/120
Unique Effect: "Marked by the Forge" - Consecutive hits on the same target stack "Forge Heat," increasing Damage against that target by 1% per stack (max 10 stacks).
Klaus lifted the blade, feeling its perfect balance. It was infinitely superior to his previous improvisation.
"Impressive," Kaelon's voice broke the silence. It was a factual compliment, not flattery. "Most players wait until level 30 or 40 and spend a fortune to get a weapon with stats like that. You forged it from scrap, at level 10."
"It's what the class does," Klaus replied, sheathing the new sword in a simple scabbard he found in the scrap pile.
"No," Kaelon countered, finally moving his hand away from his sword hilt. "The system grants the potential. The user's will determines the outcome. I've seen others with unique classes. Most become arrogant, reliant on raw power. You... you seem to understand that the hammer is just a tool."
He seemed to reach a decision.
"Your presence here will, as I said, create ripples. Ripples that can drown a man alone, no matter how talented. You mentioned alliances. Perhaps we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement."
Klaus turned fully to face him. "What kind of agreement?"
"Information for protection," Kaelon said simply. "I operate solo. I have my own goals. But I have ears in many places. I can warn you about guild movements, PK hunts, opportunities that a newbie, even a unique one, wouldn't find. In exchange, when I need a smith who can craft the impossible, you'll listen. And occasionally, our paths might cross in a dungeon or battlefield, where an extra swordsman would benefit us both."
It wasn't a party invite. It was a cooperative non-aggression pact. It was sober, practical, and for Klaus in that moment, incredibly valuable.
"And why should I trust you?" Klaus asked. "You could just be leading me into a trap."
Kaelon finally showed a glimmer of emotion: a slight eyebrow twitch of impatience. "If I wanted you dead, Ouroboros, I would have attacked when your cosmic energy was low and you were distracted with forging. The art of the sword isn't just about flashy strikes; it's about timing. My timing for betrayal isn't now."
The logic was irrefutable. There was a brutal honesty in Kaelon's approach that Klaus, weary of the real world's deceptions, found strangely refreshing.
"Alright," Klaus nodded. "Deal. Information for protection. And access to my forge, within reason."
"Fair," Kaelon inclined his head in agreement. "Then here's your first piece of information: The City Guard is on alert. The energy disturbance from you accepting your class was felt. They're scouring the catacombs. If you're caught, you'll be questioned. And they won't be as polite as I am."
That was a problem. Klaus couldn't just stroll out the main entrance.
"Is there another way out?" he asked.
"There's always another way out," Kaelon replied, turning. "Come."
He led Klaus to a dark corner of the forge, away from the main entrance. With a precise push on a loose stone, a section of the wall shifted silently, revealing a narrow, damp tunnel.
"A shortcut from the original builders," Kaelon explained. "It leads to the sewers beneath the Commerce District. From there, you can emerge unnoticed. I have business to attend to. Remember our deal. I'll be in touch."
Without another word, Kaelon turned and vanished into the darkness of the main tunnel, leaving Klaus alone at the secret entrance.
Klaus didn't hesitate long. He slipped into the narrow tunnel, the stone passage closing behind him with a low rumble. The darkness was nearly absolute, broken only by the faint luminescence of his eyes as the [Forger's Eye] adapted, outlining the world in shades of black, white, and gold.
The smell was foul—stagnant water, rot, and the same metallic odor from the Stagnant Flux, but weaker here. He moved silently, his boosted Agility allowing him to navigate the debris and puddles without a sound.
After ten minutes of slow progress, he saw a faint light ahead. The exit. He reached a rusted iron grate overlooking a wider sewer channel. With a strong pull, he wrenched the rusted grate from its hinges and squeezed through, emerging into a vast vaulted tunnel with a stream of dirty water running down the center.
He was in the Sewers of Aethelgard. According to his map, the Commerce District was directly above.
He was about to follow the stream downstream in search of an exit ladder when he heard voices.
"...no, seriously! It was huge! It had eyes of fire and a roar that made my screen shake!"
"Oh, shut up, Lorin. You probably saw a Glowing Sewer Rat and panicked."
Two players—a Human mage in new but cheap robes (Level 12) and an Elf archer (Level 14)—were standing in a side passage, apparently lost. The mage, Lorin, was gesturing wildly.
A rare boss. In the game's early stages, that could mean gear that would propel someone ahead in the leveling race.
Klaus was about to slip away quietly when his [Forger's Eye] caught something. An energy signature coming from the tunnel behind the two players. It was heavy, earthen, and corrupted. Lorin wasn't entirely lying.
He assessed the situation quickly. Two mid-level players, probably with mediocre gear. And a boss that, by its energy scent, was likely level 20 or higher. They'd be slaughtered.
A part of him, the part that had survived alone for so long, said to leave them. They were fools. Their deaths weren't his problem.
But then he remembered Elara's words. "Forge alliances." And Kaelon: "Ripples that can drown a man alone."
It wasn't about being a hero. It was about being smart.
He stepped forward, emerging from the shadows. The two players jumped, raising their wands and bows instinctively.
"Who are you?" the elf, Saria, asked, her voice tense.
"Someone who overheard your conversation," Klaus said, keeping his hands visible. "And your friend isn't crazy. There's a powerful entity in that tunnel. If you go in there, you'll die."
Lorin bristled. "Hey! We can handle ourselves!"
"Can you?" Klaus asked, his tone flat. "A mage with a cracked mana focus and an archer with a bowstring about to fray? Against an enemy radiating level 20 energy?"
Saria's eyes widened. How did he know about the bowstring? She'd noticed a fray a few days ago but didn't have the money to replace it.
"How did you...?"
"I'm a smith," Klaus interrupted. It was technically true. "I see people's gear condition. The point is: I can fix it too."
He looked at them. "I propose a temporary party. We check out this boss. If it's too much for us, we retreat. If it's manageable, we take it down. I'll repair your gear for free, right now, and I keep any crafting resources it drops. You keep the gold and any combat gear."
It was more than a generous offer. Gear repairs, especially for quality items, weren't cheap.
Saria and Lorin exchanged glances. They were wary, but the logic was sound, and greed was a powerful motivator.
"How can we trust you?" Saria asked, echoing Klaus's earlier question to Kaelon.
Klaus simply took out his hammer and approached. "Your bowstring."
Hesitantly, Saria handed over her bow. Klaus placed it on the spectral anvil, which he summoned quickly with a single strike on the ground ([Field Forge] still had a few minutes left). With a few precise strikes and a shard of elemental crystal he found in his pocket, he realigned the bow's limbs and infused the string with cosmic fiber, repairing it and granting it a faint silver glow.
[Item Repaired and Enhanced: Saria's Long Hunting Bow]
Durability restored to: 85/85
New Effect: +3 Piercing Damage.
Saria's eyes lit up. "Whoa."
Lorin, seeing this, practically shoved his wand into Klaus's hands. "Mine! Mine!"
Klaus repeated the process, welding the crack in the mana focus with a thread of Cosmic Energy.
Their distrust evaporated, replaced by awe.
"Alright," Saria said firmly. "Temporary party. I'm Saria, this is Lorin. And you are?"
"Ouroboros," Klaus replied. "Now, let's go. And stay behind me."
With Klaus leading the way, the three ventured deeper into the side tunnel. The air grew heavier, colder. The smell of wet earth and rot intensified. Soon, the tunnel opened into a cavernous sewer chamber, where the water formed a wide, stagnant pool.
In the center of the pool, half-submerged, was the creature.
It was a colossal turtle, its shell covered in foul moss and sharp scraps of old iron embedded in its carapace. Its head was draconic, wingless, with eyes glowing a sickly amber light. A heavy, broken chain was attached to its hind leg, anchoring it to the sewer floor.
[Stagnant Sludge Turtle (Rare Boss) - Level 22]
"By the Architects..." Lorin whispered, his bravado gone.
Klaus activated [Forger's Eye]. The creature was riddled with weak points. The joints between its shell plates, its eyes, and especially the rusted chain attached to it—not part of its natural defense.
"Right," Klaus said, his voice low and calm, taking command. "Saria, stay at range. Aim for the eyes. That's its weakest spot. Lorin, use ice or earth spells on the shell to slow it. No fire—the water will dissipate it. I'll grab its attention."
"You? You're a smith!" Lorin protested.
Klaus ignored him. He raised his hammer and advanced.
The Sludge Turtle roared, a guttural, bubbling sound, and spat a ball of concentrated, corrosive sludge. Klaus, anticipating it, rolled aside. The sludge hit the wall behind him with a hiss, dissolving the stone.
He charged toward the beast, his feet splashing in the dirty water. The [Forger's Eye] highlighted the joint on the left foreleg. He didn't attack the shell. Instead, he delivered an [Anvil Strike] straight to the joint.
CRUNCH!
The sound was horrific. The turtle's leg buckled, and a critical damage number flashed. -1,288!
The creature screamed in agony, its health bar dropping visibly. It was enraged, but now limping, its mobility severely reduced.
"NOW!" Klaus shouted.
Saria's arrow whistled through the air, finding the beast's left eye with precision. -455! (Critical Hit!)
Lorin, snapping out of his shock, conjured an [Ice Spear] that shattered against the shell, coating it in frost and further reducing its attack speed.
The battle was chaotic but controlled. Klaus acted as an improbable tank, using his hammer to deflect claw swipes and draw the boss's aggro, while Saria and Lorin poured damage from afar. Klaus's strategy, based on his unique perception of weak points, was relentlessly efficient.
When the turtle's health dropped below 20%, it entered a rage phase, trying to break free of its chain and unleash a sludge whirlpool. But the chain, its weakest point identified, couldn't hold. With one final, powerful [Anvil Strike] from Klaus on the metal link attached to its shell, the chain snapped.
Freed, the turtle lost its balance for a fraction of a second, exposing its soft underbelly. It was the final opening.
"FOCUS EVERYTHING ON THE BELLY!" Klaus ordered.
A barrage of arrows, an arcane magic blast, and a final crushing blow from the cosmic hammer struck home.
The Stagnant Sludge Turtle let out one last muffled groan and collapsed, its body beginning to dissolve into data.
[Ding! Congratulations! Your party has defeated the Stagnant Sludge Turtle (Rare Boss - Level 22)!]
[+8,900 EXP!]
[Ding! Congratulations, you've reached level 12!]
[Ding! Congratulations, you've reached level 13!]
[Reputation with 'Aethelgard City Guard' increased to: Respected!]
Lorin and Saria were jumping with excitement, their levels rising too.
"We did it! We actually did it!" Lorin yelled.
The loot appeared. A pouch of gold, a pair of encrusted leather boots for Saria, a new staff for Lorin, and... a large, pale bone fragment pulsing with earthen energy.
[Primordial Shell Fragment (Quality: Epic)]
Type: Crafting Resource
Use: An excellent material for creating heavy shields or armor. It has an innate affinity for earth and damage absorption abilities.
Klaus pocketed it. It was exactly what he wanted.
Saria looked at him, her initial distrust fully transformed into admiration. "Ouroboros... you're no ordinary smith, are you?"
Klaus stored the shell fragment. "No," he admitted. "I'm not."
He glanced at the sewer channel leading upward, toward the city. He had resources, levels, a deal with a mysterious swordsman, and a glimpse of the power he wielded. The escape through the catacombs was over. Now it was time to enter Aethelgard not as a fugitive, but as a contender.
"Come on," he said to the other two. "Let's head back to the surface. There's a world up there waiting to be forged."
And with the hammer heavy and comfortable on his shoulder, Klaus Ouroboros led the way upward, toward the light.
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End of Chapter 3
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