Andy: The Laughing Berserker
Nearly skipping up to the lectern, Andy's bearded face already sported a wild grin. "Alright, who gave the loot engine steroids?"
A massive axe—its blackened edges streaked with crimson, jagged fangs at the blade's core—spun through the air like a meteor, drawing every eye. With a relaxed gesture, Charles lifted his hand.
"Ironhowl, the Laughing Axe," he said with an amused tone. "Forged in the blood pits of the Crimson Arena. Its previous owner used it to win a war. Then a drinking contest. Then died from a banana peel."
Andy caught the axe with both hands, making the vault tremble.
"Oh yes," he growled, eyes gleaming. "This thing wants to fight."
"Good," Charles said. "So do I."
Next came the Berserker's Gauntlets of Fury, thick wrist-guards with layered metal plates etched with primal runes. When worn, they grant the wearer greatly increased striking force and enable the user to unleash explosive shockwave attacks with each punch.
Like a man suiting up for a tavern brawl, Andy slid on the gauntlets.
"Please tell me these explode."
"They do," SIGMA answered.
Then came the Tome of the Laughing Fury, resonating with a humming madness that increases the user's attack speed, movement tempo in battle, and resistance to exhaustion. The Warrior's Blood Crystal Pendant glowed a dim, violent red and strengthened both vitality and aggression, making the wearer harder to injure while fueling offensive power.
Charles raised a brow. "You good, Andy?"
Andy slammed the axe into the stone floor with a laugh that echoed off the cavern walls. "I feel like I could punch out a wyvern!"
"You probably will."
Donald: The Quiet Blade
Donald moved forward, calm and focused, his aura almost invisible—his steps as subtle as mist.
Fitting, then, that his chosen blade shimmered into view only when it was inches from his hand.
"Stillfang, Blade of the Silent Tactician," Charles said. "Kills sound, slows time, and has the best predictive edge reading I've seen. I'm pretty sure it insulted me when I touched it."
Donald nodded once and caught the blade, testing its weight. The sword gave a low hum, then quieted, as if a predator was content with its new master.
Next came the Cloak of Silent Steps—dark, elegant, fluttering without noise and granting near-invisibility. The Tome of the Silent Watcher, written by a blind strategist who never lost a battle, floated into Donald's hands, said to gift the reader unmatched strategic foresight.
"Shadowbound Pendant," Charles added. "Supposedly made from the shadows of fallen kings. It cloaks the wearer in deep concealment, making them extremely difficult to track or magically detect."
Donald bowed. "You gave me what I never thought I could afford. What I never thought I deserved."
Charles smiled. "You've earned it ten times over."
Coachman Rob: The Gale Sage (Apparently)
And then came Rob.
Rob walked forward. His robes flapped dramatically, somehow, despite the still air. Wind mage, beast tamer, coachman, philosopher—he wore every role at once.
"Ah," he said, "the breeze smells of opportunity and overpriced relics."
Charles grinned. "You're in luck. Zephyr's Beacon is rare, not overpriced."
A slim staff with wind-etched grooves floated toward Rob, who caught it with the practiced ease of someone who might have knocked a person off a mountain with a gust before.
"Zephyr's Beacon," Charles said. "It harnesses Windbind for binding enemies with gusts, Tempest Pulse to unleash blasts of concentrated air, and gives the bearer the ability to fly for short distances. So you can run away if your poetry gets too dark."
"Flight is helpful when dealing with romantic regret," Rob said softly.
First, there was the Windbinder's Circlet, increasing focus and wind control. Then, the Tome of Tempest Control grants superior storm magic. Finally, the Boots of the Gale Runner made you faster and better at hovering; each artifact was made for mobility, flight, and wind-based magic.
Rob looked overwhelmed. "I was just driving the carriage. This feels almost like a mistake by destiny."
Charles moved forward. "No. You've been there for us from the start. Now you'll ride through storms."
Charles stood at the far end of the obsidian hall, the golden spread of the Emberdrake Vault gleaming behind him like a dream that had finally come true.
He turned, facing his six companions with a gleam in his eye.
"Okay, my glittering champions," he drawled in a voice full of sarcastic charm. "Loot's nice, but let's see if it sings."
He pulled out a strange sphere from his spatial pouch. It was made of silver-veined crystal set in an obsidian lattice and pulsed with technomagical glyphs and old core runes. The HUD tag that SIGMA gave it said:
[Epoch Sphere: Trialmind Core
A training tool built by a group of array masters that no longer exists. They believed that virtual reality demonstrated more authentic responses than actual combat. Inside it, worlds of illusion that are clearer than real existence.]
"SIGMA," Charles yelled, throwing the orb into the air. "Connect the Trialmind Core to me. Start simulation tethering."
[Connection created. Sub-chamber Theta-9 is now active. Do you want dramatic lighting?]
Charles smiled. "Always."
A chunk of the obsidian wall sparkled and then split apart like silk. A round opening of hot glass and falling stars opened up.
"Come into the sandbox, heroes," Charles exclaimed in a grand way.
Their boots sounded on the stone as the squad entered the huge simulation arena—a devastated battlefield at dusk, moons adrift in the sky. Ghostfire braziers cast long, moving shadows across the ground, which was covered in sharp pebbles, obsidian spikes, and old, made-up bones.
Rob blinked. "Okay, aesthetic check: 10 out of 10."
"Just wait," Charles said. "Now the real fun begins."
He snapped his fingers, and the Epoch Sphere rose into the air, sending swirling sigils into the air.
"Start the simulation. Step one. Freeform team battle. The threat level is moderate. Opponents: basic building blocks."
Six entities composed of wandering luminescence. Resembling golems in size and stance, they glimmered with revolving elemental cores—one of fire, one of wind, one of earth, two hybrid elemental kinds, and one menacingly throbbing with arcane frost.
Charles gestured authoritatively, akin to a ringmaster. "Team—activate!"
Andy bellowed and lunged at a molten beast, axe ignited in hand. Wendy transformed into vapor, leaving faint traces of her twin daggers. Kael struck the ground, producing a localized tremor that disrupted two constructs in mid-air.
Arrows launched from Karel's bow traversed the battlefield with languid, graceful lethality.
Donald disappeared and reemerged behind a frost construct, his blade slicing through the air with a vengeful whisper.
Borris remained steadfast. He grunted but did not yield, even as two powerful blows slammed into his chest and the stone fractured around him.
Charles?
He withdrew from the tumult, observing.
He raised the Cauldron of Xal'vinar—a squat vessel of blacksteel, dragon-scale inlays, and glowing runes pulsing steadily.
Blue-violet flames rose from its mouth. Ancient sigils on the lid marked it as one of the lost Nine Cauldrons, sealed during the Age of Divine Distillation.
Charles found it half-buried in the vault, nearly missed among crushed relics. A subtle pull beckoned him to it.
Upon contact with the metal, a piercing chime resonated—a harmonic echo that transcended temporal boundaries. The vault throbbed in reaction. An ancient entity has awakened.
The cauldron levitated, rotating slowly in place, runes flaring one by one like stars reappearing after a long eclipse.
Suddenly, a ghostly visage pushed up through the cauldron's inner fire—a transparent, serpentine dragon head with a pair of ornate spectacles resting daintily on its nose ridges, eyes narrowed in cold, academic scrutiny. Its breath wafted like tendrils of violet mist. Its tone was entirely unimpressed.
"…You," the spirit rasped, thunder judging an exam paper. "Of all the unwashed hopefuls these last three millennia, you awaken me?"
Charles blinked. "You always open with insults, or is this a special occasion?"
The dragon's lip curled. "Silence. I am Professor Xal'vinar, Founder of the Grand Academy of Internal Catalysis, First-Class Brewer of Sovereign Elixirs, and the architect of the Mythic Nine."
Charles smirked. "Big titles for a teapot."
The cauldron spirit hissed. "Not a teapot! I melted tyrant hearts and simmered stars. Do you know how many archmages I've burned for uneven flame?"
"To be fair," Charles deadpanned, "I'm not trying to poison anyone… today."
The spirit glared even more. "Before I let you ruin my sacred furnace with your ordinary flame control, I need to see how valuable you are."
Charles stepped forward without fear. "Of course. Go ahead and judge.
The cauldron glowed with a low hum, and a ghostly circle of runes flared up under Charles's feet. The heat rose, and the qi swirled. The air had a faint smell of burnt saffron and sadness. The cauldron just stared for a few seconds.
Then...
The spirit said, "You're not completely hopeless," and his nose wrinkled as if he had just smelled bad wine. "Okay. I will let you try the easiest of infusions."
The cauldron snapped upright with a hiss—and expanded.
The miniature vessel, once no larger than a helmet, expanded outward like a lotus. Runes spread from its surface like glowing petals, moving through the air with musical clicks. Flames surged beneath it as it grew, becoming a four-foot-wide structure that hovered just above the stone. Its dragon-scale inlays glowed as stabilizers locked in place, releasing a deep sound like a bell ringing underwater.
Glowing sigils formed support legs in midair, locking into a suspended brewing stance as arcane ventilation rings shimmered into place, ensuring optimal airflow.
"Welcome to the workshop," Xal'vinar declared smugly. "Try not to disappoint me."
Charles gave a mock bow. "Delighted to be your most reluctant apprentice."
The cauldron grunted. "We shall see."
He produced the ancient alchemist's storage ring he had looted earlier—a shimmering artifact with a dragon-eye gem embedded in the center. From within, he retrieved a neatly preserved collection of mythical herbs and reagents, untouched by time thanks to the ring's stasis array.
He put the ingredients on a platform that he had made:
-Stormroot Bark, which helps with conductivity and channeling energy
-Lucent Ginseng, Ten-Year Bloom, keeps the flow of meridians steady and makes it bigger.
-Shiverleaf Petals sharpen spiritual focus.
-Powdered Skystone Quartz makes lightning qi stronger.
-Verdant Flame Vine Resin keeps the heat and burn rate in check.
-Crimson Nerve Buds speed up reflex arcs in battle
-Thundercrystal Distillate, a high-end catalyst for electrical resonance
The ghost-dragon narrowed its eyes. "Did you remember to put the Flame Vine and the Skystone together? The last apprentice turned them around and blew up so hard that the smell of the room changed."
"Noted," Charles said, carefully placing the resin second from last.
He stepped into position, hands glowing with qi. "Let's begin."
"Flame. Stable. Kind." The spirit told him, "Seduce the powder, don't question it."
Charles rolled his eyes and called up a controlled ribbon of violet flame, which he guided with fingers wrapped in wind. He added each ingredient in order, sending precise pulses of qi through his body with timed gestures, following both tradition and his gut. Elemental runes floated around his hands.
The mixture swirled around in the cauldron's belly, glowing like a small thunderstorm and spiraling inward like an alchemical vortex.
"Don't stir the ginseng too much! What are you doing—beating soup? Lift with your breath! Breathe through your elbows!" Xal'vinar yelled.
"Do you hear yourself?" Charles grunted, and sweat started to form on his forehead. "I have elbows, not lungs in them!"
"Then make some metaphysical ones! Now you're an alchemist!"
Charles took a last breath and finished the swirl, letting the spiritflames compress the essence.
Ding! The cauldron pulsed.
Three glowing pills rose to the top, spinning slowly in a clear basin.
The spirit of the cauldron said, "Meridian Clarity Elixirs, combat batch," with some hesitation. "Flavor: refreshing. Effects: effective. Presentation: barely passable."
"I call that a win," Charles muttered, sealing the pills into vials.
The cauldron spun again, shrinking back to its miniature form with a flash of violet light, then settled at Charles's side, floating like a loyal but rather snobby familiar.
"Congratulations, Apprentice," Xal'vinar said grandly. "You've passed your first forge. I now dub you: Not Entirely Incompetent."
Charles chuckled. "Put that on a plaque. I'll hang it in my forge."
"Don't tempt me."
Charles capped the vials and clipped them to his belt. "Flavor test later. Now, time for my shadow gear."