A week had passed since Lucien had started living in the De Beaumont manor.
He had learned how to use the internet, smartphones, and tablets. At first, Mira had found it amusing to watch him stare at screens as if they were enchanted mirrors. But soon, she stopped laughing. Lucien learned fast. Too fast.
The internet, he had said once, was "an endless well of knowledge." And every night, he dived deeper. He read about the new world, about systems, guilds, monsters, and dungeons. About the fall of the Holy City. About the years he had missed.
By the time the sun rose, his eyes were still glued to the glowing glass of his tablet, absorbing everything like a man starved for truth.
One morning, during breakfast, Mira set down her cup of coffee and looked at him across the table.
"Lucien," she said, "we need to go to the Association today. You have to be registered officially."
Lucien looked up from his plate. "Registered? But my class is… Forgeron." He frowned. "That is a mistake. I am a Templar, a knight. I know nothing of forging."
Mira smiled faintly. "Then we'll see about that."
She stood up and motioned for him to follow her outside. They crossed the courtyard until they reached a small stone building beside the stables. Inside, the air smelled of metal and oil.
A forge.
"I had Renan bring the tools and materials," Mira said. "Let's test it. Humor me."
Lucien stared at her, then at the anvil, the bellows, and the cold forge. He hesitated, but his hands moved almost on their own. He lit the fire, grabbed the hammer, and as soon as his fingers wrapped around the handle, something clicked deep inside him.
He knew.
He knew how to heat the metal, how to shape it, how to breathe with the rhythm of the hammer. Sparks danced like stars each time the steel met the anvil.
Hours passed. Sweat ran down his face, and the courtyard filled with the ringing of iron. Mira watched in silence as he worked, her expression unreadable.
When he finally quenched the blade, steam hissed around him. Lucien lifted the weapon, still warm, and stared at it with wide eyes.
His first creation.
He had spent his whole life destroying... fighting, killing, surviving since the age of twelve. But for the first time, he had made something with his own hands.
He smiled.
Mira did too.
Later that morning, they left the manor.
The De Beaumont limousine glided through the streets of the capital, past towering buildings of glass and steel. Lucien stared out the window in silence. The world outside was so strange, no horses, no banners, no church bells. Only noise, light, and people rushing nowhere.
When they reached the Association Building, he followed Mira through wide marble halls filled with banners and holographic displays. Dozens of Hunters moved about, men and women wearing armor lined with strange glowing circuits.
They stared at him as he passed, whispering.
The registration process was quick. A woman behind the counter handed him a small device, and instructed him to touch the crystal in its center. The moment his hand made contact, faint blue light flickered, scanning his body.
A holographic window appeared in front of the staff member.
Name: Lucien de Mireval
Class: Forgeron (Blacksmith)
Rank: E
Level: 1
The clerk smiled politely. "Congratulations, Mr. de Mireval. You are now officially registered as a Hunter."
Lucien took the metallic card they handed him. The letters Class E shimmered faintly in the light. It was the lowest rank possible. Even among production classes, it meant beginner, untrained, insignificant.
He nodded once and put it away without a word.
Mira watched him carefully. "Hey… it's just a start," she said softly. "Everyone begins somewhere. Even I was a D-rank once."
Lucien didn't answer. He wasn't thinking about the test, or the rank.
He was thinking about the forge and the weight of the hammer, the sound of steel, the feeling of creation.
He wanted to forge again. But not just anything.
A Templar's sword.
His sword.
Something worthy of the vows he had once taken, and of the battles he knew were coming.
Mira sighed, mistaking his silence for disappointment. "You'll get stronger," she said as they left the Association. "Give it time."
Lucien's gaze lingered on the city skyline, on the towers that pierced the clouds.
"Time," he murmured. "Yes. I will need that."