Soon, the master smith's blade gleamed, edges already honed sharp, the shape flawless and domineering, a weapon worthy of awe. Apprentices leaned forward, nodding, whispering praise under their breath.
"A masterpiece, as always," one said. "The dropout doesn't stand a chance," muttered another.
But then Leonel struck again. The rough blade began to shimmer with a faint inner glow, as if responding to the will of its creator. Apprentices who had mocked him now leaned in, eyes wide.
"Impossible," one whispered.
"There is no way he is going to complete this forging. He is definitely going to screw up."
"I think the metal is going to crack any second now."
The master smith became even more restless. He had already sent this fucking garbage to where he belonged a long time ago, and yet here he was standing in front of him and once again thriving. He shook with anger when his gaze darted to Damon. It was all because of him!
