Chapter 19: The Devil's Forge
As a blacksmith, Aghora was infamous for using terrifying and forbidden techniques in his craft—methods that helped him forge not just any weapons, but three of the highest-grade Mortal-tier weapons in the region. Aghora cherished all three, yet felt a singular pride in his masterpiece: the Hellblade.
But this time, Aghora's ambition had outgrown Mortal weapons. Now, he dreamed of forging a true Spiritual Weapon—something vastly more powerful, a creation worthy of legend.
In the present age, the prestige of a person or a kingdom was measured by the weapon they possessed; the higher the grade, the greater the respect. Spiritual Weapons were especially coveted, for their power and rarity were unsurpassed.
Once, when Silverdale was at its peak, the city owned just a single supreme Mortal weapon: the Windreaver Sword, which had belonged to Tyler's father, King Viren Windrider. Among the ten neighboring states, not a single weapon could rival it. King Viren had rarely used it, preferring instead to keep it sealed in a secret vault as a symbol of deterrence—a sword whose value was immeasurable. After Viren's assassination, Nathaniel Windrider had searched endlessly for the sword, but all his efforts proved fruitless. Not a trace or clue could be found.
And yet, for all its glory, even the Windreaver paled before a true Spiritual Weapon, something all kingdoms secretly desired. Possessing one granted awe—but for ordinary men, it was almost always a curse, bringing ruin upon entire bloodlines. If Silverdale ever discovered anyone with such a weapon, it was mandatory to turn it over to the royal house—else destruction would surely follow.
Still, the lure of a Spiritual Weapon was immense. Some were said to accelerate cultivation, others to enhance battle skills with supernatural speed. These incredible boons drove men to reckless ambition, willing to risk everything—fortune and family alike—for the smallest chance to claim such a weapon.
When Tyler heard Aghora's ravings, he gave a bitter, mocking smile.
He taunted, "Everyone knows the real key to forging a great weapon is top-tier metal and a fire hot enough to temper it. If you lack even one, you'll never get a weapon worthy of legend. This is blacksmithing's universal truth—you should know that better than me. It's silly to think you can create a Spiritual Weapon with my flesh and blood alone. Maybe you're not that serious about your goal after all."
Once, Tyler had enjoyed reading widely—even books about medicine and forging. But his true obsession had always been martial arts, not the subtleties of weaponsmithing. Now, hopeless as his situation was, if there was even a sliver of hope he could change Aghora's mind, Tyler had to try.
Aghora scoffed at Tyler's words, his eyes cold. "So, you've picked up a little knowledge, have you? Hmph! It won't save you."
As he replied, Aghora fiddled with the chains inside the cauldron. When Tyler was at last freed, Aghora kicked him, then dragged him roughly from the pot and tossed him into a nearby cage.
From inside the little cage, Tyler glimpsed the twisted smile on Aghora's face.
Aghora met Tyler's gaze. "I know full well I can't buy the rare materials I truly need. I'm not rich, and my fire is only average. So if I want to make a Spiritual Weapon, I'll have to use dark magic. Only then will I have a chance."
He went on, "Refining a weapon with your living body—yes, that too is a path toward a Spiritual Weapon. Let's hope for the best! After all, your flesh and blood is more special than any I've seen. Maybe this time, luck will favor me again."
"Hope it turns out well…"
It was a sentiment every smith bore deep inside; as the old proverb said: forging was ninety percent skill, and ten percent luck.
Many believed luck played only a minor part in smithcraft, but all true forgers knew: sometimes, that ten percent made the difference between legendary and trash.
Tyler could hardly believe that his life now hung on nothing more than Aghora's foul gamble. He had no desire to accept this reality, but a bitter laugh rose in his throat. There was nothing he could do to change things now.
All he could do was sit, caged and helpless, cursing his own weakness.
He'd made miraculous progress in the last month, advancing from Root to Solar Core, but in this moment, none of it seemed enough.
Sometimes, destiny is cruel beyond measure. Just when Tyler had started to hope again—to grow, to become strong enough for revenge—he had fallen into the hands of Aghora, left to the madman's mercy.
As Tyler raged against his fate, Aghora busied himself in the far corner of the cave. He hammered away at something unseen, then disappeared into the very cauldron he'd used to capture Tyler. Tyler couldn't see what he was doing. After a while, Aghora emerged, planted himself before the furnace, and clapped his hands in a strange pattern.
With that, the fire beneath the refining cauldron blazed up. Complex runes flared to life on its walls, radiating a fierce red light that bathed the entire cave in demonic color.
At the same time, the prisoners dangling from the ceiling moaned and shrieked in agony. Blood flowed faster from their wounds, each drop falling into the boiling cauldron below.
The runes on the cauldron drank in the blood, drawing the glow brighter and stronger, channeling the energy into the weapons inside. It was a process meant both to bind and to sharpen—to infuse the blacksmith's creation with stolen vitality.
As the furnace blazed, Aghora selected a blade. Black and white, beautiful and cruel, it could only be the Hellblade—his highest Mortal-tier weapon.
For a long moment, Aghora simply sat and cradled the sword, his fingers trailing its edge lovingly. Washed in crimson firelight, his eyes glistened and his body slumped with an almost fatherly tenderness. For a heartbeat, this monstrous man looked less like a butcher and more like a parent—madly devoted to his creation.
Watching from the cage, Tyler shuddered. It terrified him to see such emotion in the face of his would-be killer—a criminal's loyalty to steel.
After polishing the blade, Aghora finally turned, fixing a strange smile upon Tyler. With a gleam in his eye, he pulled Tyler from the cage and said:
"You should feel honored, boy: today you will lend your strength to my Hellblade."
What will happen next? Will Tyler be sacrificed to empower the devil's sword—or will something wholly unexpected occur?
Read on in the coming chapters…