The foundry was a hellscape of heat and noise.
For thirty hours, Rylan and Mei had not stopped. The air was thick with the acrid smoke of burning spirit nitrate and the metallic tang of molten ore.
Rylan stood at the anvil, stripped to the waist, his bandage soaked through with sweat and fresh blood. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated from the potent stimulants Lena had forced down his throat every four hours.
"It's cooling too fast!" Mei screamed over the roar of the furnace. She was holding a crucible with tongs, her face flushed red. "The Spirit Ore is rejecting the iron! It won't bind!"
"Pour the dust!" Rylan roared back.
Mei tipped a small pouch of grey powder—the ground bone of a Foundation Establishment beast—into the glowing, unstable mixture.
HISS-CRACK.
The metal screamed. A cloud of white vapor exploded from the crucible. The bone dust acted as a spiritual catalyst, forcing the chaotic Spirit Ore to fuse with the mundane steel.
"Now, Master! Strike it! You have to compress the lattice before it sets!"
Rylan raised his good arm. He didn't use a blacksmith's hammer. He clenched his fist, channeling his Earth-Shattering Hammer technique. His Qi reserves were critically low, running on fumes and willpower.
He struck the glowing billet of metal.
BOOM.
The impact shook the warehouse. The metal flattened, glowing a deep, angry purple.
"Again!" Mei commanded, pointing to a flaw in the structure.
BOOM.
Rylan struck again. And again. He became a human pile-driver, forcing his will into the steel. Every strike sent a shockwave of pain through his injured shoulder, tearing at the healing muscles, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
If this weapon failed, they died.
"Hold!" Mei shouted.
She threw a bucket of oil onto the metal. Flames erupted, then died down, leaving behind a massive, dark grey war-maul.
It wasn't elegant. It was a slab of compressed hatred on a haft wrapped in beast-leather. The head of the maul was rough, pitted with the texture of the bone dust, and it hummed with a low, hungry vibration.
Rylan slumped against the anvil, gasping for air. His vision swam.
"Is it... done?" he wheezed.
Mei touched the weapon. She flinched.
"It's hungry," Mei whispered. "The bone dust... it retained the beast's instinct. It wants to break things."
She looked at Rylan with a mix of fear and pride.
"It's a masterpiece of violence, Master."
The Blood-Pits were located deep in the Smog District, a coliseum carved out of a massive industrial sinkhole. The air smelled of old sweat, cheap ale, and fresh blood.
Rylan walked into the preparation cages, flanked by Toran and his Earth-Kin guards. He wore a fresh robe to hide his bandages, but he looked gaunt, his eyes hollow.
Vargas was waiting. Beside him stood a creature that barely looked human.
Korg.
The Syndicate's champion was seven feet of scar tissue and muscle. His skin was grey, stained by alchemy and dirt. His eyes were milky white, suggesting blindness or madness. He was shackled to the wall by heavy chains.
"You look terrible, Mr. Sterling," Vargas noted, fanning himself. "I assume the weapon is ready?"
Toran stepped forward, trembling, and presented the war-maul.
Korg sniffed the air. He smelled the weapon. He growled, a low, wet sound that vibrated in his chest.
"Unchain him," Vargas ordered the handlers.
The handlers hesitated, terrified, but obeyed. The moment the chains dropped, Korg snatched the maul from Toran's hands.
It was heavy—easily two hundred pounds. Korg lifted it with one hand.
He looked at it. He squeezed the handle. Usually, weapons groaned under his grip. This one didn't. It seemed to bite back into his palm.
"Break," Korg grunted.
He swung the maul.
He didn't swing it at a dummy. He swung it directly at the stone support pillar of the cage.
CRASH.
The sound was like a thunderclap inside a coffin. Dust and stone chips exploded outward.
Rylan didn't flinch. He watched the weapon.
When the dust settled, the stone pillar was gone—pulverized into gravel.
Korg looked at the maul. It wasn't chipped. It wasn't bent. The grey metal pulsed with a faint purple light, having absorbed the kinetic impact.
Korg looked at Rylan. For the first time, the milky eyes focused.
"Good," Korg rumbled.
"And the armor?" Vargas asked, eyeing the maul with genuine appreciation.
Mei stepped forward, holding a chest piece. It wasn't a full suit. It was a chaotic arrangement of overlapping plates held together by flexible chainmail.
"Reactive Plating," Mei explained, her voice shaking but clear. "It doesn't just block. When struck, the Spirit Ore inside detonates outward. It turns the enemy's attack into shrapnel."
Korg let out a laugh that sounded like rocks grinding together. He grabbed the armor and jammed it onto his chest.
"I kill them all," Korg declared.
Vargas snapped his fan shut. "Excellent. The odds on Korg are currently 2 to 1. I expect those odds to shift once he enters the ring."
He looked at Rylan.
"You survived the deadline, Mr. Sterling. But the bet isn't won until he stands over the corpse of the Challenger."
"Who is the Challenger?" Rylan asked.
Vargas smiled thinly.
"A beast-tamer from the Outer Wilds. He fights with a Venom-Stalker. A giant scorpion. Its carapace is harder than steel, and its poison melts flesh in seconds."
Vargas leaned in.
"If your armor fails, Korg melts. If Korg melts, you melt. Enjoy the show."
Rylan and his team were led to a private viewing box overlooking the pit. It was a cage of luxury suspended over a pit of barbarism.
Below, the crowd roared. Thousands of desperate souls betting their last copper on bloodsport.
Rylan sat heavily in a velvet chair. Lena immediately began checking his pulse.
"Your heart is racing," Lena whispered. "The stimulants are wearing off. You're going to crash, Rylan."
"Not yet," Rylan said, gripping the armrests. "I need to see it work."
The gates opened.
From the north gate, Korg emerged. He dragged the massive grey maul behind him, carving a furrow in the sand. He roared, and the sound shook the viewing glass.
From the south gate, a skittering sound echoed. A massive black scorpion, the size of a carriage, scuttled out. Its stinger dripped neon-green venom. Riding on its back was a lithe man with a whip.
"Kill!" the crowd screamed.
The scorpion lunged, faster than something that size should be. The stinger flashed forward like a spear.
Korg didn't dodge. He was a berserker; he only knew forward.
CLANG.
The stinger struck Korg's chest.
Mei grabbed the railing, her knuckles white.
The stinger didn't pierce. The Reactive Plating triggered. A small, contained explosion of spiritual force blasted outward from the impact point.
The scorpion screeched, recoiling. Its stinger was cracked, repelled by the explosive armor.
Korg looked down at his chest. Smoke rose from the plate, but he was untouched.
He grinned.
He raised the maul.
The scorpion attacked again, its claws snapping for Korg's legs.
Korg brought the maul down.
SPLAT.
The weapon hit the scorpion's armored claw. It didn't just break the shell; the Earth-Shattering weight compressed into the maul obliterated the limb entirely.
The Beast-Tamer screamed, trying to pull his mount back, but Korg was already moving. He swung the maul horizontally.
It hit the scorpion's main body.
The sound was sickening. The "unsnappable" maul bit deep, crushing internal organs and shattering the exoskeleton. The massive beast was knocked sideways, flipping onto its back.
Korg leaped onto the exposed belly of the creature. He raised the maul high. It glowed purple, fully charged with the kinetic energy of the battle.
He brought it down on the Tamer and the Beast together.
CRUNCH.
Silence fell over the arena.
Korg stood in a spray of green blood and human remains. He raised the grey maul to the sky and roared. The weapon hummed in response, singing a song of destruction.
Vargas stood up in the box, clapping slowly.
"Impressive," Vargas murmured. "Very impressive."
He turned to Rylan.
"You have your status, Mr. Sterling. The Syndicate keeps its word."
Rylan didn't answer.
His head fell back against the chair. His eyes rolled up.
"Master!" Lena cried out.
Rylan had finally crashed. He had won the bet, secured his foothold, and proved his worth. But as darkness took him, the last thing he heard was the crowd chanting the name of the monster he had armed.
And somewhere in the dark, the System whispered.
[Ding! Influence Gained: Iron-Blood Syndicate (Ally/Tool).] [Reputation: "The Blacksmith of Death" established.] [Warning: Physical limit reached. Forced shutdown initiated.]
End of Chapter 47