The capital's training halls were still, a far cry from the yells and bedlam of Draevor's ruthless training. Sunlight spilled onto burnished floors, glinting on rows of hanging weapons and workbenches. Sparks danced as metal rang beneath hammers, fire nipped at the lips of anvil-smelted blades, and a charged hum filled the air—magical and emotional.
Kael and the Eclipse Vanguard approached the crafting rooms with anticipation. Every member had the right to forge their own weapons and tools to represent their new S-rank capabilities, but the process was not simply mechanical. It was personal—a reflection of their identity and camaraderie, a readiness for the impending monster waves.
Rion and the Lionheart Vanguard were working a stone's throw away. Rion, muscles straining, struck a colossal sword, the edges of which glowed with soft enchantments. At his side, Kara traced runes delicately along the length of the blade, whispering encouragement to each blow. Bran readied his shield, modifying it to include a seldom-seen metal that would soak up magical energy, and Soren practiced new arrows, loading them with tiny explosive cores. Talia carefully imbued protective enchantments on each piece, her focus intense, and Garrick, the tactician, paced, suggesting adjustments in weight, balance, and magical resonance.
Kael observed them, seeing how the teasing eased the tension. "Rion, don't go breaking the anvil again," he joked. Rion laughed, giving him a wink. "Testing its limits. You'll be needing more than your fancy sword if you're going to keep up with us." Kara smiled. "And don't expect us to go easy on you in sparring either." The friendliness was not just shown in strength of skill but in a bond created through sharing laughter and determination.
Down the corridor, Silvar and the Serpent Fang Party labored in quiet stealth. Silvar's daggers shone with magical infusion, edges honed so sharp they could cut through rock. Naida murmured incantations onto bottles of poison, infusing the toxins with subtle magic. Veylen honed flicking daggers in mid-air, and Thessa called forth ghostly snakes that twisted and spat, imparting deadly patterns upon their blades. Corin and Elis threw adjusted throwing knives and smoke traps, their movements so smooth, so almost artful. Draevor's brutal training had hardened them, but their playful, flirtatious camaraderie was a reminder to Kael that even darkness could contain warmth.
Within the eastern chamber, Alaric and the Falcon Talons worked, a mixture of martial skill and airborne magic. Alaric struck a spear charged with wind currents that were capable of cutting through air like a blade of sheer force. Lyssa led the infusions, her palms shivering with a soft light, blending magic into metal. Cael drilled swift stabs, experimenting with balance and speed, and Mirael created elemental arcs along the spear heads, their ice and flames leaping through the air. All of them laughed softly at botches or sparks singeing a sleeve, their camaraderie forged in joint work and gentle goading.
Next to them, Seraphine and the Phoenix Flame worked on weapons that suited their fiery natures. Seraphine's glaive burned with every swing, casting heat trails that scored the floor. Ignis experimented with her side, pushing fire-magic convergence with every blade. Thorin strengthened heavy armor using heat-resistant alloys, while Velara's twin swords vibrated with elemental resonance. Orin, the spellblade, honed sword slashes with flashes of magic, each stroke perfected by Draevor's earlier vicious lessons. Their laughter frequently rose like burning flames, and Kael heard snippets of jokes about failed attempts past, realizing even the strongest fighters required humor to live.
Lastly, in the western forge, Valerian and Dragon's Might worked with perfection. Valerian's spheres glowed above the workbench, infusing weapons with ruinous magic without sacrificing balance. Lady Amara skillfully spun flexible magic that could heal, protect, or spell elemental destruction. Garran's lance shone, Selene's dual swords glimmered, Torvin's warhammer pulsed power, and Lyric probed defenses and defensive wards. Their steps were precise, nearly imperial, for both nobility and the burdensomeness of duty. Valerian's gaze met Kael's and provided the slightest hint of a smile, that of reassurance and subtle understanding—an unofficial comradeship between the S-rank warriors.
Even the Eclipse Vanguard's faction cadets—demons, elves, dwarves, Beastmen, and Royal Academy alumni—were busy, working their magic by hammer-striking and enchanting-imbuing weapons and armor under the close supervision of the adventurers. Pain and growth with each hammer blow, every magical impression. Draevor's practice had given them bruises, but the forging was now an opportunity to mold their strength into something real, to learn from days of pain.
Kael fought with his sword, blood and sweat graining the hilt. He could feel the strength of Divine Copy coursing through him, naturally incorporating moves he had seen from each adventuring party. He emulated Silvar's dagger accuracy, Rion's power-hitting swings, Alaric's gust-assisted spear thrusts, Seraphine's flame-touched arcs, and even Valerian's sphere manipulations. With every movement, Kael knew the awful capability now at his fingertips—he could copy and modify any skill or spell, a quiet element building as his party's combined strength.
As the sun climbed higher, talk went beyond technicalities. Rion told stories of his past, of fights that left physical and nonphysical scars. Silvar spoke quietly of losses that had taught him patience and subtlety. Seraphine chuckled at the errors of the past, her fiery locks aglow with sparks from the furnace. Valerian pondered quietly on the weight of legacy, his gaze locking with Kael's in a silent understanding. Even the cadets relaxed, teasing about their miscalculations in training, laughing amidst fatigue and pain. Such instances of levity forged bonds, revealing that under S-rank strength and tough exteriors, every warrior had hopes, fears, and humanity.
By sundown, all weapons had been shaped, buffed, enchanted, and honed to perfection. The adventurers, cadets, and Eclipse Vanguard stood united, a feeling of camaraderie present. Although their bodies ached and minds reeled, there was pride, friendship, and knowing in their eyes. Every blade, staff, and spear was not just a weapon—it was a testament to their growth, perseverance, and the bonds created in fire and labor.
Kael finally took a step back, looking at the five A-rank parties and his own. He knew that with Draevor's brutal training and this close-working, connections had been forged. All the adventurers, from the Lionheart Vanguard to Dragon's Might, had cried, sweated, and laughed together. They weren't just allies anymore—they were comrades, friends, and in a sense, family.
The Eclipse Vanguard's laughter swirled with the others as the last sparks dissipated. Kael held his just-reforged sword, feeling the Divine Copy power humming through. Draevor's teachings were far from done, but today they had learned not only to survive, but to become stronger together. No matter what horrors lay ahead, they would meet them as one, ready, armed, and unbeaten.