The Hammer's Song and the Forge of Destiny
The week that followed the Spirit Ascension Platform trial was one of quiet intensity within Classroom Zero. Wu Changkong proved as good as his word, transforming their theoretical sessions into deep dives into the ecology, behavior, and legendary abilities of soul beasts. He spoke of the Amber-Scaled Earth Dragon's tectonic fury, the Stormfeather Roc's lightning-dive, and the chilling, psychic hive-mind of the Phantom Ant colonies. It was no longer abstract knowledge; it was a survival manual, its pages written in the memory of near-digital deaths and hard-won victories. Yao Xuan listened with a transmigrator's unique appreciation, cross-referencing the lore with his systemic insights, while Gu Yue's silver eyes would sometimes grow distant, as if recognizing faded echoes of a world she once knew.
Personally, Yao Xuan felt the week's progress solidify within him. His soul power stabilized at the 22nd rank, a steady, deep well. His mental power, honed by constant analysis and the System's subtle integrations, reached 245 points—a formidable asset for control and perception. Most profoundly, his Ancestral Dragon bloodline hummed with greater vitality, its awakening ticked up to 18.0%, and his soul spirit's cultivation solidified at a robust 700 years. Each step forward felt like a deeper anchoring into the legacy he carried.
Sunday dawned, clear and cold. As was their ritual, Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin left the academy gates behind, their breath fogging in the morning air, and made their way to the Donghai City Blacksmiths' Association. For Yao Xuan, today held a specific, weighty purpose. The threshold of Thousand Refinements First Grade had lingered before him for a month—a barrier of feel, resonance, and spiritual infusion. The previous night, he had invested 10 precious Gold Evolution Points into a surge of forging insight from the System. The final, elusive pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Today, he would cross that barrier.
In the familiar, heat-hazed solitude of his assigned forging room, the world narrowed to the feel of metal and the song of the hammer. He selected a block of refined iron—a humble, honest metal he knew intimately. Placing his palm on its cool surface, he reached out with his senses, not just with his eyes, but with the subtle spiritual perception his growing power afforded. He listened to the dormant song within its structure, the potential locked in its lattice.
As the forging furnace roared to life, he preheated the metal with ritualistic care. When the iron glowed a sincere, dark cherry red, he drew it forth with tongs. The heat washed over him, a familiar embrace. Then, he summoned his hammer from the System's storage—the Thousand Refinement Forging Hammer, an extension of his will.
The first strike was a greeting. Clang.
The second, a question. Clang.
Then began the conversation.
Clang! Clang! Clang-clang-clang!
The rhythm was not merely forceful; it was intelligent, articulate. Each blow was placed with precision, not just shaping the metal, but speaking to it. His soul power, thin and precise as a needle's thread, guided each impact. He felt the impurities flee, the structure aligning, compressing, singing back to him a higher, purer note. This was beyond technique. This was communion.
An hour flowed like molten slag. Sweat beaded on his brow, his focus absolute. The block of iron had shed its crude form, becoming a dense, glowing ingot of profound potential.
The final blow.
He raised the hammer high, channeling not just muscle, but a sliver of his dragon-forged will—the authority to command substance. The hammer fell.
DONG——
A sound unlike any other echoed in the room—a deep, resonant chime that seemed to hang in the air. Then, from the surface of the now-calm ingot, a gentle, golden halo bloomed. It expanded outward in a soft wave, radiating nearly a full meter before gently fading. The air in the room smelled different—ozone and something else, something like nascent promise.
First Grade Thousand Refined Metal. Semi-Spiritual Forging.
A slow, satisfied smile touched Yao Xuan's lips. The fatigue was there, but it was eclipsed by the clean triumph of mastery. The metal on the anvil was no longer just iron; it was a testament, its very essence touched by spirit, ready to become part of something greater.
The influx of points was staggering—a king's ransom that brought his goal of breaking the bloodline's second limit tantalizingly close. The new quest was a mountain, but its peak promised vistas of even greater power and the foundational knowledge for the battle armor he would one day craft for himself. The System was building an architect, not just a warrior.
He carefully banked the furnace and made his way to Mu Chen's office, the finished ingot in hand.
The old forger's reaction was a masterpiece of suppressed emotion. He took the metal, his calloused fingers tracing its flawless surface, his spiritual sense sinking into its resonant heart. His eyes, usually sharp as flint, widened, then shimmered with a complex brew of awe, pride, and the bittersweet envy of a master watching a prodigy leap a chasm that had taken him decades to bridge.
"A resonance halo of one meter…" Mu Chen's voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost reverent. "First Grade… before the age of ten." He looked up at Yao Xuan, the stern mentor momentarily gone. "You have not just broken records, boy. You have rewritten the opening paragraph of your own legend."
He collected himself, the sternness returning, but now layered with profound respect. "This is a beginning, not an end. The road from here to Spirit Forging is long and demands a soul's depth you are still cultivating. Do not let this victory make your hammer arm heavy with pride."
"Starting next month," Mu Chen continued, his tone becoming that of a teacher unveiling advanced secrets, "I will demonstrate Spirit Forging for you. You will watch, you will feel the spiritual expenditure, you will learn the prayer that turns metal into companion. But you will not attempt it. Not yet. Your task now is to make this First Grade achievement not a fluke, but your nature. Practice on different metals. Make the halo consistent. Build the foundation so wide and deep that when your soul power is ready, the leap will be a mere step."
Yao Xuan bowed deeply. "I understand, Master. Thank you."
Mu Chen nodded, a gruff affection in his eyes. "Good. Your authority here is now that of a Tier Four Blacksmith. Use the resources. But," his gaze sharpened, "we keep this between us and these walls. The world will learn of your genius when you choose to show it, not when gossip betrays it."
"Yes, Master."
As Yao Xuan left the office, the weight of the new quest and the promise of the future settled on his shoulders alongside the satisfaction of the accomplishment. He thought of the upcoming winter break, of Gu Yue's hinted invitation to her family's library—a repository of ancient texts that might hold secrets of bloodlines and dragons. The path of the forger and the path of the dragon were intertwining, leading toward a destiny where the metal he shaped and the power he wielded would be two sides of the same, sovereign coin. The stillness of the forge behind him felt like a held breath, awaiting the next, more profound song of creation.