The forge burned hotter that night. Crimson flames licked the stone walls of the abandoned smithy, shadows writhing like specters. Sparks hissed as molten ore bled across the anvil, and the sharp rhythm of hammer against steel echoed into the night.
Asura stood shirtless, sweat streaking down his lean frame, golden eyes glowing in the firelight. In his hands was no ordinary steel. This time, he had chosen something different—Drakefang Ore, a volatile material that shimmered like scales and pulsed faintly with mana.
Selene stood at the doorway, arms crossed, her violet eyes sharp. "Young master… this ore is unstable. Even seasoned smiths risk their lives handling it. You're not—"
"I'm not seasoned. I know." He grinned, raising the glowing billet with his tongs. "That's why I'll succeed. If the first blade was proof of my will… then the second will be proof of my resolve."
The clash of hammer against ore was deafening. Each strike sent waves of unstable mana across the forge, rattling the tools, shaking the floor.
CLANG!
His system chimed faintly:
Crafting Proficiency Increased.
Unique Forging Path – Demonsteel Evolution detected.
Asura's teeth grit. The ore fought back, cracks of blue flame bursting across its surface, threatening to shatter it apart. But he only struck harder, forcing his mana into the billet, syncing his will with the rebellious material.
Selene moved closer, alarm flashing across her face. "Asura! You're overloading it—you'll blow the entire forge apart!"
"Then I'll just rebuild it!" he barked, sweat and sparks flying.
Hours passed. The fire roared like a beast, and the ore finally bent to his will. When the hammer struck one last time, the mana stabilized. The billet glowed with a steady crimson-blue light, as if acknowledging its master.
Asura quenched it in a vat of blackened oil. Steam exploded upward, hissing like a dragon's breath. When the mist cleared, the second blade rested in his hands.
Longer, sharper, heavier than Demonfang—its edge shimmered with alternating streaks of red and blue. Mana coursed visibly along its spine, alive and hungry.
His system chimed again:
Weapon Forged – Dragonfang Katana.
Unique Skill: Draconic Surge (Temporarily boosts strength and speed when unleashed).
Asura grinned, holding the blade aloft. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Selene's voice was quiet, but sharp as steel. "…How many blades do you plan to make?"
He glanced at her, his grin softening into something colder. "Six. One for each path I'll carve. One for each step toward the top."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Selene's chest tightened. She had seen the boy train until his body bled, seen him laugh at power that would terrify others. And now, watching the second blade hum with lethal life in his small hands, she felt it more than ever—
If Asura truly finished this Six-Blade Demon Style… nothing in this world would be able to stop him.
✦ The Dragonfang's Roar
The forest trembled with the sound of heavy footsteps. Branches cracked, and the stench of burnt earth filled the air.
Asura stood at the edge of the clearing, the newly-forged Dragonfang Katana resting at his hip. His golden eyes gleamed, lips curling into a sharp grin.
Across from him, a monster lumbered into view—a Flame-hide Troll, its body covered in molten cracks, each exhale belching fire. Its roar split the air, shaking the trees.
Selene stepped forward, dagger drawn, but Asura held out a hand. "Stay back. This one's mine."
Her brows furrowed, but she stopped. The confidence in his tone wasn't childish bravado. It was sharp, dangerous, undeniable.
Asura drew the Dragonfang Katana in a single smooth motion. The blade hummed, streaks of red and blue flaring along its edge. Mana coursed into his arm like a heartbeat.
The system chimed:
Unique Skill Activation – Draconic Surge.
Strength +40%
Speed +50%
Duration: 60 seconds
Asura's aura exploded outward, shaking the ground beneath him. His grin widened. "Perfect."
The troll roared and charged, molten fists raised. The air warped with heat.
Asura vanished.
Shing!
In less than a breath, he appeared behind the monster. A diagonal slash tore across the troll's chest, flames sputtering where the wound refused to heal.
The Dragonfang sang in his hands, vibrating with power.
The troll bellowed, spinning to crush him with a molten fist. Asura ducked low, his speed leaving only afterimages. His katana flared, the streaks of red and blue blazing brighter.
"Draconic Fang—Second Form!" he shouted, slashing in a rising arc.
The troll's arm split apart, molten blood spraying like fire. The beast howled, staggering back.
Selene's eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. This wasn't the reckless child she tended to. This was something else—something terrifying.
The system pinged again:
Dragonfang Katana – Resonance achieved.
Hidden Effect: Amplifies wielder's aura projection.
Mana surged from the blade, wrapping Asura in an aura shaped like a dragon. Its fangs snapped down on the wounded troll, crushing it in a storm of flames and steel.
When the light faded, the Flamehide Troll lay motionless on the ground, its body split in two.
Asura exhaled, lowering the Dragonfang. The blade pulsed faintly, satisfied.
"…That's more like it."
Selene stepped closer, her voice soft but edged with unease. "Young master… that sword. It's not normal."
Asura smirked, sheathing the katana. "Of course it's not. I forged it."
But inside, his thoughts raced.
Demonfang. Dragonfang. Two down. Four to go.
When all six are complete… even the Behemoth won't survive.
The night wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of ash and blood. And for the first time, Selene realized—Asura wasn't just creating weapons.
He was creating calamities.
✦ The Cursed Forge
The forge chamber glowed faintly with red heat, mana crystals embedded in the walls flickering like restless stars. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed, but tonight's work was different. He wasn't just shaping steel. He was tampering with something darker.
Asura's golden eyes gleamed as he dropped a lump of Nightmare Ore onto the anvil. The stone pulsed faintly, veins of black light crawling across its surface. Selene's hand tightened around her dagger as she stepped forward.
"Young master…" her voice was sharp, wary. "That ore is forbidden. Even demons fear it. It's said to drink the soul of the forger."
Asura smirked without looking up. "Then it better get ready for indigestion."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a game."
He gripped the hammer, mana flowing down his arms, striking the ore. Sparks of shadow burst with every hit, coating the forge in wisps of black smoke.
The system chimed:
[Warning: Material classified as Cursed Grade.]
[Risk: Mental corruption, soul erosion.]
Proceed?
Asura laughed under his breath. "Like I'd ever stop now."
The Nightmare Ore screamed as it was beaten into form, each strike echoing like a wail from the abyss. The chamber itself trembled. Selene covered her ears, grimacing, but Asura stood firm, his grin widening with every hammer fall.
"Stronger than dragonbone," he muttered. "Sharper than steel. Perfect for my third blade."
The cursed smoke tried to seep into him, but his aura flared, red light clashing with the black mist. His system pinged again:
Resistance Acquired – Cursebearer's Will.
Mental Corruption Immunity +30%.
The blade began to take shape—longer, slimmer than the Dragonfang, its edge rippling with unnatural darkness.
Finally, with one last strike, the forge went silent. The smoke cleared, revealing a blade as black as the void, faint whispers leaking from its surface like a thousand souls screaming to be freed.
Asura held it up, the sword trembling in his grip—not from weakness, but from hunger.
The system flared:
New Weapon Forged – Nightfang Katana
Ability: Curse Rend – Inflicts lingering damage on foes, bypassing natural regeneration.
Passive Effect: Feeds on wielder's aura to sharpen edge.
Selene's face paled. "That sword… it's alive."
Asura smirked, sliding the blade into its sheath. "Good. Then it'll fit right in with me."
But deep inside, even he felt it—the blade's pull. A whisper in the back of his mind. A promise of power, at a cost he hadn't yet measured.
He exhaled slowly, golden eyes burning.
Three blades forged. Three storms waiting.
"…Halfway there."
✦ Trial of the Cursed Blade
The forest was silent. Too silent.
No wind stirred the trees, no insects hummed. The air reeked of ash and rotting iron, thick enough to burn the lungs. Selene's violet eyes flicked left and right as they walked, her hand never leaving the dagger at her hip.
"This place… it's wrong," she whispered. "Corruption runs deep here. Even demons would not tread lightly."
Asura, however, stepped forward with a smirk tugging at his lips. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his newest creation. The Nightfang Katana. Black as void, pulsing faintly as though alive.
"Then it's perfect," he said softly, "because cursed things deserve cursed steel."
Selene frowned. "…I don't like the way that blade feels."
Asura didn't answer. He didn't need to. Because the ground split open beneath them.
A skeletal claw burst forth, followed by another. A warped figure clawed its way out of the earth—a Wraithbound Horror, its body stitched together from shadow and broken bones. Its face was a skull stretched into a scream, hollow sockets burning green. Black ichor dripped from its claws, hissing against the ground like acid.
System Notification:
Enemy Detected – Wraithbound Horror (Lv. 280).
Classification: Cursed-Type Abomination.
Weakness: None.
Immunities: Standard steel, fire, shadow.
Selene's jaw tightened. "It can't be harmed by normal weapons…"
Asura chuckled darkly, golden eyes gleaming. "…Good thing this isn't normal."
The Horror screeched and lunged. Asura drew the Nightfang in one smooth motion.
The air shifted. A pressure fell over the clearing, thick with whispers. The katana's edge glimmered with black fire, its hunger clawing at his mind.
"Eat," Asura muttered.
He swung once.
The blade didn't slice—it devoured. Shadows ripped apart, cursed mana unraveling like threads. The Horror howled, a jagged wound tearing across its torso. For the first time, ichor poured freely from its cursed frame.
System Notification:
Curse Rend activated – Target's regeneration negated.
Selene gasped. "It cut through a curse-born body… impossible…"
The Horror lashed back in fury, claws raking toward Asura's chest. He twisted, vanishing in a blur of speed. His katana screamed in his grip, begging for more. He answered with a storm of cuts, each strike leaving black scars of flame across the monster's body.
The Horror staggered, its screech shaking the trees. It tried to melt back into shadow, desperate to escape.
Asura smirked. "No escaping."
He sheathed the blade halfway, aura coiling around it like a storm.
"Curse Rend – Execution!"
The Nightfang howled as he unsheathed, carving clean through the monster. Black light erupted, splitting the Horror into fragments that dissolved into ash.
The cursed silence returned.
System Notifications flooded Asura's vision:
EXP Gained: 450,000.
Level Up! (Lv. 290 → Lv. 300).
Skill Acquired: Curse Eater – Lv. 1 (Absorbs cursed mana to restore stamina and blade durability).
Rare Drop Acquired: Soulshard of the Wraithbound (Material: Can be forged into cursed gear or absorbed to strengthen Nightfang).
Asura's golden eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as a grin spread across his face. "Now this… this is what I've been waiting for."
The Nightfang pulsed once more in his hand, whispers gnawing at the edges of his mind, louder than before. He tightened his grip, forcing his will into it.
"Hungry, aren't you?" he murmured. "Don't worry. There'll be more."
Selene finally approached, her dagger still drawn, her expression tense. "Young master… that sword doesn't just kill—it feeds. And now it feeds you."
He sheathed the blade, golden eyes blazing faintly with defiance.
"Good. Then it matches me perfectly."
But deep down, even as he turned away, the whispers echoed louder, crawling through his veins. The Nightfang had not just tasted its first kill.
It had chosen its master.
✦ The Confrontation
The fire crackled low in their camp, shadows dancing along the trees. Selene sat across from Asura, her violet eyes fixed on the black katana resting beside him. The Nightfang pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat echoing in the dark.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was calm, but it cut sharper than any blade.
"That sword is wrong."
Asura raised a brow, tilting his head as if confused. "Wrong? It just saved our lives. You saw what it did to that Horror."
"I did," Selene said flatly. "I also saw the way it fed on you. The way your aura shifted. Your golden eyes glowed darker. That blade doesn't just take from enemies—it takes from you."
Asura leaned back, resting his arms on his knees, smirk tugging at his lips. "So what? I can handle it. Power is power. And cursed or not, it's mine to control."
Her hands tightened into fists on her lap. "That's exactly how it starts. Weapons like that—cursed artifacts—they whisper, they promise strength. And then one day, the wielder is gone, and all that remains is a monster wearing their face."
The words hit him harder than he let show. For a moment, his smirk faltered.
"…Selene," he said quietly, "do you really think I'd lose to a sword? To a whisper?"
Her eyes softened, but only slightly. "I think even you are still just a boy, Asura. A boy who believes he can carry the weight of the world alone. And boys break."
The silence stretched. The fire popped. The Nightfang pulsed again, as if mocking her words.
Asura looked down at the blade, fingers brushing its hilt. The whispers tickled his mind—feed me, wield me, I will make you unstoppable.
He exhaled slowly, then glanced up at Selene with a grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then you'll just have to keep me from breaking, won't you?"
Selene blinked, caught off guard. She looked away, her cheeks faintly colored by the firelight. "…You infuriate me sometimes."
"And yet you're still here," he said, voice softer now, almost grateful.
Her gaze returned to his, steady and unwavering. "Always."
But as she turned to tend the fire, her expression darkened in the shadows. Because she wasn't just afraid of the sword.
She was afraid of losing him.