Chapter 3
Transition from the stables to the forge had not been an act of mercy; it was a sentence of slow execution. General Valerius had watched from the balcony as Leonard's eyes met Clara's during their "accidental" encounter, and the General's response was a decree that the "Null Prince" was wasted on horses. He wanted Leonard's noble hands calloused by white-hot iron and his lungs filled with the suffocating soot of a thousand furnaces. Valerius intended to grind the last of the Aetherian pride out of Leonard by turning him into a common laborer in the most brutal environment in Korthus.
But Leonard had turned that punishment into a masterclass of survival.
The Royal Forge of Korthus was a hellscape of soot, screaming metal, and the heavy, humid heat of a dying volcano. For twelve hours a day, Leonard moved through the smog like a ghost, hauling heavy ingots of raw iron while the "Master Smiths" of the empire mocked his every step. To them, he was just a "Null Prince"—a man whose blood was as empty as his pockets.
But Leonard was no longer just hauling iron; he was hunting for a frequency.
In the center of the forge stood the Great Anvil, where Hagar, a scarred Korthusian giant with arms the size of tree trunks, was struggling with a blade of Blood-Steel. This was the King's pride—metal infused with Aetherian essence to bypass magical shields. But today, the metal was fighting back.
"Cursed filth!" Hagar roared, his hammer sparking uselessly against the glowing red ingot. "The Aether won't settle! It's like the steel is screaming!"
The other slaves cowered, but Leonard stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the vibrating metal. He had spent the previous night memorizing the "Resonance of the Void" from the scorched Tome. He didn't see a stubborn piece of metal; he saw a symphony of conflicting vibrations that Hagar was too clumsy to hear.
"The hammer is too heavy," Leonard said, his voice cutting through the roar of the furnaces.
The forge went silent. Hagar turned slowly, his face twisting into a mask of incredulous rage. "What did you say, Null? You think a stable-rat knows the King's steel?"
"You're trying to crush the magic into the iron," Leonard said, stepping into the light of the furnace. "But magic isn't a solid. It's a wave. Every time you strike that hard, you're creating a counter-wave that shatters the grain of the steel. If you hit it again like that, the blade won't just break—it will explode".
Hagar let out a guttural laugh and raised his massive sledgehammer. "Then let it explode! I'll see how your 'Null' skin handles the shrapnel!"
He brought the hammer down with the force of a falling mountain.
CRACK.
The ingot didn't just break; it detonated. Shards of white-hot Blood-Steel flew through the air like jagged glass. Hagar bellowed in pain as a fragment grazed his cheek, but Leonard didn't move. He had already predicted the trajectory. He stood in the center of the chaos, perfectly untouched, his gaze never leaving the anvil.
"Now," Leonard whispered.
Before Hagar could recover his breath, Leonard grabbed a light finishing hammer and stepped to the anvil. He picked up a fresh, glowing ingot—the last piece of high-grade Blood-Steel in the forge.
"If this fails, Null, I'll feed you to the coals," Hagar hissed, clutching his bleeding face.
Leonard didn't answer. He closed his eyes, filtering out the heat and the screams of the other slaves. He looked for the "Zero Point"—the exact moment when the iron was perfectly still.
Tink. Tink-tink. Tink.
He wasn't striking with force; he was striking with rhythm. To the Korthusians, it looked like a child playing with a toy, but to the metal, it was a command. Under Leonard's "Null" hands, the Aetherian essence didn't fight back; it flowed into the gaps of the iron, seeking the silence that only a man without magic could provide.
The ingot began to glow with a haunting, rhythmic violet light. The air around the anvil grew cold, a frost-line spreading across the soot-covered floor. Leonard's hawk-brand on his arm began to itch, a cold sensation spreading to his fingertips as he "tuned" the blade.
With one final, melodic strike, the blade was finished.
It was a masterpiece of obsidian-black steel, etched with microscopic lines that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. When Leonard plunged it into the cooling vat, the water didn't hiss—it hummed a single, perfect note.
Hagar stepped forward, his eyes wide with greed and fear. He picked up the blade, testing its weight. It was so balanced it felt like an extension of his own arm. "How? No wizard could do this. No Aetherian ever made a blade this stable".
"That's because they were too busy listening to the magic," Leonard said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I was listening to the silence".
"A silence that speaks volumes, doesn't it?"
A cold, familiar voice echoed from the shadowed balcony overlooking the forge. Leonard's stomach dropped. Standing there, draped in Shadow-Wolf furs, was General Valerius. He had been watching the entire time, his hawk-mask glinting in the firelight.
Valerius descended the stone stairs, his eyes fixed on Leonard with the predatory interest of a scientist who had just found a new way to kill. He took the sword from Hagar's trembling hand, his thumb tracing the flawless edge.
"The King's Seers told me the Aetherian line was dead," Valerius mused, the tip of the sword coming to rest against Leonard's throat. "They said a Null was a useless vessel. But I think you've been hiding something, Leonard. I think you've found a way to weaponize your nothingness".
Valerius leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that only Leonard could hear. "From this day on, you are no longer a groom. You will work in my private laboratory. You will teach me how to shatter the world, or I will start by shattering that Princess you hold so dear".