The heat in Khan's smithy had reached a transcendental, almost suffocating level. For forty-eight consecutive hours, the rhythmic, lung-expanding whoosh of the bellows and the white-hot roar of the specialized furnaces had not ceased for a single second.
Under the expert, grizzled guidance of Khan, and fueled by the tireless endurance of Arthur and Grid, the raw, jagged ore hauled from the depths of the Bandit Mines was undergoing a staggering metamorphosis.
Ten thousand units of high-purity iron ore were systematically smelted and reduced into uniform stacks of gleaming Pig Iron Ingots. Beside them, the rarer, more temperamental black iron ores were purified into the obsidian-hued Black Iron Ingots, their surfaces reflecting the flickering orange light of the forge like dark mirrors.
Grid stood over the cooling racks, his face smeared with a thick layer of soot and grease. His eyes were bloodshot from the smoke and lack of sleep, but his spirit was soaring at an altitude no exhaustion could reach.
To a normal person, this was grueling, soul-crushing manual labor; to Grid, this was the beautiful sight of a massive profit margin being physically manifest.
"Every ingot is a step closer to the dream," Grid muttered, his voice raspy and dry. He ran a coal-stained hand over the smooth metal. "No middleman. No market tax. No merchant taking a 20% cut for 'distribution.' Just pure, unadulterated resource gain."
The heavy wooden doors of the smithy creaked open, letting in a blessed draft of cool evening air. Alfia, Meteria, Nana, and Cecil stepped inside, their traveling cloaks heavy with the dust of the long road from Patrian. The moment they saw Arthur standing by the primary anvil, the weary, guarded expressions on their faces vanished instantly.
Without a word, the four women rushed forward, enveloping Arthur in a fierce, simultaneous hug that nearly knocked the wind out of the silver-haired warrior.
"Five days," Meteria whispered into his shoulder, her voice muffled by his cloak. "Five days of seeing nothing but scowling bandits and dusty, endless roads without you."
"We missed you, Arthur," Alfia added, her grip tightening as if she were afraid he might vanish back into a mine shaft.
Nana and Cecil didn't waste time with words; they simply leaned into the group hug, anchoring themselves to the center of their world.
Arthur chuckled, a warm, low sound that vibrated through his chest. He patted their heads with a gentle, soot-stained hand. "I see you've all returned safely. Did the bandits give you much trouble on the pass?"
Alfia pulled back, a dangerous, predatory glint in her eyes. "A group of twenty thought four 'beautiful girls' alone on the road were easy prey. They didn't realize that a Magician and a Spirit Summoner, backed by a Swordswoman and a Berserker, are even deadlier when they've been trained in the arts of the blade by a Great Swordsman."
"They didn't even get within five paces," Meteria said with a playful, sharp smirk. "Though, I think I need to work on my wrist flick for the cross-cut. The wind resistance was higher than I expected."
While the smithy was the roaring heart of production, the backyard had transformed into a silent temple of combat. Under the sprawling shade of the ancient oak tree, Piaro sat cross-legged, his straw hat pulled low to shield his eyes from the setting sun.
Alfia and Meteria, despite their primary roles as high-tier casters, had long been Piaro's most dedicated students. They understood the cold reality of Satisfy: in the chaos of a real battlefield, mana can run dry, and complex spells can be interrupted by a single well-placed arrow.
To survive, they needed the "Art of the Shadow"—a mastery over Dual Daggers that allowed them to turn a defensive retreat into a lethal, spinning counter-offensive.
And then there was Nana. Under Piaro's tutelage, her strikes had become more lethal, more precise, and more grounded. It wouldn't be wrong to say Nana had officially become the successor to Piaro's unique, heavy-handed supreme swordsmanship.
"Again," Piaro commanded, his voice like grinding millstones.
The twins moved in a coordinated blur. Alfia's daggers hummed with a faint, chilling blue light, while Meteria's blades seemed to flicker and vanish like shadows in the wind.
They danced around a heavy training dummy, their strikes so perfectly synchronized that they looked like a single entity wielding four blades.
Piaro watched them with a hawk-like intensity, his mind cataloging every micro-adjustment of their footing. 'Their brains are like sponges,' the former Great Swordsman thought. 'They possess a natural genius for spatial awareness. If they continue at this rate, the world would have no choice but to grant them a secondary class. "Shadow Dancer" or "Blade Caster"... it is only a matter of time.'
Nearby, Cecil had returned to her own bench. She was a Berserker by battlefield, but her heart belonged to the forge. Her blacksmithing passive skill had not long ago crossed the Advanced level; she could now compete with Khan on technical skill alone, her strikes ringing out with a heavy, rhythmic power that complemented Grid's frantic pace.
Inside the forge, Grid was pacing like a caged tiger. His mind was stuck—obsessed, really—on the ten units of Eternal Silver Sap Arthur was holding in his secure inventory. To a legendary blacksmith, rare materials were more addictive than any drug.
"Arthur," Grid said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably as his eyes darted toward Arthur's belt pouch. "About that sap... we should probably test its conductivity. You know, for science. A drop or two in a dagger? A thin coating on a shield?"
Arthur looked up from his whetstone, his expression flat. "It's too precious for practice, Grid. That sap is a miracle of the earth. If you waste it on a 'Normal' or 'Rare' rank item, the molecular resonance will be lost. I'm saving it for when our skills—and our blueprints—are truly ready for a masterpiece."
Arthur paused, seeing the genuine frustration on the blacksmith's face. "However, I'm a man of my word. When you are ready to make something that defines your legend, I will share three units with you."
Grid's eyes lit up with a manic fire. He reached into his system interface and pulled out a column—a blueprint he had been created after becoming Legendary Blacksmith by using the [Legendary Blacksmith's Creation] skill. His hands trembled with excitement as he shared the details with Arthur.
"I've been working on it," Grid whispered. "I call it... Failure. Because its requirements are so absurdly high that any normal player would fail to even lift it within 3~5 years coming. But our special status as Pagma linked classes can bypass the level penalty! Can we use the sap on this?"
Arthur took the Blueprint, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline as he studied the intricate, almost aggressive geometry of the weapon.
[Item Blueprint: Failure]
Rating: Unique ~ Legendary
Description: A massive, jagged greatsword designed by Pagma's Successor. Its proportions defy the conventional logic of weaponry. Because the design focuses entirely on raw destructive power and weight, it is a weapon that "fails" as a standard sword but "succeeds" as a tool of absolute annihilation.
>Materials Required: 15 Chunks of Blue Orichalcum (Primary)
Expected Stats:
* Attack Power: 874 ~ 1,820
* Defense: 80
* Agility: +50
* Durability: 1,090 / 1,090
* Special Effect: No Attack Speed reduction (due to Blue Orichalcum's supernatural lightness).
Arthur looked from the blueprint to Grid, genuinely impressed. "This is... ambitious. It's not just a sword; it's a slab of blue death. If you use the Eternal Silver Sap as a conductive agent between the layers of Blue Orichalcum, the attack power won't just increase—it will be permanently empowered with raw mana. It will cut through magical barriers like they're made of silk."
Arthur dismissed the blueprint from his HUD. "When you secure the 15 chunks of Blue Orichalcum, I will give you the three units of sap. I'll even help you adjust the tempering ratio so the silver doesn't boil off during the final fold. If you pull this off, Grid, the world won't just know your name—they'll fear your creation alongside your hammer."
Grid hugged the blueprint to his chest, a manic, toothy grin spreading across his soot-covered face. "Failure... it's going to be my greatest success. I'll show them. I'll show all of them what a 'loser' can do with a hammer."
Winston was quiet under the moonlight, but inside Khan's smithy, the future of the kingdom was being forged. The original path of the legend had been altered; empowered by Arthur's presence and the rare minerals of the deep, the "Failure" was no longer just a weapon—it will become the weapon of mass destruction.