The morning light was pale and thin, filtering through the cracks in the shed's walls. Luo Fan had not slept.
Four talismans. Four drops of blood. Four hours of frantic, desperate forging.
He had started as soon as Elder Xu left, working by the faint glow of a Spark Talisman he'd made as a lamp. His hands had trembled. His vision had blurred. But he had finished the last talisman just before dawn – four crude Qi‑Gathering talismans, each one uglier than the last, but functional.
He had tucked them into his sleeve and collapsed onto the stone floor, his body screaming for rest. But there was no time. Lu Chen would come soon. And after that, he had to report to Elder Xu at the Artifact Hall.
The timer read 11:23:07. Eleven hours until his body collapsed. He had gained a little RSE from the talismans – 2 units each, total 8 – but the forging had cost him time. The net gain was small. He was still running on fumes.
He heard footsteps outside. Heavy, familiar, impatient.
Lu Chen pushed the door open without knocking. His eyes swept the shed, landing on Luo Fan's hunched form. "Talismans."
Luo Fan pulled the four talismans from his sleeve and held them out. Lu Chen snatched them, examined each one with a grunt, then tucked them into his robe.
"Barely acceptable," he said. "Next week, four again. Don't be late." He turned and left, the door slamming behind him.
Luo Fan let out a long breath. One deadline met. He had three days until the next batch. Three days to scavenge, to forge, to survive.
He stood up, his legs unsteady, and gathered his remaining materials. Iron filings, spirit dust, a few scraps of thread. Not much. But he wouldn't need them where he was going.
The Artifact Hall. A real forge.
He stepped out into the morning light.
---
The Artifact Hall was a sprawling complex of stone and timber, nestled at the base of the sect's inner mountain. Luo Fan had seen it only from a distance – a place for real cultivators, not servants. But now he walked through its gates, his heart hammering.
Elder Xu was waiting by a side entrance, his arms crossed, his expression as sour as ever.
"You're late," he said.
"I had to deliver something," Luo Fan replied.
The old man grunted. "Follow me. Don't touch anything. Don't talk to anyone. And for the love of the heavens, don't embarrass me."
He led Luo Fan through a maze of corridors, past workshops where forgers hammered glowing metal and apprentices stirred bubbling cauldrons. The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of Qi. Luo Fan's engineering mind cataloged everything – the bellows, the anvils, the racks of tools he had only dreamed of using.
Elder Xu stopped at a small door at the end of a narrow hallway. He unlocked it with a key from his robe and pushed it open.
The room inside was small – barely larger than the storage shed – but it had a stone floor, a solid workbench, and a proper forge. The forge was cold, its coals grey, but it was real. Above the workbench hung a row of tools: hammers, tongs, awls, and a set of engraving needles. In the corner stood a small pill furnace, its surface stained with residue.
"This is your workspace," Elder Xu said. "You'll clean the main hall during the day – scrubbing floors, emptying ash bins, fetching materials. At night, you can use this room. The forge is old but functional. The tools are yours to use, but if you break them, you pay for them."
Luo Fan stepped inside, his fingers brushing the workbench. The wood was worn smooth by decades of use. A real workspace.
"There are rules," Elder Xu continued. "You don't tell anyone about this room. You don't sell anything you make here without my permission. And if you cause trouble, I'll throw you out myself. Understood?"
"Understood."
The old man nodded, then turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Luo Fan closed the door and leaned against it. He was alone. In a real forge. With real tools.
He looked around the room, his eyes tracing every detail. The forge. The anvil. The racks of scrap metal in the corner – discarded artifacts, broken swords, spent formation plates. A treasure trove of materials.
The system pulsed.
---
[New Environment Detected: Artifact Hall – Apprentice Workspace]
Effect: +5% success chance for Mortal‑rank forging.
Forge Point cost for Mortal‑rank schematics reduced by 10%.
[Apprentice Forge Unlocked]
· Passive Bonus: +5% success rate.
· FP Cost Reduction: 10% off all Mortal‑rank schematic unlocks (rounded down).
· Material Efficiency: 5% chance to recover a small amount of materials after forging.
---
Luo Fan stared at the notification. A bonus just for being here. The system was adapting to his environment.
He moved to the scrap pile and began sorting through it. Broken swords, cracked formation plates, spent pill bottles – all of it recyclable. He would have plenty of materials now. No more scavenging in the refuse piles.
He was about to start recycling when another notification appeared.
---
[Demonic Forge Mode – Basic Unlocked]
Description: Toggleable state that consumes lifespan or blood essence to enhance item quality.
Current Capabilities:
· Lifespan cost: 1 day to 1 year, depending on item tier and desired enhancement.
· Blood essence cost: 1 to 10 drops, depending on item tier.
· Corruption gain: +1% to +10% per use.
Warning: Excessive use may lead to permanent physical changes and mental instability.
First use already recorded (Concealment Talisman). Corruption: 3%.
---
Luo Fan read the message twice. Already recorded. The system had been tracking his use of Demonic Mode from the beginning. This wasn't a new unlock – it was a formal explanation of what he had already done.
He glanced at the forge. The cold coals seemed darker now, almost hungry.
I'll use it when I have to. Not before.
He turned back to the scrap pile and began sorting. He had a lot of work to do.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of cleaning, hauling, and quiet observation.
Elder Xu put him to work scrubbing the main hall's floors – a tedious, back‑breaking task that left his hands raw and his knees sore. But between chores, he watched the other apprentices. He saw how they handled their tools, how they stoked their forges, how they argued over materials and techniques.
He learned more in one day than he had in weeks of scavenging.
When night fell, he returned to his small workshop. The forge was still cold – he was too exhausted to light it – but he sat at the workbench and pulled out his remaining materials. He had a few scraps of iron, some spirit dust, and a length of thread. Enough to practice.
He spent an hour tracing formations on scrap hide, his hand steady for the first time in days. The system's guidance was there, a faint hum in the back of his mind, but he didn't rely on it. He wanted to learn. To understand.
This is where I grow, he thought. Not in a shed. Here.
He looked at the forge. Tomorrow, he would light it. Tomorrow, he would forge something new.
But tonight, he would rest.
He curled up on the stone floor, using his rolled‑up robe as a pillow, and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he felt something other than fear.
Hope.