"Is this enough as an energy supply..."
As the young man took out the item from his spatial bracelet and placed it down, a massive surge of energy instantly spread throughout the surrounding environment.
"This is..."
Seeing this, Vogweir's eyes widened in shock.
"Could it be... this is?"
His gaze rapidly shifted from astonishment to dread as he instantly recognized what it was.
For Vogweir, despite his long life and having seen countless things, if one were to ask him about his most unforgettable and sickening memories, the object before him would undoubtedly be one of them.
"Child," Vogweir's voice was low and grave, the once somewhat comical blacksmith now exuding the essence of a seasoned warrior and elder. The flickering flames around him mirrored the turbulent emotions within.
"You have three seconds to explain how you obtained this thing." His words cut through the air like a sharpened blade, emphasizing the severity of the situation. The cave seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the young man's response in the tense atmosphere.
The young man remained calm, fully aware of the gravity of what he had just revealed.
He met Vogweir's gaze without flinching. Under the pressure of the powerhouse who had lived for hundreds of years, he stood still.
"I stole it."
The young man calmly uttered those three words.
The simple statement echoed in the air, carrying a heavy reverberation. Vogweir's eyes pierced through the young man, as if trying to see through his very being.
"You stole it?" Vogweir's voice was laced with disbelief and scrutiny. He knew the gravity of what the young man had just admitted, while also realizing the near impossibility of it.
But years of experience and his intuition told him that the young man was not lying.
"How did you steal it? From whom did you steal it?" Vogweir's questions came in rapid succession, each demanding an answer, attempting to unravel the mystery surrounding the item.
"Do you even know what this is?" Vogweir's gaze intensified, trying to discern the truth from the young man's eyes. The flames in the cave flickered erratically, mirroring the sudden tension in the seemingly ordinary conversation.
"Even if I told you who I stole it from, would you know?" the young man retorted, showing a hint of impatience... possibly from the pressure he was emitting.
'Sigh... what am I doing?'
Realizing the tension he was creating, Vogweir took a deep breath, trying to calm his emotions, causing the surrounding flames to subside as well. His gaze softened from sharp to gentle, acknowledging the young man's rebuttal.
"Child, tell me. Do you know what this is?" he asked again, his eyes gently fixed on the young man.
"It is a mana core," the young man replied, his gaze fixed on the object on the ground. There was no emotion in his eyes, not a hint of remorse.
Vogweir's heart skipped a beat as he looked at the young man's calm expression, pondering in his mind.
"It seems you know what it is. Then, do you know how it is made?" Vogweir continued to press, his eyes still fixed on the young man's eyes.
The young man met Vogweir's gaze without hesitation, his expression still firm. "I know what it is made of. Mana cores are essentially created using the bodies of humans with special mana attributes. It is an inhumane act that twists life into a source of power."
Vogweir's eyes narrowed as he digested the young man's confession, observing his reaction as he spoke of the inhumane act.
Surprisingly, the young man did not seem to care about his words.
"Then, even knowing its origins, why would you propose using it as a material for a weapon?" Vogweir continued to probe, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes.
The young man's gaze remained firm, unwavering. "I know its origins, and I do not deny the darkness and inhumanity it carries. But if I had a choice, I would never use it to create a weapon."
As he said this, he lowered his head and looked at his hands.
The young man's words were like blades cutting through the air, each syllable proclaiming his resolute goal. "However, I will not easily give up the opportunity before me. I am neither an angel nor a hero, as I said before. My weapon is not for doing good; it is my tool for revenge."
He raised his head and looked directly at Vogweir. "If I possessed the values of a hero, do you think I would have come to you? Did you forget what I said earlier? Even if I wield the most cursed weapon in the world, even if it is the most disgusting thing, as long as it can achieve revenge, none of it matters. I will do anything to achieve my goal."
Vogweir's gaze lingered on the young man, his ancient eyes filled with both understanding and contemplation. The air in the cave fell silent, the scent of revenge clashing with the eerie atmosphere, creating a heavy ambiance.
"Very well," Vogweir's voice carried a hint of approval, "I will no longer question your motives. If this is the path you have chosen, then let us proceed. But child, remember this. Toying with souls and the dead will bring you no good."
The young man's response was calm and resolute. "If it brings harm, then all the better. I have never considered myself worthy of anything good in this world."
As he spoke these words, the young man's eyes seemed filled with intense emotions and self-loathing, shocking even Vogweir.
'Now, I understand.'
At this moment, Vogweir finally understood what the child was doing.
"You are punishing yourself, aren't you? Extinguishing the fire within by hating yourself..." he murmured.
Just at this moment, in Vogweir's eyes, the young man seemed like a child, if only for a moment.
"If that is what you wish, then I understand." Vogweir solemnly nodded, acknowledging the young man's unwavering conviction, even if the path was filled with darkness and peril.
He picked up the mana core and the other two materials on the ground.
However, there were other materials that needed to be used, but Vogweir was too lazy to tell the young man now.
"Then, young man." He walked to the forging table and called out to the young man. "This will take some time, so relax here if you can."
At this moment, he did not want to be distracted for even a second, nor could he be disturbed, for the weapon he was about to forge might not be the most powerful or the most top-notch, but it would undoubtedly be the most complex one he had ever forged.
"Understood, I will wait for you." The young man nodded respectfully and slowly walked out of the forging room. The anger from before was no longer in his eyes, and he had returned to that expressionless state.
Tap!
After the door to the forging room closed, Vogweir was alone, facing the work he had dedicated his life to.
His hand slowly gripped the hammer, leaning on the forging table.
"Old friend... are you ready?" Vogweir whispered to his hammer, which had silently accompanied him for hundreds of years.
The dim light in the forging room flickered, and the hammer seemed to respond to his words like his silent companion.
"What a pitiful child, isn't he?" Vogweir muttered to himself, his gaze falling on the materials scattered on the forging table. The hammer, its handle worn and its head battle-scarred, gently echoed his thoughts in the silent forging room.
The blacksmith tightened his grip on the hammer's handle, the familiar touch bringing a hint of comfort. For a moment, memories flooded his mind, centuries of forging, each hammer blow a story on the anvil.
Ding!
"He carries the burden of revenge," Vogweir continued in a low voice, "a path filled with darkness and pain. And what right do I have to judge? I have seen the world collapse under its own sins."
Ding!
The hammer seemed to respond, emitting a rhythmic resonance, echoing countless untold stories. The cave witnessed the silent conversation, only the legendary blacksmith and his faithful tool communicating.
Ding!
"His weapon will be a reflection of his inner turmoil," Vogweir said with a hint of resignation and acceptance, "an embodiment of revenge, and also a journey into the depths of his soul. I wonder, old friend, what kind of story will this forging reveal?"
Ding!
The hammer, though silent, deeply understood, bearing the traces of countless conversations. In the tranquility of the forging room, Vogweir's hands began a complex dance, an interweaving of creation and redemption, a melody that echoed through the corridors of time.
Whoosh!
The furnace roared to life, flames casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Ding!
Vogweir immersed himself in the rhythm of forging, pouring centuries of skill and emotion into each hammer blow. The forging room became a sanctuary, steel and magic intertwining, the past and the future converging in this weapon that transcended the ordinary.
Ding!
Time seemed to lose its meaning as Vogweir delved deeper into the forging. Hours passed in the blink of an eye, the weapon gradually taking shape under the master's skillful hands.
From time to time, he breathed fire from his mouth, reigniting the furnace.
And continued to rhythmically strike the glowing metal, chanting a melody, a spell carried by the flames and woven into the song of forging.
[Invocation of the God of Forging]
Ding!
The incantation echoed in the cave, adding a layer of mystery to the rhythm of the hammer strikes. Vogweir's voice, weathered by the years, carrying the weight of centuries, he called upon the God of Forging, prayed to the God of Forging, begging for guidance in creating this weapon that transcended mortal understanding.
Ding!
The flames responded to the enchanting rhythm, dancing with renewed vigor. The air seemed to fill with transcendent energy, and the furnace itself seemed to acknowledge the devout blacksmith's call.
Ding!
As Vogweir murmured the sacred incantation, his movements became even more fluid, almost instinctive. It was as if the God of Forging himself was creating the weapon, resonating in every hammer blow. Each strike brought the weapon closer to perfection, a tool that was both a creation and a destiny.
Ding!
As the echo of the last hammer blow dissipated in the cave, Vogweir stepped back, his chest heaving.
Before him lay a mysterious and exquisite weapon, radiating an ominous power.
It was the embodiment of the young man's journey into darkness.
With a weary but satisfied smile, Vogweir whispered to the hammer, "Another story has been etched into the furnace of time."
The weapon shimmered, as if with a life of its own, silently awaiting the young man's return. It was both a tool forged for revenge and a testament to Vogweir, the legendary blacksmith's immortal art.
"Countless souls... live within the weapon..." Vogweir murmured.
"Will it be a cursed weapon... or a weapon loyal to its master..."
