Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 162 36.4 - The forge

"For a power supply, would this suffice…."

The moment the young man dropped the thing he took out from his spatial storage, immense amounts of energy started spreading to the environment.

"This….."

In this scene, Vorgvir's eyes widened in sheer surprise.

"Don't tell me…This is?"

His widened eyes turned from surprise to horror in a very second as he immediately understood what this was.

For a being who had seen countless things in his whole long life, if one asked what was the most disgusting memory he could ever forget, the thing in front of him would be one of them.

"Kid." Vorgvir's voice dropped, taking on a grave tone. The once-goofy blacksmith revealed the essence of a seasoned warrior and elder. The flames flickering around him mirrored the turbulent emotions stirring within.

"You have three seconds to explain how you possess this thing." The demand cut through the air like a blade, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. The cavern seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the young man's response amidst the ominous revelation.

The young man maintained his stoic expression even though he knew the weight of what he had just unveiled.

He met the eyes of the demon elder before him without backing off. In front of the overwhelming intent of the hundreds of years old being, he simply stood still.

"I stole it."

And spoke three words.

Three simple words hung in the air, carrying a weight that resonated through the cavern. Vorgvir's eyes, bearing the weight of centuries, pierced through the young man before him.

"You stole it." Vorgvir's voice echoed with a mixture of disbelief and scrutiny. He knew the severity of what the young man had just confessed to, and he also knew it was very unlikely.

However, he was experienced in terms of reading people, and he instinctively knew the young man wasn't lying.

"How? Whom did you steal it from?" The questions flowed from Vorgvir's lips, each one a demand for answers that could unravel the mysterious circumstances surrounding the object.

"And do you even know what this is?" Vorgvir's gaze intensified, seeking the truth in the eyes of the young man. The flames in the cavern flickered as if echoing the tension that had gripped the once seemingly routine forging session.

"Even if I told you whom I stole this from, would you even know it, old man?" The young man didn't back off as he spoke. Vorgvir could see he was getting irritated….Possibly from the pressure he was emitting.

'Sigh…What am I doing?'

Realizing the tension he had created, Vorgvir took a deep breath, allowing the flames around him to subside. The ancient blacksmith eased the intensity in his eyes, acknowledging the youthful defiance before him.

"Kid, just tell me. Do you know what this is?" He asked once more, looking at the boy's eyes.

"It is a Mana Nucleus." The boy replied, looking at the thing on the ground. His eyes didn't feel any emotion neither did they feel any remorse.

'Does he now know what this thing is made from?'

Vorgvir thought to himself, looking at his reaction.

"It seems you know what this is. Then, do you know what this was made from?" Vorgvir continued with his questions as he looked into the young man's eyes.

The young man met Vorgvir's gaze, his expression unwavering. "Yes, I know what it's made from. A Mana Nucleus is essentially crafted from the bodies of humans with special mana characteristics. It's an inhumane act, a perversion of life turned into a source of power."

Vorgvir's eyes narrowed as he processed the admission while watching the kid's reaction at the mention of such an inhumane act.

However, contrary to what he was expecting, the kid didn't seem bothered by what he was saying.

"Then, even though you knew the origin of this thing, why are you proposing it to use as a material for your weapon?"

The young man's gaze remained steadfast, unyielding under the scrutiny. "I know its origin, and I won't deny the darkness it carries, as well as how inhumane it is. If I were given the chance, I would never create such a thing."

The boy said as he lowered his gaze, looking at his hands.

The young man's words cut through the air, each syllable a declaration of his unwavering purpose. "But, I won't simply ignore the opportunity presented to me. I am neither an angel nor a hero, just as I said before. My weapon is not something I want to use out of kindness for others; it is a tool for my revenge."

Raising his head defiantly, he locked eyes with Vorgvir. "If I had the values a hero held, do you think I would come to this place seeking for you? Did you forget the words I just spoke here? Even if I hold the most cursed weapon in this world, even if it is the most disgusting thing, if I can achieve my vengeance, it won't matter in the end. I will do whatever it takes to do it."

Vorgvir's gaze lingered on the young man, a mixture of understanding and contemplation in his ancient eyes. The air in the cavern felt charged, the conflicting energies of vengeance and the eerie workshop's ambiance creating an atmosphere heavy with purpose.

"Very well," Vorgvir spoke, his voice carrying the weight of acknowledgment. "I won't question your motives any further. If this is the path you choose, then we shall proceed. However, kid, remember this. Playing with the souls and the dead won't ever bring you any good."

The young man's response was delivered with a cold resolve. "It is even better if it does that. I had never been delusional enough to think I deserve anything good in this world."

The eyes of the kid speaking those words seemed to contain intense emotions and self-hatred that even Vorgvir was taken aback.

'Now, I see.'

At that second, he understood what this kid was doing.

'You are punishing yourself, aren't you, kid? Trying to put out the fire inside you by hating yourself…..'

At that exact moment, in his eyes, the young man became a kid, even for a second.

"If that is what you wish." Vorgvir nodded solemnly, recognizing the depth of the young man's conviction, even if it led down a dark and perilous path.

He grabbed the Mana Nucleus in the ground, as well as the other two materials.

Of course, there were other materials that he would need to use, but he didn't bother telling him since he had all those other three in any case.

"Then, young man." He reached his workshop as he called the young man. "This will take a while, so make yourself comfortable around here if you can even do that."

At this point, he could no longer afford to lose his concentration even for a second; neither could he be disturbed since the weapon he was going to make might not be the strongest or highest rank, but it was certainly going to be the most complex one he had ever made.

"Understood, I will be waiting for you."

The young man nodded his head respectfully as he slowly started walking out of the place. There were no signs of prior anger he had in his eyes as the same emotionless expression returned to his eyes.

TAK!

As the door of the workshop closed, Vorgvir was left alone with the occupation he had his whole life.

His hands slowly reached the hammer he held as he leaned on the stall.

"Old friend…..Are you ready?"

The dim light in Vorgvir's workshop flickered as he spoke to the inanimate companion of his solitude—the hammer that had been his steadfast companion through countless creations.

"What a pitiful kid, wasn't he?" Vorgvir mused aloud, his eyes fixed on the materials spread across his workbench. The hammer, with its worn handle and battle-tested head, seemed to echo the weight of his words in the silent workshop.

The blacksmith's hands gripped the handle of the hammer, its familiarity offering a comforting reassurance. For a moment, he allowed the memories to wash over him—centuries of forging, stories etched into every strike of the hammer against the anvil.

CLANK!

"He carries the burden of revenge," Vorgvir continued, his voice a low murmur. "A path filled with darkness and anguish. But who am I to judge? I've seen the world crumble under the weight of its own sins."

CLANK!

As if in response, the hammer seemed to resonate with the weight of untold tales. The cavern embraced their conversation, the only witnesses to the silent exchange between the legendary blacksmith and his faithful tool.

CLANK!

"His weapon will be a reflection of his turmoil," Vorgvir stated a hint of both resignation and acceptance in his tone. "A manifestation of vengeance and a journey into the depths of his soul. I wonder, old friend, what tales will this forge unfold?"

CLANK!

The hammer, silent yet deeply understood, bore the marks of countless conversations. In the quietude of the workshop, Vorgvir's hands began their intricate dance—the dance of creation and redemption, a dance that echoed through the annals of time.

SWOOSH!

The forge roared to life, its flames casting dancing shadows on the walls.

CLANK!

Vorgvir, lost in the rhythm of his craft, poured centuries of skill and emotion into every strike. The workshop became a sanctuary where steel and magic entwined, and the past and future converged in the creation of a weapon that defied conventional boundaries.

CLANK!

Time seemed to lose its grip as Vorgvir delved into the heart of the forging process. Hours turned into moments, and the weapon gradually took shape under the master blacksmith's skilled hands.

 From time to time, he breathed fire from his mouth, reigniting the forge.

And continued his rhythmic strikes on the glowing metal, a low, melodic chant escaped his lips—a whisper carried by the flames and woven into the very fabric of the forge's song.

"By the anvil's hymn, the steel shall sing, In shadows danced, creation takes wing. Through the fire's breath and hammer's grace, Crafted divine, a weapon to embrace."

 ❰ The Divinity of Forgery❱

「 Call of the Forge God. 」

CLANK!

The chant echoed in the cavern, a mystical undertone to the relentless cadence of the hammer's blows. Vorgvir's voice, weathered by time, carried the weight of centuries as he invoked the Divinity of Forgery—a prayer to the forge god, a plea for guidance in the creation of a weapon that transcended mortal understanding.

CLANK!

The flames responded to the enchanting cadence, dancing with renewed vigor. The very air seemed to hum with ethereal energy as if the forge itself acknowledged the call of its devoted blacksmith.

CLANK!

As Vorgvir mumbled the sacred words, his movements became more fluid, more instinctual. The Divinity of Forgery, a legacy he created on his own, resonated in every stroke. Each strike brought the weapon closer to completion, an instrument of both creation and destiny.

CLANK!

As the last strike echoed through the cavern, Vorgvir stood back, his chest heaving from exertion.

Before him lay a weapon of enigmatic beauty and ominous power—

an embodiment of the young man's journey into darkness.

With a weary yet satisfied smile, Vorgvir whispered to his hammer, "Another tale etched into the forge of time."

The weapon, gleaming with an aura as if it was alive, awaited the young man's return—a conduit for his vengeance and a testament to the enduring artistry of the legendary blacksmith.

"Countless souls…..Living inside the weapon itself…."

Vorgvir mumbled.

"Will it be a cursed weapon…Or will it be a weapon devoted on its owner…"