Sunday mornings were different.
Without the rush of classes and instructors calling students into formation, the academy felt almost peaceful. The stone pathways that were usually crowded with students were now occupied by only a handful of people returning from the city below or enjoying the final day of the weekend.
Tomorrow, classes would begin again.
Kael left the F-Class dormitory shortly after sunrise.
He had no destination in mind.
The academy was still unfamiliar to him, and if there was one thing Kael believed, it was that ignorance was a weakness. Every path, building and shortcut was worth remembering.
He wandered through the upper courtyards before eventually descending into the district built just outside the academy walls.
Unlike the academy itself, the district was lively.
Merchants called out to passing students.
The smell of freshly baked bread drifted through the streets.
Tailors displayed enchanted robes while potion shops advertised discounted mana tonics to first-years.
Kael walked slowly, taking everything in.
Eventually, a rhythmic clang reached his ears.
Metal striking metal.
Again.
Again.
Again.
His eyes followed the sound until they settled on a large stone building across the street.
A forge.
Unlike the academy's workshop, this one looked older.
Its walls were darkened from decades of smoke, while a large iron chimney released a steady stream of black smoke into the morning sky.
A polished wooden sign hung above the entrance.
Valen Forge.
Through the open doorway, Kael could see orange flames dancing across the interior as blacksmiths hammered glowing steel upon massive anvils.
Students occasionally entered carrying broken weapons before leaving with repaired ones.
Without realizing it, Kael slowed to a stop.
Across the street sat a small café with a row of seats pressed against a wide glass window overlooking the forge.
After ordering the cheapest drink on the menu, he took one of the empty seats facing the street.
From there, he simply watched.
Every strike of the hammer followed a rhythm.
Every movement had purpose.
Nothing was wasted.
"You interested in that shop?"
The voice came from beside him.
Kael turned.
An older man sat in the neighbouring seat, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. His clothes were simple, though his broad shoulders suggested years of physical labour.
Kael looked back toward the forge.
"It seems... respected."
The man chuckled.
"Respected?"
He shook his head.
"That's putting it lightly."
He leaned back in his chair.
"That forge has stood there for over three hundred years. Kings have commissioned weapons from it. Sovereigns have fought with blades forged inside those walls."
Kael listened quietly.
"They say every weapon leaving that forge carries a fragment of its smith's soul."
He wasn't sure whether to believe that.
"But legends usually begin somewhere."
Kael's gaze drifted toward the display inside the forge's front window.
Most of the showcased weapons were beautiful.
Swords.
Spears.
Axes.
Yet one pedestal stood completely empty.
Unlike the others, it was surrounded by thin silver chains.
He frowned.
"Why is that display empty?"
The man's smile disappeared.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the forge.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"Because what's supposed to be there should never be displayed."
Kael waited.
"The greatest weapon that forge ever created."
His eyes remained fixed on the building.
"They called it..."
"The Last Testament."
The name lingered in the air.
"It wasn't forged from ordinary steel."
The man took a slow sip from his cup.
"The smiths gathered fragments from history itself."
"The remains of legendary heroes."
"The bones of monsters powerful enough to level cities."
"The finest enchanted metals ever discovered."
"They forged all of it into one weapon."
Kael remained silent.
"It was meant to become humanity's greatest masterpiece."
Instead...
"It became humanity's greatest mistake."
The cheerful atmosphere inside the café suddenly felt much colder.
"What happened?" Kael asked.
The man let out a quiet breath.
"It found an owner."
"A Sovereign?"
The man slowly shook his head.
"A No-Path."
Kael's expression remained unchanged, though his attention sharpened.
"Centuries ago," the man continued, "No-Paths weren't treated the way they are today."
"They were pitied."
"Protected."
"People believed they were harmless."
"They couldn't become Mages."
"They couldn't become Swordsmen."
"They simply... existed."
His grip tightened slightly around the cup.
"Then one man proved everyone wrong."
"No one remembers his real name anymore."
"History only remembers what he was."
"A No-Path."
The street outside suddenly seemed quieter.
"With The Last Testament in his hands..."
"He destroyed cities."
"He slaughtered armies."
"He brought kingdoms to their knees."
"Not because he possessed a Path."
"But because the weapon he wielded surpassed reason itself."
Kael looked back toward the empty pedestal.
"So that's why people hate No-Paths."
The man nodded once.
"One man changed centuries of belief."
"People stopped seeing No-Paths as harmless."
"They started wondering..."
His voice grew almost hollow.
"What if another one appeared?"
Silence settled between them.
The blacksmith's hammer continued striking steel across the street.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
Finally, the man stood.
He placed a few coins beneath his empty cup before looking toward the forge one last time.
"That place created wonders."
A pause.
"It also created evil."
Without another word, he walked out of the café.
Kael remained by the window.
His eyes followed the man as he crossed the street.
He watched him approach the forge.
Watched him push open the heavy wooden door.
Then something clicked.
He wasn't visiting.
He belonged there.
The workers inside greeted him with respectful nods before returning to their tasks.
The owner.
Kael continued watching through the window.
As if sensing his gaze, the man suddenly looked up.
Their eyes met across the busy street.
There was no smile.
No anger.
No hatred.
No warmth.
Only an immeasurable depth.
A gaze so steady and deliberate that it felt as though the man wasn't looking at Kael's face...
But through him.
The moment lasted only a few seconds.
Then the owner turned away and disappeared deeper into the forge.
Kael sat motionless.
His drink had long since gone cold.
Beyond the café window, the rhythmic sound of hammer striking steel echoed once more.
For reasons he couldn't explain...
He felt certain this would not be the last time he stood before Valen Forge.