Zhen stepped into the Blacksmith Hall, his eyes immediately drawn to the figure at its center. A blue-haired man, likely in his thirties, stood before an anvil, muscles taut as he brought his forging hammer down on glowing metal. Each strike sent a shower of bright sparks dancing into the air, the rhythmic clang reverberating through the hall like a song only true craftsmen could hear. The air smelled faintly of heated iron and coal, and Zhen's heart beat in time with the hammer's music. He watched quietly, a small smile forming as he savored the scene, feeling as though the very spirit of the forge was welcoming him.
Then, by accident, Zhen's foot nudged a chunk of metal ore lying on the floor. It rolled a short distance with a sharp clink, breaking the steady rhythm. The blue-haired man halted mid-swing, the glowing billet in his tongs cooling slightly as he turned his head sharply.
"WHO IS THERE?" he barked, voice carrying a weight that made the walls seem to vibrate.
Startled, Zhen stepped into view, standing straight before the man. He noticed a short beard on the man's chin, framing a face that looked more annoyed than curious, though his sharp eyes held a glint of discipline earned through years of labor.
"So, it's just a small student," the man muttered. "What's your name and what do you want?"
"Sir, I didn't mean to disturb you, I just—" Zhen began.
"You're already disturbing me, little kiddo," the man interrupted curtly. "Go now... come some other time."
He turned back to his work, hammering again, the blows resuming their commanding rhythm. But Zhen remained rooted in place.
"Sir, my name is Lan Zhen. I'm a new student in Class 2. I came here to learn blacksmithing."
"Ohhh?" the man replied without looking up. "And why would a Beast Bond Master like you want to learn blacksmithing? It won't help you. This is for Tool Bond Masters."
Zhen's voice was steady, almost defiant. "Because I love the sound of metal."
The hammer froze in mid-air. Slowly, the blue-haired man turned to face him.
"You love the sound of metal?" he asked, testing the sincerity in Zhen's eyes. Zhen nodded without hesitation.
"Alright," the man said after a pause. "Take this hammer and strike the metal I was working on. If you make the perfect sound, I'll take you in."
Zhen took the hammer and tongs, reheated the metal with careful attention until it glowed with just the right hue, then set it on the anvil. "Sir, it's not perfectly heated yet," he commented.
"Yeah, yeah, just do your work," the man replied dismissively.
Raising the hammer high, Zhen brought it down with all his strength. The ringing sound was crisp, resonant, and lingering, echoing through the hall like a clear bell. The blue-haired man stared, shocked.
Perfect posture, precise heating, powerful strike... what a forging technique, he thought.
"Sir, are you satisfied?" Zhen asked.
The man nodded slowly, his gaze steady as if weighing Zhen's worth. "Yes, that's right. And my name is not just some casual 'sir' — it's Ling Hao," he said with a touch of pride. "I am a Rank 63 Holy Spirit, a master who has walked the path for decades, and my bond is none other than the mighty Wind Dragon, a creature of grace and tempestuous power."
Zhen's eyes widened. "A dragon bond with a wind attribute?"
Ling Hao chuckled, a deep, warm sound that seemed almost out of place amidst the ringing of the forge. "Weird, right? Most people expect a beast Bond Masters to be out on the battlefield, displaying grand techniques and overwhelming power, not standing here in front of an anvil. They imagine someone like me breathing fire or commanding storms, not hammering away at molten steel. But the truth is, my bond skills are actually quite weak, simply because I chose not to devote myself to endless cultivation drills. I've poured my heart and soul into the forge instead. The smell of hot iron, the rhythm of the hammer, the birth of a new blade in my hands—those are what I live for, more than showing off any flashy bond powers."
Zhen understood now, the pieces of Ling Hao's story clicking into place, but instead of discouraging him, it made his determination blaze hotter. He could almost hear his teacher's calm voice in his head, urging him forward. If Teacher told me to come here, maybe she believes I can do both—no, not maybe, she does believe. His fists clenched as he straightened his back, eyes shining. And more importantly, I believe I can do both. I will master my bond power and the forge, and nothing will shake that resolve.
"Sir, my bond is also a dragon, but with a pure dark attribute. I still want to learn blacksmithing — and I will do both my bond cultivation and forging," Zhen declared with conviction.
Ling Hao looked at him with newfound respect, his eyes narrowing as he studied the young man before him. Pure darkness — a force of raw power and unyielding destruction — runs through this one's bond. That rare affinity alone can shape destiny, and no wonder his strike carried such overwhelming force, precision, and intent. Such potential is not often seen.
"Alright, you can start tomorrow," Ling Hao said. "But you must not neglect your bond cultivation. Got it?"
Zhen nodded eagerly and left, his heart still thrumming with excitement from Ling Hao's acceptance, but as he reached the front gate, his steps slowed and then stopped. There, blocking his path like a wall of curiosity and unspoken questions, stood Lei Wei, Shi Feng, Gu Naer, Bing Queer, and Yu Xiatao — all with crossed arms, raised brows, and eyes that glinted with suspicion, as though they had been standing there for some time waiting for him to arrive.
"What are you guys doing here?" Zhen asked.
"You promised to tell us about your secret training," Xiatao said. The others nodded in agreement.
Zhen froze in place, his mind going blank for a split second before panic set in. "Oh no... I completely forgot," he muttered under his breath, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He quickly glanced at Naer, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Naer, please..."
She crossed her arms. "Sorry, Zhen. I'm curious too."
The group advanced slowly, their footsteps deliberate and almost predatory, grinning mischievously as if they had cornered their prey. "Zheeeennnn..." they called out in a long, drawn-out, almost sing-song tone that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Later that night, beneath the dim glow of the lanterns around the running field, Long Yi stood with her arms crossed, waiting with the quiet patience of a mentor expecting her disciple. The crisp night air carried the faint rustle of leaves until a series of footsteps broke the stillness. She turned, a knowing smile forming. "Little kiddo, why are you so—" Her words faltered mid-sentence as her eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't just Zhen approaching this time; his five friends were trailing right behind him, moving together as a small but determined squad, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.