The forge roared again.
The air itself seemed alive — heat and ash swirling through the chamber like a storm caught in a bottle. The flames burned white at their core, devouring every shadow in the room. Outside, night blanketed Korvan Village, but here, the light of creation blazed brighter than dawn.
Hunnt stood before the anvil, his hair tied back, soot streaking his face. His eyes glowed faintly in the firelight — focused, unwavering, patient.
Before him lay the rarest of materials gathered from across the land, each one pulsing faintly with its own living energy:
Heart of the Veil. Still warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like a trapped heartbeat.
Obsidian Carapace. The unbreakable armor of an ancient guardian.
Crimson Scale Core. The crystallized essence of a dragon's fury.
Furnace Shard. A fragment of living magma, forever burning.
Ashen Thorn. Hardened vine that had grown near volcano mouths, black and sharp enough to cut air itself.
Hunnt studied them one by one, his mind already shaping them in silence.
This was no ordinary forge. And this weapon would not be for any ordinary man.
He could already see it — a blade worthy of Alder, the greatsword hunter whose strikes could shatter stone but whose heart had always burned for the defense of others.
"This one's yours," Hunnt murmured under his breath.
"Obsidian and flame — endurance and rage, forged into one."
He reached for his hammer. The metal was black and worn, but every scar on it was a memory — every mark, a story. The moment he gripped it, Armament Haki rippled through his arms, crawling up like veins of living shadow. The temperature in the room surged.
CLANG.
The first strike fell.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Each blow rang out like thunder through the forge. The molten metals fought against his will — hissing, sparking, resisting — but Hunnt's hammer moved with precision. The blacksmith's rhythm was the same as the warrior's heartbeat: steady, patient, relentless.
The materials began to fuse. Red light bled through the cracks in the dark alloy. Sparks became streams of molten energy, wrapping around the hammer as if drawn to its will. Hunnt's Haki guided every strike, shaping the metal not by heat alone, but through spirit.
Time vanished.
There was no morning, no night — only the pulse of fire and the ring of steel.
When he finally stopped, the weapon's outline emerged from the glow — a greatsword of massive size and elegant balance, black as cooled lava with veins of molten crimson running along its blade.
The hilt shimmered faintly with a deep metallic red, and built into the side was something new — a red throttle, small but deliberate. It wasn't decorative. It was a mechanism.
A system designed to channel raw heat and pressure through the blade's heart, amplifying each swing.
A fusion of engineering and instinct — Alder's power made manifest in steel.
Hunnt tested it briefly. The throttle clicked once, and the weapon thrummed — a pulse of red light coursing through the veins of the blade, making the entire weapon vibrate with life.
He whispered its name, the words carried by the breath of the forge:
"Obsidian Dragonheart."
It was not just a title. It was truth.
The weapon pulsed faintly like a living creature, each glow matching the rhythm of his own heart.
Hunnt rested the sword gently on the rack, stepping back to admire his work. The weapon was too large for any ordinary hunter — too heavy, too intense — yet he knew Alder would wield it as though it were an extension of his own arm.
"Strength and control," Hunnt murmured. "Fury with a purpose. This one's for you, old friend."
---
He turned toward the next table, where the remaining materials waited.
The next creation wasn't a weapon — it was armor.
Alder's armor needed to be more than strong. It needed to endure — to bear his strikes, his stubbornness, his unrelenting drive to protect.
Hunnt began with a foundation of Obsidian Carapace, reforged in molten oil until its color deepened to pitch-black. He layered it with the threads of Ashen Thorn, weaving them through the joints for flexibility. From the Crimson Scale Core, he drew a coating that shimmered faintly red under light, giving the armor its breath of life.
When the pieces came together, Hunnt took a step back and exhaled softly.
The armor glowed faintly in the dark. Heavy but balanced. Brutal yet refined.
He whispered its name — the only name that fit:
"Obsidian Sentinel."
Each plate looked carved from volcanic stone, layered and ridged like dragonhide. Along the edges, faint heat shimmered, giving it the illusion of movement, as if the armor itself was still alive.
Hunnt lifted the right shoulder plate and pressed the Eternal Mark into it — a triangle surrounding a clenched fist. The sigil burned white-hot before cooling into black steel. It looked like an ordinary emblem, something a blacksmith might leave as a maker's brand.
But to those who walked the Path, it was far more.
It was a vow.
---
The flames died down at last, and the forge grew quiet.
Hunnt stood amid the dim light of dying embers, his shadow stretching across the floor.
The greatsword and armor stood side by side — towering, powerful, silent.
Even unfinished, they radiated strength.
Hunnt ran his fingers lightly across the sword's hilt.
"Not yet," he said quietly. "Not until the others are ready."
He turned toward the shelves, where Kael's Wyrmflare Tempest and Ashwing Vanguard already waited. Now beside them stood Alder's Obsidian Dragonheart and Obsidian Sentinel — the second set of armaments for the new generation of Drifters.
Each weapon represented more than craftsmanship.
They were symbols of unity, of purpose, of the bond the Eternal Wanderers carried.
Hunnt sat on the bench beside the forge, his breath slow and heavy. The light from the coals reflected faintly off his gauntlets, revealing the faint lines of Armament Haki still etched across his hands.
He glanced at the remaining crates of unrefined materials — scales, ores, and shards that would one day become new armor, new hope.
"Two down," he muttered. "Two to go."
The flames flickered again as if in response. The forge never truly slept. It waited — as did the weapons — for the hands that would soon wield them.
Hunnt leaned back against the wall, eyes closing for just a moment. The faint hum of steel filled the room, low and steady like a heartbeat.
Tomorrow, he would begin the next.
Tomorrow, he would call the fire once more.
For now, the Obsidian Dragonheart and Obsidian Sentinel rested — sleeping giants forged in silence.
Waiting for the day they would wake.