The forge blazed hotter than ever before, flames roaring as if alive, fed by both coal and the raw magical essence of the rare materials. Eryan stood shirtless, muscles taut and drenched in sweat, each strike of his hammer ringing like thunder across the village square.
The villagers had gathered, drawn by the sight of something beyond mortal craft. Sparks illuminated their faces as they whispered of miracles and madness. Selene remained closest, her hands steadying tools, her eyes fixed on Eryan with both worry and awe.
The star-metal glowed with an ethereal silver light, while the Heartstone Crystals pulsed with deep violet energy. When Eryan hammered them together, the forge itself seemed to tremble, as though the world resisted such a creation.
The cursed black blade, resting against the anvil, pulsed in resonance, whispering: Yes… forge it… stronger… sharper… feed me…
Eryan ignored it, focusing instead on the rhythm of his strikes. Each swing of the hammer drew sparks that danced like falling stars. Slowly, the weapon began to take shape—not just a blade, but a masterpiece.
Selene leaned closer, brushing sweat from his brow. "You're doing it… Eryan, it's… incredible."
He grunted, sweat dripping into his eyes. "This is only the beginning."
Hours turned into days. The weapon consumed his every thought. The village provided food and water, but Eryan hardly noticed, caught in a trance of creation. Each night, Selene dragged him from the forge to rest, her small hands pulling against his calloused ones, whispering that he needed strength for the final stages.
Finally, under the light of a blood-red dawn, the Rare Weapon was born. A blade unlike any other: forged from silver star-metal veins, reinforced with glowing violet Heartstone shards, and tempered by fire, sweat, and blood. Its edge shimmered with magical energy, its hilt warm to the touch, as though alive.
The cursed black blade throbbed with jealousy beside it, its whispers turning into growls. Abandon it. Use me. I am your power.
But Eryan lifted the new weapon, holding it aloft. The villagers gasped as the blade reflected the morning sun, radiating brilliance. For the first time since his transmigration, he felt truly like a Blacksmith—and a warrior.
"This," Eryan declared, voice firm, "is the weapon that will change everything."
The announcement of the Rare Weapon's forging spread quickly. Not long after, a representative of Kael's guild arrived—not with an army, but with a single warrior, armored in black steel.
He stepped into the village square, voice booming. "By order of Lord Kael, I challenge the Blacksmith Eryan to a duel of honor. No armies, no tricks. One against one. Winner determines the fate of this land."
Gasps rippled through the villagers. Selene grabbed Eryan's arm, worry in her eyes. "You don't have to accept. It could be a trap."
Eryan looked at her, then at the crowd, then at the Rare Weapon in his hand. His jaw tightened. "If I refuse, they'll see weakness. If I win, I show Kael that I will not be broken."
He stepped forward, voice firm. "I accept."
The duel was set at sunset, in the open field beyond the village. The villagers gathered at the edges, nervous but hopeful. Selene stood near the front, hands clasped tightly, eyes locked on Eryan.
His opponent, a towering warrior named Dargan, carried a greatsword etched with Kael's sigil. His presence radiated intimidation, his aura a reminder of countless battles fought and won.
"You're just a blacksmith," Dargan sneered. "But today, you'll learn why warriors are above smiths."
Eryan raised the Rare Weapon, its blade glowing faintly in the fading sunlight. "And today, you'll learn why a true smith can surpass any warrior."
The duel began.
Dargan charged first, his greatsword cleaving the air with terrifying force. The ground cracked under each strike, dust and rock exploding outward.
Eryan moved with precision, his new blade singing with each parry. The Rare Weapon felt alive in his hands, guiding his strikes, cutting through steel like parchment. Sparks flew as their blades collided, the sound echoing like thunderclaps across the field.
The villagers watched in awe. This was no ordinary fight—it was artistry, a clash of willpower and destiny.
Selene's heart pounded in her chest as she whispered, "Come on, Eryan… don't lose yourself."
Minutes turned into an eternity. Dargan fought with relentless fury, but Eryan's determination and the Rare Weapon's resonance turned the tide. With a final, precise strike, Eryan disarmed Dargan, sending his greatsword flying into the dirt.
The Rare Weapon's blade hovered at Dargan's throat. The field fell silent.
Dargan's chest heaved, eyes wide with disbelief. Slowly, he dropped to one knee. "I yield… Blacksmith. You are no mere smith. You are a warrior… and more."
The villagers erupted in cheers, relief washing over them.
Dargan looked up, shame and sincerity in his gaze. "Forgive me. I misjudged you. And I… I apologize, Eryan. I see now the strength in your craft, and in you."
Eryan lowered the blade, nodding firmly. "Your apology is accepted. But tell Kael this—next time, I won't just fight his men. I'll face him directly."
Dargan bowed his head in respect, before
The field was still alive with the echoes of cheering. Villagers swarmed around Eryan, patting his shoulders, praising him as both smith and warrior. Children laughed, men clasped his hand, and women brought food and water to honor him. For the first time, their fear of Kael seemed to vanish, replaced with pride and hope.
Selene stayed close, eyes shining. "You've done it, Eryan. You've given them something to believe in again."
Eryan sheathed the Rare Weapon, its violet glow fading. Yet, in the back of his mind, he felt a whisper—not from the people, not from himself, but from the blade.
More…
His hand twitched, tightening around the hilt. It was faint, subtle, but undeniable. He quickly released it, hiding the unease behind a practiced smile. "Hope is a blade sharper than steel, Selene. But hope also paints a target."
Kael Receives the News
Far from the village, in a fortress carved from black stone, Kael reclined in his throne room. The walls were adorned with banners of his conquests, the floor stained by the boots of kneeling men.
A messenger knelt before him, trembling. "My lord… Dargan has returned. He… he lost."
Kael's eyes narrowed, crimson and cold. "Lost? To a smith?"
Dargan himself staggered forward, bruised but alive. He fell to one knee. "It was no ordinary smith, my lord. His weapon—it defies logic. Star-metal, Heartstone… he has forged something beyond the reach of most."
Silence filled the hall. Then Kael rose, his cloak unfurling like wings of shadow. His voice dripped with venom. "So the little blacksmith thinks himself a hero. A creator of legends." He stepped down, towering over Dargan. "And you—kneeling here in shame."
"My lord…" Dargan's voice cracked. "I saw his eyes. He is not weak. And I believe… if left unchecked, he may one day rival you."
Kael's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Then he will not be left unchecked."
Whispers of Darkness
Back in the village, Eryan placed the Rare Weapon beside the cursed black blade within his forge. The two swords pulsed faintly, as though aware of one another.
The cursed blade whispered, oily and seductive: He fears you now. He watches. Do not trust the light, Eryan. Trust me. Together, we could shatter Kael, not merely defy him.
Eryan clenched his fists. "I forged the Rare Weapon to protect, not to destroy."
Protect? The blade chuckled. All protection requires destruction. Don't you see? You swing me once, and Kael himself will bleed. You swing me twice, and his fortress falls. With me, you won't need her. You won't need anyone.
His jaw tightened. For the first time, he looked away from the weapon. Selene's voice cut through the haze.
"Eryan?" She had entered quietly, carrying a basin of water. She studied him with concern. "You're pale. Are you… hearing it again?"
He exhaled, shoulders heavy. "It never stops. It feeds on every strike, every victory. And now, with the Rare Weapon beside it, it's louder than ever."
Selene set the basin down, touching his arm gently. "Then promise me this. No matter how strong the temptation, don't let it own you. Don't let it take you from us."
For a moment, her eyes—warm and determined—burned brighter than any forge. He nodded slowly. "I promise."
Kael's Shadow Approaches
That night, while the villagers slept, shadows moved through the outskirts. Kael's spies—cloaked assassins—crept toward the forge. Their orders were clear: test the weapon, kill the smith if possible, and report back to Kael.
But the forge was no ordinary place. The cursed blade throbbed, as though sensing prey. Its whispers turned into a hungry growl. They come for you. Take me. Feed me. Slaughter them.
Eryan woke before the first footstep reached his door. Instinct—or perhaps the cursed blade's influence—pulled him from his bed. The assassins slipped inside, daggers gleaming.
What followed was no duel of honor, but a massacre of shadows. Eryan fought with the Rare Weapon, its violet light searing through darkness. But every swing, every cut, echoed with the cursed blade's laughter.
When the last assassin fell, choking on his own blood, Eryan stood trembling, breath ragged. His hands shook—not from fear, but from the intoxicating surge of power coursing through him.
Selene rushed in, gasping at the scene. "Eryan…"
He looked at her, eyes shadowed, lips tight. Then he dropped the blade, its glow dimming. "It wasn't me," he muttered. "It was… them."
Selene clutched his hand tightly, refusing to let go. "No. It was you. And you stopped before the blade consumed you. Remember that."
Cliffhanger
Dawn broke, but the village no longer felt safe. The assassins were proof that Kael would not stop. He had tested Eryan once with a duel of honor, and again with shadows.
From his fortress, Kael stood at the balcony, overlooking his army. "The time has come. I will move personally. Let the smith feel the weight of true power."
And deep within the forge, the cursed black blade pulsed violently, as though rejoicing.
He comes, Eryan. And when he does… only I can give you victory.