The sound of carts filled the air. With the leveling up of Nerosal, the area of the domain had grown, which meant there were all those new empty areas to be filled up. The initial additions were easy: the countess had taken the opportunity to construct the forts of her army in the available locations. A few more were in the process of being turned into residential and workshop areas. More people meant a greater need for weapons. It also meant a greater need for food fields. Without a doubt, after the chaos of the failed festival—and near annihilation—the city was in for a prosperous decade or two. However, now everyone was pleased.

As the usable area increased, areas that were previously considered to be in the gray zone had shifted as well. Gray Harbor, for one, had become an official part of the city and that had brought to some changes, especially for the mirror pool. The ultimatum was clear: tone things down, move elsewhere, or be destroyed. The countess had made it very clear, and considering her increased strength, the leaders of the mirror pool had no choice but to comply. That meant that establishments like at the harbor would see a sudden change in clientele and a lot of the old practices would cease, at least for the time being.

“Damned noise,” Alabaster grumbled. “Still can’t get used to it.”

Given that he was the forge-master in one of the busiest workshop districts in Nerosal, that was a weird statement. The man was set in his ways and every slight change to the routine was seen as a bother.

“It’ll be over in a few months,” Dallion said as he hammered on the blade he was making.

While in Nerosal, he had been spending a lot of time at the man’s forge. Alabaster wasn’t an awakened—far from it, he was as common as they came. Broad, even slightly fat, he had been working as a blacksmith for over thirty years. That was the entire reason that Eury had sent Dallion to him. After covering the basics with him, the gorgon had insisted that he learn the craft from the person who had taught her. The catch was never to use his forging skills unless Alabaster allowed it. That still gave Dallion a huge advantage—having the speed, sight, and reflexes of a mid-level awakened, he could do in hours what it took others weeks. However, there was a thing about experience that even stats couldn’t beat.

“Yeah, yeah. I keep hearing that.” The man grumbled. “You’re hurrying too much. Forging isn’t about getting it done. It’s about getting it done right.”

“It’s close to perfect,” Dallion protested. “Look.”

“Nice try, kid.” Alabaster smirked. “You’re just like that girl. Always trying to pull a fast one. The point isn’t to convince me, it’s convincing the metal. I’m not an awakened and even I can tell by your actions that you’re trying to get this done with. Working metal isn’t to release stress, it’s a craft like anything else. With my eyes I could never see the flaws, but you know that they are there even if you try to cover it up. Start over.”

Dallion didn’t protest. He knew the old man to be right. The discoveries of the past week had made him question a lot. In the end, though, that was life. Every week brought new things he’d never considered before. When Dallion had joined the hunter party, he was clueless regarding the wilderness. Now, he had learned a few things, though not much by any extent of the imagination.

Without protest Dallion tossed the nearly complete blade in the scrap pile, then went to the ingo section of the forge for new materials. As he did, several of Alabaster’s apprentices—along with their tools—let out the standard joking remarks. After all this time, they had started viewing him as one of them, rather than the “hero of Nerosal.” For that, Dallion was grateful.

The selection of ingots was impressive: hundreds of ingots of the main seven metals in different combinations. Even gold and silver were readily available, since this was one of the main forges that produced weapons for the non-awakened, and even those awakened that couldn’t afford their own special weapon yet. One thing was missing, however—there were no special weapons.

“When will you let me bring my own metal?” Dallion asked openly.

All the jokes and laughter suddenly stopped.

“This again?” Alabaster sighed. “It’ll do you no good. Even with your skills, you can’t make a special sword using those tools. Well, with luck maybe you’ll make a nice alloy, but the changes would be so insignificant it would be wasting material.”

“In that case, I want to make the tools.” I only have a few weeks, Dallion thought. In that time, or in a month at most, the hunting party would be off again. Back when he was a sheltered awakened, the time seemed a lot. How could it be otherwise, since every second could be stretched to infinity? In practical terms, though, a month wasn’t a lot at all.

“Would you look at that?” the old smith crossed his arms. “You’ve been here four months and you think you can dish out advice?”

“I’ll sing for you,” Dallion said. “A few hours every day when I’m in Nerosal.”

All work stopped. There wasn’t a person in the city who didn’t know the effects awakened music had. That was why Performer’s Plaza was such a frequented place. A few had even heard Dallion perform in the Gremlin’s Timepiece, back when he used to work at the inn for a living. Everyone was fully aware that there was no way that the master smith would agree, yet they were secretly hoping he would.

“And play the mandolin,” Dallion added.

“Ringchord,” Alabaster corrected.

“Eh?” Dallion turned around. That wasn’t a response he was expecting.

“You’ll play a ringchord a few hours every day while you’re here until I say it’s enough.”

The offer was too good to be true.

“Deal,” Dallion said. “It’ll take me a while to get used to it, but I’ll practice here.”

“Good enough. Come along.”

The man took Dallion outside, then circled the massive building of the forge until they reached another section of it. It was something that Dallion had seen before, though only from the outside. Ever since he’d known it, the place had been barred shut. From what some of the older smith’s said, that used to be the initial forge built generations ago. It had belonged to Alabaster’s grandfather, but with time and new forging technologies hadn’t seen use in generations. Even so, it remained to remind every generation of great smiths where they had come from.

“Ready?” Alabaster asked, then opened the door.

No lock? Dallion wondered.

None needed, a deep voice said with the intonation of a British butler. I take care of that.

Combining his music and forging skills, Dallion looked at the lock. To the untrained eye, it looked like any normal lock. In truth it was an extremely complex mechanism, created by an awakened no doubt. While the keyhole was fake, the gears and levers inside weren’t. The balance was perfect, ensuring that the slightest shift of rose in one peg would cause the bolt to slide to lock or open the door.

Awakened base technology, Dallion thought. Outside of weapons, this was the first time he had seen something of the sort—a device constructed with awakened in mind. In a way, one could say it was similar to the nymph scrolls that were only readable by those that were allowed.

“Why are you just standing there?” Alabaster asked, confused. “You want to get working, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Thanks, he told the lock.

You are quite welcome.

The inside of the ancient forge was smaller than Dallion expected. However, he instantly noticed the differences. Everything from the floor to the bellows, the tools, and even the stove itself was made for an awakened. Even the anvil was a solid slab of glass, similar to the one he had seen in the Glass Mounts.

“I know, I know,” Alabaster said, a trace of shame and sadness in his voice. “My great-great-grandfather was an awakened. A quite good one, too. He used to make weapons for the local nobility back in the day. In fact, he was part of the nobility. However, none of his children inherited his awakened skills.”

“You’re a noble?”

“Not anymore. His children were on paper, but even that could only last so long. When there were no awakened among the third generation, my family was stripped of their name and title and made into respected artisans. It isn’t too bad.” The man crossed his arms. “Although there are times when I’d really like to know what my family name was.”

He’s had his family name erased? Dallion asked.

Why do you think they only call him Alabaster, dear boy? Nil commented. It’s time you start noticing these things. People who don’t have a last name aren’t making a statement. Their name was removed, which also prevents them from taking up a new one.

How come so many people have their names erased?

This is Nerosal, Nil said with a bittersweet sigh. But even in other cities, it’s more common than one would think. There are various reasons, but it always boils down to one thing: offending someone with the power to do something about it. I suspect being faced with the prospect of having a noble forge lack awakened heirs, the Archduke of the province preferred to erase the existence of the noble family in question.

“You’ll find it has everything needed to craft masterpieces,” Alabaster said. “Outside of myself, only three people know of the existence of this place. My kids, who will inherit the knowledge, and Eury. You’re next.”

“This is where she made her tools,” Dallion said.

“It definitely is. When I agreed to show you the ropes, I also promised that when I thought you were ready, I’d let you in on the secret. Well, I’ve broken that promise.”

Slightly confused, Dallion looked at the man.

“You aren’t ready. You’re not far off, but you’re not there yet. However, given what you’re about to do, I thought I’d cut a corner.”

“Wasn’t it bad to cut corners?”

“Give me some credit,” Alabaster grumbled. “Think of it as a transfer of pain. You could spend a few more months perfecting the small things there, or you could do the same here. Here, you’ll get used to the tools faster. It’ll be a bit harsher to you, but faster. So, from now on you can come here any time you like. Don’t worry about the door. My great-great-grandfather made it. It’ll only open to people who should be here.”

Dallion was left speechless. Each time he thought there was nothing left in the world to surprise him, something would catch him completely off guard. Close to two years ago, Dallion was fretting about not being able to choose forging skills, since he needed attack skills to survive. Now, he had access to an awakened forge, as well as the skills to form sky silver.

“So, what will you create first?”

“A hammer,” Dallion said.

In the awakened realm, that was the heart of the skill. So far, he had a total of eight hammers which he used for forging. That was a bit too much for the real world. Here, he would have to create one to do all the work. It was going to be a hammer that no one had seen before, made of hardened sky silver. It was the perfect tool that he needed to construct two other items that would help him in the wilderness.

“So cliché,” Alabaster laughed. “Alright, I’m leaving you to it. Have fun, and remember your promise. A few hours every day you’re here.”

“You got it.” Dallion slid his fingers along the anvil slab.