Chapter 169: Extra Weapon!

The thunder of the HeartForge faded behind them as Branthor led the group down a narrow passage carved from obsidian and basalt. The sound of molten rivers dimmed, replaced by the low hum of something older, the pulse of sleeping embers, whispering beneath the stone.

The deeper they went, the darker it became. The crimson light of the forge receded, and only the dim runes along the walls remained, glowing faintly like dying stars. Each step echoed with a metallic ring, and their breaths formed visible wisps in the cooling air.

The heat that had once scorched their skin now gave way to a deep, bone-heavy stillness.

Zeus broke the silence first, his voice oddly muted in the enclosed space, “Where are we going now? I thought we saw everything.”

Branthor didn’t glance back. “Almost everything,” he rumbled, “There is one final chamber you should see,”

Elara frowned, curiosity outweighing fatigue, “You mean… there’s something else beyond the HeartForge itself?”

Branthor’s molten eyes dimmed to an ember glow, “Aye. The HeartForge gives birth to weapons, but this place,” his voice grew quieter, almost reverent, “is where they come to die.”

They reached the end of the passage. The walls widened into a vast chamber sealed by a simple gate of black steel, veined with cracks that pulsed faintly like cooling magma.

Branthor pressed his hand to the center, and the gate answered with a heavy, grinding sigh as the doors split apart.

With the door opening, cold air immediately spilled out, and a dry, stale scent immediately filled the noses of all the students as they looked into the chamber beyond, which was absolutely nothing like the brilliance of the HeartForge they’d seen before.

It was vast and quiet, lit only by the faint shimmer of runes etched into the floor. The air smelled faintly of iron and ash.

Thousands of weapons lay scattered across the room, swords, axes, staves, gauntlets, bows, piled upon one another like the bones of dead beasts.

Some of the weapons gleamed faintly, others were broken and blackened, their edges dulled, their cores cracked and hollow.

The silence here was almost sacred as the students looked onwards, waiting for Branthor to explain what they were looking at.

Miranda’s breath caught. “This is…”

“The Scrapped Armory,” Branthor said solemnly, looking around as he continued speaking,

“Every weapon here was meant to live, to awaken, but for one reason or another never did. Some were abandoned by the forgers before full completion since they didn’t think the weapons won’t be good, some were simply…rejected by the flame,”

He stepped forward, his massive frame moving with surprising gentleness as he brushed a gauntlet’s surface with one hand, “Even failure deserves remembrance. While these weapons aren’t good enough to be used in the battle of the Abyss, we don’t have any need to destroy them,”

The students fanned out slowly, drawn to the strange stillness of the place. Their footsteps rang hollow against the rune-carved floor.

Lira knelt beside a shattered halberd, running her hand along the etched shaft. “It still feels… alive. Like something’s trapped inside it.”

Branthor nodded, “Remember that these weapons were abandoned during forging. Some of them still maintain fragments of will as even in failure, remnants will always remain. But these fragments are harmless now, only echoes of what could’ve been.”

Zeus was already sifting through a pile of broken blades, his curiosity piqued. “You said we could look around?”

Branthor’s molten eyes glimmered with faint amusement, “For. Take what you wish. If a piece calls to you, heed it. These weapons no longer belong to anyone, perhaps a few of them might still find meaning in your hands,”

That was all the encouragement Zeus needed. He began inspecting a greatsword’s hilt, grunting as he lifted it from the pile, “This thing’s heavier than a mountain.”

Branthor chuckled, “Then perhaps it’s not meant for you, boy. Find something else,” The Infernus Smith chuckled as Zeus dropped the weapon and continued looking around.

Lira wandered deeper into the room, her crimson eyes darting from relic to relic. Miranda lingered near the entrance, gazing across the expanse with quiet reverence, her fingers brushing the air as though tracing invisible constellations.

Ysvara watched her students silently, arms folded.

Albedo, however, didn’t move at first. His gaze swept across the countless remains, glowing purple as he used Source Code to find any weapon that may match his style.

The room thrummed faintly beneath his feet, as he began to walk, noticing that many of the other students had already begun to test various weapons.

Elara had found a pair of crystalline daggers that dissolved into dust when she lifted them, Zeus nearly dropped a spear that erupted in sparks, and Lira, after some debate, tucked a claw-shaped pendant into her belt.

However, Albedo drifted toward the far end of the hall, where the faint shimmer of runes barely touched the ground. This was the location where his Source Code had led him to.

All he found there was a simple pedestal, that was half buried under dust and the broken shards of various other weapons that were too broken to be used.

Upon it lay a pair of small, curved blades, throwing knives.

They were unlike the others, made not of forged metal, but of something darker. Their surface gleamed like black glass, faintly translucent, etched with the faint pattern of mirrored sigils that spiraled toward their hilts.

Each knife seemed to bend light ever so slightly, warping reflections across its edge.

Branthor noticed where Albedo stood and frowned thoughtfully, “Ah. Those.”

He stepped closer, his heavy footsteps echoing, “An apprentice tried to forge those near a hundred years ago. They were meant to house twin spirits, two halves of one will. But the ritual failed, and the blades refused to awaken.”

Albedo tilted his head. “Why?”

“Their maker sought perfection,” Branthor said simply. “But perfection rejects imperfection, and in doing so, she left no room for life. The flame needs intent, not control. These blades never learned how to breathe and their Spirits died before full formation,”

Albedo reached out, his fingers brushing the hilt of one blade. The surface was cool, almost too cool, a strange contrast to the molten air he’d grown accustomed to.

The faint hum within the knives resonated with his touch. The runes along their edges shimmered faintly, like dying embers flickering to life.

Branthor’s brows lifted slightly, “Looks like it suits you, you can take it, no-one’s gonna miss it after all,” The Smith said, turning and looking towards other students, guiding them to choose weapons that suited them.

Albedo didn’t reply to Branthor’s words, he turned the blades over, feeling the balance, the sleek curvature. Then, without really thinking, he let a thread of mana flow into them.

The reaction was immediate. The runes across their surface blazed faintly, lines of black light racing up and down the blades like flowing ink. The air rippled.

For a brief moment, a dozen afterimages shimmered in the air around them, perfect copies suspended in place, ghostlike and sharp.

Then, as quickly as it began, the glow faded, and the blades returned to stillness, though now, Albedo could sense the faint hum of acknowledgment within them.

The Forgemaster’s rumbling laugh broke the silence, “Well now. Seems the flame didn’t reject you after all. Those knives were meant to multiply, mirror themselves when infused with power. A clever trick, but unstable.”

Albedo glanced down at the blades again, “So they duplicate?”

“Aye,” Branthor said, “When mana flows through them, each knife can split into mirrors of itself, dozens, if the wielder’s will is sharp enough to hold them together. A weapon for those who fight with precision and calculation, not brute strength.”

Zeus grinned from the other side of the chamber. “So basically, they were made for you, huh?”

Albedo ignored him, tucking the knives into his belt. The faint hum of their runes still brushed against his consciousness, like two faint heartbeats learning to breathe for the first time.

Branthor gave a slow nod of approval. “Take them, boy. Perhaps what their maker couldn’t awaken, you might.”

As the others finished choosing their keepsakes, Lira a talisman, Miranda a sliver of molten crystal that hummed like a star, Branthor turned toward the exit.

“That concludes your tour of the HeartForge. Remember what you’ve seen here. The flame shapes all things, but only those who understand its purpose can shape it in return.”

They followed him out, leaving the silent chamber behind. Yet as Albedo cast one last glance over his shoulder, the piles of failed weapons seemed to shimmer faintly, like countless sleeping eyes watching them leave.

And deep within his belt, the two black-glass knives pulsed once, faintly, rhythmically, alive.

~Thoom!~

The Scrapped Armory fell silent again, as the group left, Branthor leading them out.

“With the tour over, you all can go around The HeartForge however you want, and pick up whatever techniques you can,”

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