The personal realm condensed into a dot, revealing the boring reality of the count’s workshop. The splendor that Dallion had seen before was now like a candle compared to the rising sun. With all the things on his mind lately, he had completely forgotten what a wonder his world had become. It also helped that he had two Moonstones there.

“What materials can I use?” Dallion asked, heading to the spot closest to the large bellows.

“Anything you see.” The count crossed his arms. A slight change in his emotions made it clear he had noticed Dallion’s leveling, yet was polite enough not to comment on it. “Same with the tools.”

“Thank you.” Dallion cast a brief spell, summoning his triangular hammer. “But I have my own.”

“Congratulations. Seems you’re not all talk.”

It had been a while since Dallion had flexed his forging skills; it had been even longer since he had pushed them to such an extent. The start of the process was quite normal: selecting the materials he’d use—a lot of sky silver and just a bit of sun gold—heating them separately, then starting to work on the main body of the weapon.

The first few minutes, nothing special happened. Dallion’s skills were impressive for an amateur, yet still lacking compared to someone who did that for a living. The disappointment from the count slowly grew until suddenly Dallion went to the next stage.

Let’s see how this goes, he thought, extending the magic through his hand and into the hammer.

The process was a lot more difficult than it had been in his realm. The real world wasn’t as uniform and forgiving as a theoretical concept. Even after splitting into thirty instances, getting the magic threads to become the core of the hammer felt like threading a needle through a labyrinth. Once done, forging markers covered the piece of metal.

Is this normal? Dallion asked.

That’s the effect of magic, dear boy, Adzrog said. Still, it’s rather remarkable. I’ve never seen it affect the real world in such a way.

I take it most mage blacksmiths didn’t have my level of forging?

Most didn’t have your level of anything. Going above eighty on magic is expected. Going over a hundred is also not that unusual. Everything else, though. Most traits level off around fifty.

“You changed your technique.” The boredom coming from the count quickly vanished. “Very interesting method. I’ve only seen it a few times before.”

“You flatter me.” Dallion kept on working. “I’m sure a lot of skilled people have passed through here.”

“That’s true.” Count Pilih nodded. “Some still are. Are you using magic?” he asked all of a sudden.

“Does it show?”

“You really are interesting. I’m glad I wasn’t mistaken. The way you started, I thought you were nothing special, but this…” The noble nodded a few times in recognition. “You still lack a bit of polish, but few value the form of the craft nowadays. What sort of weapon are you making?”

“Something that I think you’d appreciate.”

Magic threads entered the chunk of metal at every strike. The material bent like soft clay, obtaining the form it was supposed to. However, instead of spreading the length of the weapon, Dallion clustered it into groups.

There was no need to wait for the blade to cool down. Thanks to the magic and his awakened skills, it folded into a perfect shape in the course of the shaping. In twenty minutes, the weapon was fit to be placed in a museum.

“Exceptional,” the count whispered.

“Not yet.” Dallion smiled, then swung the blade above the anvil. Only the tang followed the motion, tightly held in Dallion’s hand. The rest broke up into wedge-like pieces that fell towards the ground. Before they could reach it, though, Dallion cast a quick spell to keep them levitating in the air.

“A whip blade.” The count shook his head, amused. “It’s the first time I’ve seen it made in that fashion.”

“Everything is one whole,” Dallion said, starting to work on the sun gold. “When combined, it’ll be completely seamless, unless you need it not to be.”

“Not bad. It would have been better to change the materials. Sun gold would be more suited for a weapon of this nature. That way, the awakened could also modify their shape if needed.”

You really expect a lot, don’t you?

There was no right or wrong in this situation. Dallion viewed the scene from the eyes of someone who had just learned to magic forge a moment ago. Count Pilih, on the other hand, assumed Dallion had the skill ever since he’d joined the Academy.

“Simplicity displays the skill,” Dallion said. “I didn’t want to mask my lack of experience with fanciness.”

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, appreciation emanated from the noble. With a flick of his hand, he ordered the servant in the workroom out.

“I’ll miss the daggers, but they’ve found a nice replacement. Now,” he rubbed his hands. “Show me your other weapons again.”

The battle won, Dallion summoned his entire arsenal, with the exception of the Nox dagger. The hammer, of course, he kept—since he had found approval he had one other weapon to create.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Once the long thread of gold was done up to specifications, Dallion used his magic to thread it between the elements of the whip blade, finally completing the weapon. After that, it was only a simple matter to quickly create a suitable hilt—using his newly found carving skills.

Your FORGING skills have increased to 64.

Your CARVING skills have increased to 2.

The purple rectangles flickered briefly before vanishing from reality.

“Can I use some more sky silver for my own weapon?” Dallion asked. “House Elazni will cover the expenses.”

“Sure, sure.” The count waved his hand, unable to move his attention away from Dallion’s harpsisword. “March, hand me the bladebow, will you?”

“Maybe later,” the woman said, crossing the space of the room up to Dallion.

Even in the imperial capital, family issues were a thing. Actually, this probably was the place where family relations were a minefield waiting to happen. With all the plots and hierarchies, one could never be sure if someone was about to ask for a favor, grant one, or was merely waiting for the right moment to stick a dagger in someone’s back.

“You didn’t have to give him that,” she whispered, discreetly handing Dallion a ring. One didn’t have to be a genius to realize it was a blocking item.

“Surely he’ll notice,” Dallion whispered back as he slid the ring on.

“I doubt he’ll notice if you set the place on fire,” March said. “Besides, the area guardian of this place isn’t his. It belongs to the emperor. The great artisan count doesn’t talk about it a lot, but he doesn’t own this. The emperor lets him have it out of mercy and history precedent.”

Harsh, Dallion thought.

“I didn’t just pop out from the blue,” March continued.

“I guessed as much,” Dallion lied. “Trouble in Nerosal?”

“Not just there. The emperor kicked a hornet’s nest and now lots of things are crawling out of the woodwork.”

The combination of metaphors wasn’t something Dallion would have conceived, but he understood exactly what she meant.

“You’ve already seen how impossible it is to give a shit about anything beyond the capital walls. It’s just been one day and you’re already thinking of yourself as part of this.”

“A very out-of-place part,” Dallion said as he went to fetch several more ingots of sky silver. “Still, there might be a way for me to get out of here soon. And who knows, the emperor might allow me to develop my own domain outside.”

March didn’t say a word. Instead, she looked at him, concern and pity emanating from her like a ringing bell.

“That’s how it starts. The allure of the capital. I was the same, I know. When I joined the legions, I literally thought it would be a walk in the wilderness. My greatest concern was what boots and cloak to find so as not to get too much mud on them. There’s no actual talk about anything that happens out there. The monsters that roam the wilderness are seen as firetails that weak country nobles couldn’t handle. Do you know that many consider the title archduke to be the same as a banished noble?”

That sounded a bit extreme.

“Not me,” Dallion replied.

“For now. Even now you’re starting to think that this isn’t such a bad place, aren’t you? And that’s only after a day? Imagine what you would be like in a few weeks or months.”

It takes power to destroy power. “I’ll hardly change that much. I’m a level eighty now, not one of those fake nobles who leech off everyone else.”

March shook her head.

“You think you have a chance at playing the game?” She looked over her shoulder at the count. “You have the skills and you have the renown, so why not? The truth is that no one has a chance. Those that know that are better off than anyone else.”

Just as discreetly as before, she pulled the blocker ring off Dallion’s finger. Not wanting to continue the conversation, Dallion let her do it.

“You should visit more often,” March said, heading towards the door. “I’m sure my father would enjoy seeing your weapons a few more times. You might even get a chance to claim another prize from his room.”

“March, wait,” Dallion said all of a sudden, causing even the count to look away from the weapon he was holding. “I’d like to have a word with you about Nerosal. By your will, of course, Count Pilih,” he quickly added.

“Of course, of course. Take your time, just be sure to come back and finish what you’re forging. I’m eager to follow the process, only this time I’ll be pointing out your mistakes.”

“It will be my honor,” Dallion said in the politest tone possible as he followed March outside of the room.

Making their way past the few unfortunate guards and servants merely brought to increase the count’s illusion of importance, the pair went to the street outside. This time, Dallion put his own blocker ring on. Just in case, he also briefly checked his personal realm to make sure everything was in order there.

“Eager to convince me I have you wrong?” March asked. “You almost remind me of the boy that Jiroh brought to the guild. He knew nothing of awakening or how the world worked, but was ever so eager to defeat me in a training match.”

“Yeah, I was like that.” All emotions within Dallion vanished, as he used his music skills to subdue them. “Who are you?”

March looked at her, head slightly tilted.

“You’re not March,” Dallion added. “And you’re not using magic. That leaves only one thing, doesn’t it?”

For the briefest of moments, the woman’s face rippled as if it were made of water. The skin’s texture turned transparent, revealing its nature of a slime, or as the race was better known—a copyette.

“What gave it away?” the creature asked, resuming the appearance of March.

“You were too pushy.” In retrospect, she was also careful to remain far from Dallion’s bladebow, and especially the kaleidervisto that was part of it.

“Oh, well.” The copyette didn’t seem at all upset. “There always was a danger that you’d find out.”

Two copyettes in a month? Back in Nerosal, there was doubt that even one could escape. Now they were popping up everywhere, and not only that. This was the second time a copyette had assisted Dallion.

“Arthurows was right,” Dallion said, fingers at the ready, be it for a spell or a spark infused point punch. “You really are among us.”

“Leave it to a Star to know how the world works. Of course, he was aware. He was terrified by us, but not in the way you think. Our goal was never to take over the world. Rather, we couldn’t if we tried. We were summoned here to serve a higher power.”

Despite all his effort, Dallion felt a chill down his spine.

“And what that might that be?” He prepared himself mentally.

“Why, the archbishop, of course. Copyettes in the real world serve the Order of the Seven Moons.”