Monica still couldn’t believe the possibilities Dworsul had just unveiled. By incorporating the materials she’d collected from the Corrupted Molten Wasps, she could craft weapons and armor that naturally countered them—and, potentially, any other monstrosities spawned by Machina. It sounded almost too good to be true.
They had entered Thizmug's forge and Monica had been left in awe of how large and majestic it was. The blue motive that could be found everywhere in the magic metal outside was still present here, although it subsided in a more spartan way. The inside of the forge, in fact, was more practical, more sterile.
Dworsul went over to check Thizmug's instruments and nodded to himself.
"Everything is in order."
He walked up to the forge, which was covered in an endless array of Runes.
"The forge is still perfectly working," Dworsul assessed. "Thizmug has the array we need on it as well."
The famous Blacksmith drew a series of Runes that Monica couldn't comprehend—they didn't seem to be saying anything in particular. Otherwise, her Myriad Tongue Skill would have picked up on it.
Monica walked around the large dome-like forge and even popped her head inside of it, seeing a giant chamber inscribed with even more Runes than it had outside.
"Will I learn to use Runes?" Monica asked Dworsul.
The Blacksmith pondered the question for a moment.
"Perhaps, Avatar," he replied sincerely, without the usual snark. "Runes are a complicated business. I will impart the basics of it to you and, perhaps, leave you some knowledge on how to progress on your own if you manage to save the Great Forge."
"Fair," Monica said. "So, what now?"
Dworsul went to an adjacent room and gestured for Monica to follow.
They emerged into a storage room that dwarfed any she had seen before. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, loaded with crates, barrels, and huge burlap sacks. Much of the supply was high-quality iron ore—Monica could tell at once that its Mana signature was denser and more vibrant than anything she had worked with in the marketplace. Even lumps of simple-looking iron thrummed with Mana.
She tracked Dworsul’s movements with Mana Sense, noticing how he deliberately avoided certain crates and rummaged among others, occasionally glancing at the arrangement of supplies.
"Every Blacksmith orders ore from Miners. The marketplace is meant as a lower-end service for the novices. All real orders go through the Blacksmith and their clients. Back then, you had to wait for the Blacksmith to come out to the first floor, where they'd have their official residence. But see, that was a bit of a problem because most Blacksmiths prefer sleeping in the forge if they're working on some big project."
Monica lingered in the doorway, studying the dwarf’s spartan sleeping area. Despite its modest size, there was a kind of rugged dignity in the room’s simplicity. She could easily imagine Thizmug dozing there in stolen moments between forging sessions, half-collapsed from exhaustion but still determined to master his craft. A single lamp—now cold and dark—sat on the desk’s corner, next to a small cup ringed with soot.
"That's why we also used intermediaries. One or two Blacksmiths would do run on the first floor, trying to get all requests that weren't strictly from the military, and relay them to the second floor. I've done many of those myself before reaching Level 500."
"I can't imagine you as a delivery boy," Monica smirked.
Dworsul cleared his throat, drawing Monica’s attention back.
"We all had to start somewhere, Avatar. I imagine you, too, didn't start as the immortal personification of a Divine Beast."
"I've lost most of my memories," Monica said. "I'm not from this place. I don't know who I was before—well, not much at least. I have had visions."
Dworsul turned with a raised eyebrow toward her and, for a moment, he seemed like he wanted to say something.
"Let's get started," Dworsul said, pointing at a crate of iron ore and one of coal. "I'm curious to see how your Fire Transmutation Skill will deal with steel."
Monica stopped midway after taking the iron crate.
"Dworsul, tell me."
"What?" The Dwarf smiled innocently.
Monica let the crate fall to her feet and stared daggers at him.
"Don't make me waste time. My friends are waiting for us and there's plenty of damn Wasps reproducing in this second floor. If you want me to save the Great Forge and maybe your people, tell me what I'm about to do wrong."
Monica knew that Dworsul already had an idea of what she would do wrong while forging steel. She had developed a connection to his foul manners and had immediately seen through the latest test.
She briefly looked at her Quest.
*Ding*
Quest Received – ‘Eradication II/III’
Progress: 14/623
Reward:
???
"There's six hundred Wasps around now. It was less than five-hundred a week ago," she spat the numbers out with venom lacing her tongue.
"Fine," Dworsul said, caving to the seriousness of the situation.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The man took one lump of iron and one lump of coal.
"I suspect, Avatar, that your refining capabilities might hinder you with this," Dworsul brought the two lumps together. "You need a small amount of coal inside the iron to get steel. Your flame is strong enough to melt them perfectly together—but what about purifying the ore and getting the right ratio? You want about 2 parts of purified coal to 100 parts of ore. Blacksmiths usually learn to deal with this through practice, but you didn't need to practice that because your Obsidian Flame can clean out impurities. But what happens when the impurity in the iron makes the alloy we're looking for?"
Monica frowned and immediately saw the problem.
If she blasted together coal and iron, trying to reduce all the impurities, the Obsidian Flame might recognize coal as a problematic metal and not let it be incorporated with the iron.
"So, how are we going to solve this problem?" Monica frowned.
"There's a special tool for this," Dworsul smirked.
* * *
Monica looked at Dworsul with a deadpan.
"You're messing with me."
Dworsul pointed at the scale and smiled.
"No, Avatar. Not all solutions are fancy and involve magic. You need to just measure the amounts of coal and iron," he said, moving the plates on the scale. "First, purify the iron crate. Then, you do the same with the coal. Your flames shouldn't consume one whole element. I suspect the problem would present itself only if you mixed them."
"And that's it?" Monica couldn't believe it.
"What did I just say?" Dworsul smiled.
"Not all solutions are fancy and involve magic," Monica growled. "Alright then."
Monica proceeds to smelt the iron and coal individually. Obsidian Flame could strip away mineral debris from the iron with uncanny speed, and it could also remove undesirable contaminants from the coal without burning the coal itself to ash.
"You are lucky, Avatar, because no one can truly purify coal like this. Coal can have many impurities but cannot be smelted as it would simply burn. There are chemical processes," Dworsul specified, "involving solvents or runes, that can help, but most blacksmiths just learn to deal with the impurities during the steel-making phase, ironing them out with their hammer or their Fire Breathing."
Once both piles were purified, she combined them inside the forge. Right away, she felt the elemental Mana in the iron and coal clashing in the heat. She carefully modulated her Fire Breathing, adjusting the temperature and the aura until the two began to merge. Her first attempt was pitiful: the carbon threaded into the iron unevenly, creating uneven lumps in the ingot. Dworsul plucked it from the flames, sighed in disgust, and promptly tossed it aside.
“Shoddy,” he pronounced. “Again.”
She grimaced but obliged, mentally preparing herself for a long night.
She repeated the process of melding purified iron and coal. Each time, she sensed the iron’s Mana rejecting or over-absorbing the carbon at different points. She struggled to keep up, turning the Fire Breathing skill up or down, removing stray bits of coal with a delicate flick of the Obsidian Flame, then smoothing out potential voids with the Golden Flame. Dworsul stressed that in a normal forging session, she could possibly try to hammer out those lumps—but they had no time for half-measures. If an ingot was subpar, it was best to discard it and start fresh, especially with Thizmug’s ample supplies of ore on hand.
Hours later, Monica’s body screamed for rest. Her Vitality reserve felt almost drained dry, but she forced down her exhaustion. She refused to retreat until she successfully forged at least one perfect steel ingot.
Taking a steadying breath, she ignited her Fire Transmutation again and guided both flames to gently coax the purified iron and coal together. This time, she could sense the Mana flow more keenly, probably thanks to all the repeated attempts—and the synergy of her high-level Meditation. She noticed a subtle swirl of Mana forming near the ingot’s center and recognized it as a sign that her ratio of carbon to iron was almost perfect.
An instant later, however, she felt a tiny snag in that swirl—an errant, stubborn residue. Dworsul had warned about random impurities manifesting during forging, but she’d never caught them in time before. Gritting her teeth, she summoned a precise flicker of Obsidian Flame, drilling right at that blemish. Guided by Mana Sense, she burned the impurity away, then immediately followed up with Golden Flame to mend the hole left behind.
But something went wrong and the ingot turned out poorly this time too.
That was close, though, she thought.
Monica took a break, sensing her Vitality dwindling very low, and turned to Dworsul, who had been inspecting the process and giving her pointers.
"Can I ask how you knew Thizmug?"
"No," Dworsul replied curtly.
"Why?" She pressed the Dwarf, finally sensing that there was something he was uncomfortable with.
"Thizmug was young and impressionable. He followed in the steps of my father. He didn't want to hear it from me. By the time I disappeared, he had already convinced himself that he would have become a God one day. He was looking forward to that. He wanted to sacrifice everything, believing it would have helped our people. I taught him much of what he knew, but instead of seeing how becoming a God would stop him from teaching it to others, he just wanted to—"
Dworsul cut himself off.
"It's not important."
And after that, he refused to even look at Monica when she asked anything about Thizmug.
* * *
Monica was completely absorbed in the smelting process, and this time, she felt herself being drawn to the flame, so in tune with the metal itself that she knew she was about to make it.
She could sense the Mana finally starting to subside in the right parts of the ingot she was making. Dworsul had told her to avoid making it into a shape since they'd have to add Wasp material parts later.
So, Monica slowly focused on the creation of the perfect steel ingot.
This time, unlike the others, she felt something was about to go wrong when she felt a whiff of Mana not settling in the right part of the ingot. However, she knew it wouldn't have worked properly, even changing the flame's temperature. There was just something wrong with where the Mana was pooling.
Then I just need to remove it, Monica thought with gritted teeth, knowing she was on the verge of failing again.
And it was then that she realized what she had to do.
Her closest attempt had been through using the Obsidian and Golden Flame during the smerting process. So, she immediately summoned a whiff of Obsidian Flame through the Fire Transmutation Skill and drilled into the ingot with it, closing her eyes and letting Mana Sense be her only guide.
She saw the Mana being obliterated away by the Obsidian Flame.
There was some weird impurity! Monica cheered internally and followed with the Golden Flame.
She heard Dworsul shout her name, but she ignored him.
She was close.
So close!
Monica repeated the process twice more, destroying the parts of the ingot that had somehow developed impurities through the process and smoothing them out in the aftermath with the Golden Flame.
The use of the Obsidian Flame she had just made had been surgical, so precise and perfect, that she had felt, through Meditation, like the Obsidian Flame had become an extension of herself.
When she was, done, she felt someone grabbing her shoulder and screaming in her face.
"W—what?" Monica said, with a cheer dying in her throat.
"You idiot!" Dworsul shouted. "The Wasps!"
Monica finally heard the buzzing sound of several Wasps and saw, through Mana Sense, that three large Wasps were right outside the forge and about to enter.
At the same time, she heard a notification go off in her head.