Two days had passed since I was blackmailed into working for Hen, and every moment was as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

“Be kind to me, and I might raise your pay,” he’d say with a smug grin.

Pay? The bastard doesn’t even give me a single copper!

Other gems included, “You can give up on anything as long as it doesn’t lose me money,” or, “Work hard, and one day, I might let you forge a real weapon.”

Every time he threw one of these lines at me, it messed with my focus, causing me to fail at the forge. Naturally, I’d have to start over, and since I had a daily quota to meet, failure meant staying even longer in his forge listening to his endless nonsense.

Hen often bragged about being “best buddies” with the mayor, but from what I’d seen, the mayor avoided him like the plague. Whenever Hen tried to arrange a visit, the mayor was conveniently “too busy with city affairs.” I could hardly blame him. Friend or foe, anyone who spent time with Hen suffered equally.

Somehow, though, I was getting used to his constant chatter. That didn’t mean he couldn’t surprise me with new ways to irritate me.

If there was one thing I couldn’t deny, it was Hen’s skill. His forging techniques were leagues ahead of anything I’d seen before. Out of curiosity, I checked the system for forging skills and found something called Spirit Forging. The price? A whopping 1 platinum coin.

No, thank you. I can’t even scrape together 10 gold coins, let alone 1 platinum. What does the system expect me to do? Hunt down every monster in the first realm?

While begrudgingly working in Hen’s forge, I stumbled upon something intriguing—elemental weapons. I’d never heard of them before. I wanted to ask Hen about it, but knowing him, he’d demand an outrageous price for the information. A price I’d probably never afford in my lifetime.

Adding to my frustrations, I couldn’t even go out hunting or gathering herbs. When I tried selling raw materials like ores to the system, it ignored me. However, when I forged a crude dagger, the system bought it for 47 copper.

Why? Don’t ask me. Maybe the system rewards effort rather than raw materials. It seemed like the more I invested in crafting or hunting, the higher the rewards. That had to be the main factor, though there could be other hidden conditions.

But then a bigger question hit me—if crafting was so important, how would I manage it in the wilderness? Where would I find a forge? Even in cities, why would a random smith let me use their tools and workspace for free?

The more I thought about it, the more alchemy started to sound appealing. At least with potions, I’d only need herbs and a basic setup. Compared to forging weapons, it seemed like the far more practical option.

Thinking about crafting in the wilderness reminded me of something I had nearly forgotten—the occupations section of the system. I hadn’t used it in so long that it had completely slipped my mind.

While Hen was away, I decided to search the system for anything related to smithing or forging. I found a few options, but one look was enough to make me give up the idea entirely. The mortal version of a forging-related occupation costs 8 gold coins.

Eight gold? Just for a basic profession? Why is there such a huge price gap between occupations? This is outright discrimination!

Unable to vent my frustration anywhere else, I channeled it into the iron on the anvil, hammering with renewed vigor.

Hen, of course, had been swapping out my hammer every chance he got, replacing it with heavier and heavier ones. Today, he dragged in a monstrous hammer—something he could barely move himself—and declared it his “special hammer” that I could use only if I worked hard enough to earn it.

Sometimes, I wondered if Hen had escaped from a mental hospital. His strange actions, his nonsensical mutterings, and his constant attempts to irritate me seemed specifically designed to drive me insane.

To maintain my sanity, I forced myself to focus entirely on hammering, blocking out his incessant babbling.

While hammering, an idea struck me—what if I used the meditation method to enhance my focus? I timed each hammer strike to the rhythmic thumping sound of the anvil, creating a strange but consistent pattern. Hen shot me a confused look but said nothing as I continued.

The result shocked even me.

The weapon was still a crappy dagger, with terrible durability. But its lethality? Off the charts.

Hen, curious about my work, picked it up to inspect it. The moment he accidentally dropped it, the dagger sank straight into the concrete floor—not just a small dent, but to the crossguard.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

It didn’t shatter, crack, or pierce the ground—it simply sank, as if the floor had turned to liquid.

Hen confiscated the dagger immediately, muttering something about “great research material.” Not even an hour later, he returned, demanding that I make another one.

“I don’t know how I made it,” I told him honestly.

Of course, he didn’t believe me. He threatened me, but I knew he wouldn’t reveal anything about the dagger’s properties—it was too valuable for him to share. Grumbling, he left me alone for now, but I could tell he’d come back, better prepared, to squeeze more out of me.

That’s why I needed to be ready. If I could extract valuable information from him—like how to forge elemental weapons—I’d gain far more than I’d lose.

I already suspected that elemental weapons were special. Deep in Hen’s forge, I’d seen one—a blade that radiated cold, freezing the air around it. When I asked about it, Hen warned me not to go near it.

“It’s a failed weapon,” he said. “Touch it, and you’ll get permanent frostbite. But it cost me too much to dispose of, so I’m leaving it to fate to decide who can wield it.”

That failure spoke volumes about its power—and the potential for success.

“You wouldn’t believe it—I found a gem in this dust-ridden place,” Hen said, speaking into an old-fashioned phone on Earth. His tone carried both excitement and annoyance.

“It’s rare for you to praise someone this highly. When was the last time you evaluated someone like this?” The voice on the other end was distorted, making it impossible to discern whether it belonged to a man or a woman.

“Humph. The last one? That ungrateful kid who betrayed us—joined those who killed our heroes and enslaved us!” Hen’s voice cracked with anger as he recalled his previous disciple. His hand tightened around the phone, veins bulging in frustration.

“Calm yourself, old friend. Tell me more about this youngster you’ve taken in. What’s he like? Could he join our organization?” The voice was curious, clearly intrigued by this mysterious newcomer.

Hen grunted. “His temper’s fiery, but I can reforge him. He’s got a nasty streak, selfish to the core, and that’s a problem. Our cause is to save humanity, and selfishness doesn’t fit into that. But I’ll hammer it out of him—one swing at a time.” His confidence was unshakable.

“I trust your judgment. But be cautious. They’re still after us, blaming us for their so-called sacrifices to the Were Tribes. Hide your disciple well.” The voice dropped into a serious tone, warning Hen of imminent dangers.

Hen chuckled darkly. “Even if I shouted his gene cap from the rooftops, no one would believe me. They’d call me crazy for spouting such nonsense. But the kid believes it, and that’s enough for now.”

“Wait—have you checked his gene cap?” The voice betrayed a hint of urgency. Hen’s disciples were legendary, and every one of them had left an indelible mark on the organization before their untimely deaths.

“Not yet,” Hen admitted. “But based on what I’ve seen... I’d say he might be on Apollo’s level—or even stronger.”

The line went silent for a moment before the sound of porcelain shattering came through. “Did you just say... Apollo’s level?” The voice was trembling, disbelief and awe mixing into a chaotic tone.

Apollo. The name alone was enough to send chills down anyone’s spine. He had been a once-in-a-generation genius with a gene cap of 149, the highest ever documented. For the organization, Apollo had been their shining star—a prodigy who nearly reached the limits of human potential.

“I’m not certain yet,” Hen clarified, though his tone carried its conviction. “But the boy can wield Apollo’s equipment. I tried to punish him with it—thought he’d struggle—but he handled it effortlessly.”

“You gave him Apollo’s gear?”

Hen smirked. “Not just his gear. I handed him Apollo’s battle hammer to use as a forging hammer. The kid swung it like it was made of feathers.”

The other person’s disbelief was palpable. “That’s... that’s impossible.”

“I thought so too,” Hen admitted. “But he surprised me. And that’s not all—he crafted something remarkable. A weapon unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how he did it, but I’m certain of one thing. If he reaches a higher realm and works with better materials, he’ll forge weapons that could finally turn the tide. We might have a chance to overthrow the Were Tribes’ iron rule.”

Hen’s voice carried a flicker of hope—a rare thing for a man as jaded as him.

The organization is a remnant of a rebellion that once fought against the oppressive rule of the Were tribes. After the failure of the rebellion, the survivors scattered across the Realms to avoid capture and continued their struggle from the shadows. Over time, they rebuilt their ranks, seeking vengeance and freedom for mankind. The organization’s leaders realized they needed something more to surprise and counter the superior forces of the Were tribes. Initially, they experimented with blood mixing, but this approach was deemed unethical, so they turned to elemental weapons as a potential game-changer.

The true turning point came when Apollo, a prodigious member of the organization, emerged. Apollo was the first to uncover the mysteries of elemental weapons, dramatically boosting the organization's strength and influence. However, Hen’s fifth disciple betrayed them, leaving the organization severely weakened. This betrayal not only exposed the organization’s weaknesses but also left Hen in doubt about his judgment of character. He swore never to take another disciple until Dax appeared.

Dax was different—he had a fiery personality and lacked experience but showed untapped potential. Hen tested Dax’s abilities and found something extraordinary—Dax’s gene cap was exceptionally high, much higher than anyone expected. This revelation made Hen reconsider his decision not to take on another disciple. The higher-ups saw Dax’s potential and decided he could be the next leader of the organization if he could surpass Apollo’s achievements.

However, there were concerns about Dax’s flawed personality and basic skills, such as his poor reading and writing abilities. These deficiencies worried the organization’s leaders, making them cautious about fully integrating Dax into their plans. Nonetheless, Hen believed in Dax’s potential and was willing to shape him into the leader they needed—a leader who could lead the organization out of the shadows and into a new era of prosperity.

He was the one who discovered Dax, yet his old friend wanted him for himself. “Hmph! For the sake of our friendship, I’ll let you train him, but don’t let him turn out like the last one. Otherwise, the other old fogies won’t sit idly by once they find out about your new disciple’s potential,” the voice grumbled before ending the call.