Cole woke up from his mana deficit to the sensation of his right wrist buzzing. After a groan and some realization that conjuration was really damn expensive, he got up and looked around. Nothing had changed inside the pocket forge except for a single steel marble sitting innocently on the floor. There was no indication of what was happening in the outside world, and the smith had no reason to check. The source of the buzzing wasn't anything new in the room, but rather his tattoo lighting up and vibrating.

He raised his arm and waited for the runes to arrange themselves. Strangely, they seemed to do it with some fanfare this time, swooping across his skin and continuing to pulse with light. Some even circled around the main insignia before joining the rest. He preferred the other way but wondered what had caused the change.

[The Smith God Furnacatius has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

Customers. Where was Mary when you needed her? Cole just decided to ignore the summons and get back to conjuration practice. If he left this place without making at least one weapon he would lose all self-respect. His plans were quickly interrupted.

[The Smith God Mitrius has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Smith God Bedecadus has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Blade God Ordus has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Flame Goddess Vulca has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

Cole took a deep breath. They were just customers. He didn't need money anymore when he could create his own materials and had an interdimensional forge he could summon anywhere. They had no purpose, he would ignore them.

[The Hell God Azbagon has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Spell God Sagicus has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Hammer God Smashy McSmashface has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Bastard God He Who Was Reviled has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Dark God Roigh has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[The Determination God Unyildi has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

Fucking customers.

He tried to focus on his practice, he really did. He was lounging in the seat at the enchanting cubby conjuring slivers of iron and steel. It was costly, but it seemed his mana regeneration was far better than his capacity. And even that was improving. But with his wrist having a seizure every half a second, his temper broke after about the three-thousandth offer. He hit yes on a random one just to give them a piece of his mind.

[The Star God Realta has offered you a sponsorship. Would you like to open a portal to negotiate? Yes/No]

[Opening portal...]

A crack split open in the middle of the forge spewing mana everywhere. It wavered and shuddered, incredibly messy and wasteful compared to the pocket forge opening. After a few moments of chaotic swirling that led to what Cole was fairly certain was outer space, the other end of the portal solidified into an opulent banquet hall.

If the smith thought that the portal was wasteful, this was something else entirely. Everything was gold. Everything. The room was larger than a stadium, chock full of long stables for feasting and luxurious chairs that were more like thrones. The walls were perfectly polished marble. Massive pillars stabbed through the ground, aiming for the far-off ceiling, which might even have been taller than some mountains.

Gold was lining everything. The edges of the room were lined in gold. Gold embellishments covered the chairs. Golden threads made up the majority of those in the first place. Gold vines and leaves crept up the pillars, gleaming in a show of unnatural nature. Gold lined the tables. The plates, goblets, and knives were gold. The food on the tables was served in golden platters and dishes. Stained glass windows dyed the view of the outside sky golden. The whole room was a damn eyesore and reminded him of some of his most aggravating customers.

And then there was the thing lounging at the nearest table. its chair was a throne, even more so than the others. It was elevated somewhat higher than the others as well, implying a position of authority. its plate was piled high with exotic-looking fruits and meats. Cole was intrigued by the idea of alien food at first, until he noticed that almost all the fruit peels were golden. How, why, and what the fuck?

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The thing that sat at the table fit the room well. As in it was an eyesore. And it was a thing, not a human. At least as tall as three of the smith, its main body was wings. Just wings. Insect wings in a plethora of colors twitched and buzzed erratically, filling the room with a low hum. Bat-like wings curled around the rest of its body like cloaks, hiding whatever the wings were attached to from view. But most of all, angelic wings sprouted from the thing.

There had to be dozens of pairs. They varied in size and color, some as long as it was tall and pure gold, some as small as one of Cole's hands and off-white. They loomed over the room imposingly, but strangely cast no shadows. In fact, the whole room was illuminated in shimmering light. Can you guess what kind of light? Come on, guess. Did you guess gold? Congratulations, you've been keeping up well so far. Anyway, the light was coming from the thing's head.

Probably because its head was a sun. Not like a sun, or reminiscent of one. It was a sun. Cole knew it in his bones. An aura of pure heat, light, and power radiated from the thing. He could feel it burning in the air and knew instinctively that if the System wasn't facilitating this then he would have already been atomized. All in all, the thing was a being that commanded respect and admiration, along with a good bit of fearful cowering. In other words, a pompous asshole that had dared to interrupt his practice.

Cole was about to launch into his prepared rant and tell the being of unimaginable power to fuck off, but it beat him to the punch.

"Greetings, mortal. I am the Star God Realta, God of a sun within the Borgeax Solar System. And I have decided to grant you the honor of my sponsorship."

Yeah, pompous asshole had been an accurate assumption. His fists were already clenched at his sides in rage. You see, Cole Vance did not deal well with people thinking they were better than him. His parents had been controlling. Not overprotective, but just controlling because they thought a child was just another problem to manage. What do you mean it had thoughts and feelings? It was just something that you drove to school and reminded to take the trash out.

His teachers had thought he was dumb. With social endeavors limited by his familial situation, a young Cole was forced to spend almost all of his free time just browsing the myriad wonders of the internet. He was still young and unsure of himself, so he hadn't decided on an exact path yet, but even at that age, he was absolutely certain he wanted to be working with his hands. Creating things out of his own blood, sweat, and tears. So when he was lax in the more academic endeavors, everyone around him just thought he was slow in the head.

A continuous slew of horrible bosses and managers as he coasted his way across minimum wage jobs followed that. Getting started in forging was hard, and he had no starting capital. Pinching pennies and skipping meals was a common theme in his early twenties, as he saved up to start his dream. And what a dream it had been. Cole had some natural talent, but his tools were shit and not enough people would just randomly decide they wanted a sword.

He had raised his business through sheer perseverance. Practice long past when his muscles burned in agony to make sure his work was the best. Calling and almost begging anyone he had even a slightly positive relationship with to spread the word. Taking loans for materials and making do with what he had after that ran out. And yet, where had he ended up? The top. Known throughout his city, praised for his work, and featured in countless magazines and documentaries.

He had pride in himself and what he had done. He was no lumbering brute, he was just dedicated to his passion and only that. So, to be looked down upon? For someone to not even glance at him and just decide they were better? It made his blood boil.

"I shall grant you a modicum of my power just as the Mother of All Light granted me a modicum of hers. We have already converted your planet's Chosen Warrior to our faction. Your first priority and assignment will be to equip him with mana-reinforced gear. If you follow instructions well enough, and progress in your skills admirably, you may even be given the chance to serve the Mother of All Light closer. Should you prove to be truly exceptional in your faith, you may even be granted the opportunity to meet her! After a few centuries or so, Godhood might even let you become another vassal for the faith and spread her influence across the stars-"

"No."

There was no face to observe on the thing's body, but Cole still got the impression of utter bafflement. Followed quickly by rage. The emotional turnaround was honestly slow for something that claimed to be a God.

"You would dare to refute a gift from the Mother of All Light!? Heretical fool. You will burn for this!"

The humming from the insectile wings reached a new pitch, and the chairs and tables began to crumble as its full presence was unleashed. It leaned forward, towering over the smith with a gaze full of killing intent. Amazing, the pompous asshole was a religious zealot too. He had dealt with a few of those. No, he would not make a sacrificial dagger, especially if you just up and told him it was a sacrificial dagger.

"I refute no gift. I refute becoming a lackey for some stuck-up bitch who didn't even show up herself. I am no mule to be worked. My creations are my own to keep or gift. I answer to no one, especially not to those who think I should. Good riddance."

Cole's last sight before stepping back through the portal was of the thing pausing, seeming to process that he had called its supreme leader a bitch, and promptly collapsing to the floor begging forgiveness from her for thinking that the foolish mortal would understand her benevolence. At least the flood of offers had slowed down to a trickle by now.

Finally, it was just time for practice. His routine was simple. Conjure a marble, wait a few minutes for mana to recover, and conjure a slightly bigger marble. He got the feeling that his regeneration was slightly above average, so even if it took a few hours he should be able to get a good amount of material. And as the saying goes, go big or go home. He would try to make his first weapon something big. A billhook maybe? No, not dramatic enough. No daggers, those were better as a backup. Some form of sword. Big, durable, with a lot of weight to it. Bastard sword? No. Scimitar? No. Ah, that would do. He would forge a claymore.