Cindrelle kept on looking from her hand, to Owen. Nibbling her lower lip, she finally came to her senses. She bowed her head, which given the awkwardness of it, wasn’t one born of experience.

She raised her head, fidgeting her foot against the loose sand on the floor. “I… uh, I’m not used to this formality thing, I don’t think.”

“Trust me, I’m not too familiar with the Lord thing, either.” Owen chuckled, then moved his hand to Bron. “This here is Bron, the lead Miner.”

Cindrelle nodded and reached her hand forward in greeting. It was Bron’s turn to turn it down with a kind smile.

“Sorry lass, I’m afraid my skin isn’t as tough as our Lord.”

“Ah,” she said in surprise and lowered her hand awkwardly. “Well, it’s good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Bron said. “I’ve never seen one of your kind before. It’s quite, well, how should I say this—infernal? I hope I'm not being rude.”

“Not at all. If you don’t question things you don’t know, how are you meant to learn? My kind are elementals born in the depths of the hottest volcanoes. To us, there are 5 tiers of them. The first is called Magma Cradle. Emberkin born here has the weakest of bloodlines. Tier 2 is named Cinder Hollow. This is the tier I was born into. After that, is Inferno Ridge, Pyre Peak, and then finally, Eternal Furnace. Only those who have the most noble of bloodlines are born there. I am only of lowly blood.”

“But that doesn’t matter,” Owen said in an attempt to cheer her up. “Even being a Tier 2 Emberkin is amazing. Your heart is so cool.”

Cindrelle perked up at his words and looked at her own heart. It was beating red under her grey flesh. “Do you really think so?”

Owen nodded enthusiastically. “It really is. I can hear it from here.”

Cindrelle smiled. “Us Emberkins call our hearts Internal Engines. It hosts the power of our fire. Because of that, we are famed Blacksmiths known around the world of—” she paused, frowning. “I can’t recall the name of my homeworld.”

“That’s okay,” Owen said, looking at Bron and the other Miners. “We are all in the same boat, so to speak. You were going to say something else?”

“Oh,” turning her gaze from the Miners, to Owen, she continued, “We are known for our fire enchantments. Every metal we forge is born with a hidden fire element. If the user is capable of magic, they can awaken the blaze born within.”

“Amazing,” Bron exclaimed.

Cindrelle nodded along, as if agreeing. She was clearly proud of her bloodline.

“Wait,” Owen said, realising the meaning behind her words. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“So what about something like mine-carts, or buckets?”

“Flaming carts and blazing buckets. Only if the element is awakened. If not, then there is little difference between my smithing, and another. Well, if we ignore the difference in quality, that is.”

“Okay, that’s so cool. But also dangerous. What’s the safety precaution with that? If a lot of our weapons and armour are enchanted with the element of fire, then what’s stopping other mages from activating them on their own?”

Cindrelle appeared offended. “My enhancement isn’t so primitive and barbaric. Only with my connection can my fire awaken. The stronger I become, the more powerful the flame. Although the metal I forge, because of the latent fire element, is warmer to the touch.”

“Ey, that’s pretty fascinating,” Pod said, barely able to tear his eyes from Cindrelle’s sleek armor. “Do Emberkin have boyfriends–”

Bron didn’t let him finish. He raised his fist and thumped Pod’s head with a warning growl. “Show some respect, idiot.”

“Bleeming hells, chief!” Pod rubbed his skull, wincing. “I was just curious.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Keep it that way. Curiosity can stay in your head.”

Owen shook his head, suppressing a grin. He turned his attention back to Cindrelle. “As you can see, we’ve started stockpiling a metal called Sandsteel.”

“What are its properties?” Cindrelle asked, strolling over to the pile. She crouched down and picked up a chunk of ore.

“Honestly? No idea. I was hoping you could tell us.”

She studied the ore, turning it over in her hands. She knocked it against the ground, tasted it, then tossed it in the air and caught it with ease. After a moment, she nodded. “Durable, tough. Strong earthen element. It’s solid for general use, but for war? It lacks the flexibility to absorb impact or adapt under pressure. What are you planning to make?”

“Spears and shields, mostly. Maybe some basic tools—buckets, nails, stuff like that.”

Cindrelle tapped her chin thoughtfully. “How strong are your Warriors?”

Owen hesitated. “If you’re worried about the spear tips breaking, they’re not that powerful yet.”

“Then this will do, for now. If you find an enhancement ore, I can strengthen it. Or better yet, just find better ore.”

“Right, better ore.” Owen nodded. “We’ll get started as soon as we can. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’ll need a room big enough to store metal. And I don’t want to work out here. I prefer privacy.”

“Privacy, got it. Follow me.”

Owen led her to the back wall, where he’d marked out the future smithy. He glanced at Cindrelle with a grin, then Plundered the wall in front of him. In an instant, the stone vanished, as though it had never been there.

Cindrelle’s eyes widened. “You’re a mage?”

Owen chuckled. “Not quite. It’s my Lord Emblem. Lets me mine and store areas like this.”

“Incredible.”

“If only you knew,” Owen muttered as he continued to carve out the room. The Miners followed, securing the ceiling as they went.

When he was done, he turned to Cindrelle, flashing a proud smile. “Alright, where should we put the forge? I can get the Builders down here, but I’m not familiar with the setup.”

“A forge?” Cindrelle echoed, rolling her eyes as she brushed past Owen, her arm grazing his. He could feel the heat radiating from her. Then, her heart seemed to ignite, and the room grew warmer.

Without a word, flames erupted from her hands, enveloping the ore she held. Within moments, the impurities melted away, leaving only a small ball of pure metal. The blaze in her heart dimmed as she turned, holding out the refined ore.

Owen, Bron, and the Miners stared, speechless.

Cindrelle smiled, a glint of pride in her eyes. “I am the forge.”

After refining a few more pieces of ore, they all returned to the surface where Balthus was awaiting Owen. Thanks to his demonic Administrator, he was able to inform Cindrelle all about the happenings on the land. Mainly the part about the wave, which incidentally, arrived a few moments later as Owen had spent a lot of time down in the mine.

Cindrelle panicked, but Owen safely escorted her back into the mountain where they felt the gargantuan wave crash against the mountain. The entire thing quaked. Cindrelle held onto Owen for support. And then the darkness arrived. She tried to awaken her forging fire, but Owen quickly comforted her enough to stop her actions. No amount of fire could battle the devouring darkness, although as hopeful as Owen was that she’d be able to fight against it.

All of the Builders and most of the Warriors, including Pyris, were within the castle walls. The rest of the people were inside the mountain.

They talked for a while, speaking of what they had gotten up to today. Many of them had learned to tease Owen. Although that was mostly because of Rehan. Cindrelle was shocked at how he interacted with each-other. Ever since Owen had displayed his powers, she was certain he was some kind of secret Class mage, no matter how many times he said otherwise. But because of that, her respect had grown for him considerably, beyond the inherent reverence Units always showed their Lords.

She leaned in, and asked, “my Lord, they mock you.”

Owen laughed. “They’re not mocking me, Cindrelle. It’s called ‘banter’.”

“Banter?”

“It’s a playful and friendly exchange of words.”

“Friends?”

Owen nudged Cindrelle’s arm. “I may be your Lord, but I’m also your friend. That’s how I want to lead. Everyone is family. We protect each other, care for each other, and fight for one another. That’s how we’ll survive.”

“Friends,” Cindrelle muttered under her breath. If it wasn’t for Owen’s insane growth, he’d never have been able to hear it.

Owen lowered his voice. “Yes, friends.”

The next day was mostly spent down in the forge, watching Cindrelle work. She used her heart's forge fire to smelt the ore, then used the same fire to then form it to whatever she desired; which just so happened to be spear tips. The spear shafts on the other hand were crafted out of the Devil Wyrm's bones, which when he showed them to her, she gawked at them as if they were some heavensent precious material. Well, she wasn’t wrong. If he sold them on the marketplace, he’d earn a fortune. But he needed good weapons, not credits. The same bones were used to make large rounded shields, and then Cindrelle pinned a layer of Sandsteel over them for added protection and heft.

With that done, the weaponry and defence of his Cursed Land spartans were ready to be sent into the harsh, cruel world.

Done with the day’s hot and smoky tasks, Owen turned his attention to something a bit lighter—or so he hoped. It was time to check in on Bimpnottin and Coo. For some reason, he had a feeling things weren’t going to go well.

Oh how right he was.