"A true purpose? Can you explain?" Samael asked.

"It's, as the name suggests, a true purpose," Olaf said. "Many weapon smiths think that in order for their weapons to be considered the best, they need them to be perfectly balanced, sharp beyond comparison, and durable to handle countless battles, but no."

"What do you mean?" Samael asked.

"Those things are to be expected for a weapon to function. But for true masters, what we seek is not the sharpness or the lethality of the blade but its true purpose," Olaf said.

"You're saying my weapon is made with a true purpose?" Samael asked as his gaze shifted towards Crimson Raven.

"Yes, and one that is solidified through an oath," Olaf said. "Right now, the only thing I can see as I hold this blade in my hand is one thing."

"That's...?" Samael asked.

"To kill," Olaf said. "To hunt, to destroy... to end gods."

Samuel's brows rose. Did he infer all of that just by looking at Crimson Raven?

"Whoever made this blade swore an oath, one that he channelled to this blade," Olaf said. "One could only wonder how it must have felt to take up your hammer and begin hammering down with nothing but the destruction of gods in your mind."

Samael fell silent. When he picked up Crimson Raven, the description of the weapon wasn't even a description but rather a phrase, a promise to kill and take vengeance from the gods that wronged its creator.

"But alas, the weapon is unfinished," Olaf said, snatching Samael's attention.

"Unfinished?" Samael asked. Crimson Raven felt... whole and appeared as such. How can it be unfinished?

"You won't understand since you do not have knowledge regarding smithing; perhaps most blacksmiths won't even notice," Olaf said. "But this weapon is lacking its final components to finally unleash its power. I'm thinking that who made this did it on purpose."

"Why?" Samael asked.

"To contain the malice of this blade," Olaf answered. "When I held the weapon, even with your permission, I was able to straight away smell that stench of iron and wrath boiling underneath its surface, waiting for the perfect time to reveal itself."

"So you're saying it is sealed?" Samael asked.

"Yes," Olaf said as he nodded. "Perhaps he made it so that when the weapon finally lands on the rightful hands, it can finally begin it's mission."

"Then will you finish it?" Samael asked.

Olaf fell silent. "You are asking for too much."

Samael's mouth sealed up.

"But it is an honour I appreciate," Olaf resumed as Samael breathed a sigh of relief.

"I will finish the final parts of this blade... but not now. I will do so when you are ready to learn from it, for it is not everyday you encounter such an occurrence," Olaf said as he handed the axe back to Samael.

Sheathing Crimson, Raven Samael nodded. "Then we better hurry it up."

"Yes," Olaf said as he approached the forge. "Say, what do you know about smithing?"

Samael fell deep in contemplation. "It is the art of creating armour and weapons."

"You are partly correct," Olaf said. "But true smithing is creating a tool and ensuring it does it's objectives without fail. The failure of the tool is the failure of the crafter."

Beckoning for Samuel to come closer, he did.

"The Mellagun's way of crafting is different from the rest. We control the fire with our element to enhance the weapon beyond it's normal capacities. Unfortunately, you are unable to do this," Olaf said as he took out a burning red rod of steel before meticulously bending the flames and heat in his will, hardening the weapon.

"In a way, I am not only reducing the heat through my control of flames and at the same time ridding the weapon of impurities and weakness," Olaf said.

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"Ridding it...?" Samael muttered as his eyes drifted towards the flames swirling within the steel rod. Perhaps...?

"What is it, Samuel?" Olaf asked.

"It's... it's nothing," Samael replied.

"Aside from this process, we also implement a variety of other techniques known only to Mellaguns, passed down from generations to generations," Olaf said. "Ways to strike the steel, the power, the accuracy, and another important factor."

"And that's...?" Samael asked.

"Runic carvings," Olaf said as he unsheathed one of the made blades, showing a set of carvings by the surface of the steel sword.

"In pursuit of a true purpose, we grandmaster blacksmiths carve runes upon our creations, attempting to imbue them with a true will," Olaf said. "But alas, we are unable to do so," he resumed as he dropped the weapon.

"Although we manage to carve runes upon our creations, it changes nothing. What we add is but a false purpose in hopes of creating real ones," Olaf said. "Much is my surprise when I saw your weapon, for I have never truly seen anything close to our dreams."

"How are you sure it truly has a purpose?" Samuel asked.

"I don't," Olaf answered. "I do not have the ability to see. That is why I believe it is a duty too much for me."

"Well, you won't be called a grandmaster blacksmith if there's no difficulty to achieving it, right?" Samael said.

Olaf's eyes widened as he shifted his gaze towards the man, the hilt of Crimson Raven landing on his palms.

"I will entrust this blade to you as it was entrusted to me," Samael said. "I believe only someone of your stature can unleash it's true potential."

"You will trust your blade to someone you just met?" Olaf asked.

A small smile made its way to Samael's lips.

"You're not just someone," Samael answered.

How can he not trust him? Many times, their creation has saved countless lives, especially on the frontlines. Their ballistas, armour, and blades that warded the enemies without fail.

Olaf glanced at the axe. "You humans... are odd."

"That, we are," Samael answered.

***

Without wasting time, Olaf began Samuel's training without a hitch. As per his plan, they began with the basics, such as which tools to use and the techniques and fundamentals.

"One of the most important aspects for us blacksmiths is our eyes," Olaf said as he smashed his hammer down. "With our eyes, we are able to see the impurities and the imperfections, allowing us to fix and mend them."

"This is Thadean steel," Olaf said as he took out a bluish rod of steel. "You must sharpen your words and remember which is which."

Samael nodded as he followed suit, taking a piece of thadean steel and noticing the cool sensation present within the steel.

"So you noticed, you have sharp senses," Olaf said. "Thadean steels are innately cold as they are harvested from the cold mountains north. Due to this, they possess great resilience to heat and are far more durable than other metals."

"So what now?" Samael asked.

"Now, you put the metal in the blast pit," Olaf said as he stuck the Thadeus rod inside a cylindrical hole extending from the large forge. "The blast pit is in charge of heating the metal. You may adjust the heat you need through the series of systems beside it since you don't possess innate fire control."

"How will I know what heat is sufficient?" Samael asked as he shifted his gaze at the buttons.

"Judging the heat needed is simple but at the same time complicated," Olaf said. "Although many blacksmiths observe the metal to determine whether it is ready, we observe the fire."

Adjusting the flames, the metal in Olaf's hand began to glow red as his eyes narrowed.

"Observe the way the flames move, flicker, and rise, and you will be able to determine when the metal is ready for hammering," Olaf said as his hand began to twist, flick, and move at random patterns with great speed.

Samael's lips parted as he watched the man in action, left in awe at the beauty and grace of his movements.

But at some moment, Olaf's eyes widened as he pulled the steel out; its surface was perfectly glowing crimson. "It is ready."

"Now your turn," Olaf said as he approached Samael.

Shifting his gaze at the forge, Samael swallowed. Taking the tongs, he firmly grasped the Thadeus steel as he inserted it inside the blast pit.

"Good, now control the heat," Olaf instructed as Samael began to configure the buttons, causing the flames to intensify.

"That's it, feel the heat... measure it so that is enough to heat not only the metal but your body as well, but just enough so that it will not burn you," Olaf said.

Gritting his jaw, Samael took it up another notch as he hissed, the flames leaving sears in his forearms.

"Lower it," Olaf said.

Adhering to the man, he began to lower it, achieving what Olaf wanted.

"It is plausible," Olaf said. "Now, we begin to heat the metal. Watch the flames."

Samael nodded as he intently watched the flames flicker.

"React as the flame would; if it flickers, flick your hand; if it rises, raise the rod; if it falls, follow suit," Olaf said. "Be one with the fire."

Following as the man suggested, Samael began to mimic the flames, but as if some sick joke, the flames began to speed up their reactions as though they could sense Samael's intentions.

Before long, Samael's hand was moving at a pace most mundane humans would be unable to follow.

As he does, mistakes are bound to follow as the flames begin to burn him.

"That is enough," Olaf said as he dragged Samael's arm back. "You failed, but it is to be expected."

Samael hissed as he raised his arm, noticing the burns on his flesh. But the steel in his hand had cracked, splitting nearly in two.

"You must have sensed it, the flames," Olaf said. "It is like a wild beast; the moment it senses you, it will attempt to defy you. You must tame it."

"Again," Samuel said as Olaf's brows furrowed.

"Again? You are injured—" Olaf's eyes widened as he watched Samael grab another Thadeus rod before plunging it in the blast pit, igniting it without fear of the heat.

"Very well," Olaf muttered.

Just like earlier, he battled the unrelenting heat, attempting to tame it as it fought back with greater intensity each time.

CLANK!

Samael dropped to one knee as the piece of cracked Thadeus steel smashed down the ground, his hand severely burnt.

Not wasting time, Olaf swiftly poured some cool water down his flesh. "That is enough."

Samael nodded.

"For now, heal, and we'll test you again," Olaf said.