Chapter 347
The transition from the streets of Orario to the Hephaestus Familia compound was like crossing between two different climates.
Outside, a biting winter wind howled through the corridors of the city, dusting the rooftops with a fine layer of frost and forcing citizens into thick wool cloaks.
Inside the compound, however, the air was heavy and stagnant with a pervasive, dry heat that radiated from the forges and the countless workshops scattered throughout the grounds.
Draco moved through the familiar winding paths with the ease of someone who had walked them a thousand times.
He ignored the stares of the lower-ranked smiths, his focus set on a specific destination: Tsubaki private workshop.
As the Captain of the Hephaestus familia, Tsubaki was often buried under various duties or representing her goddess in certain official capacities.
However, she was a smith at her core, a "Cyclops" obsessed with the rhythmic song of the hammer against steel.
If she wasn't at a meeting or her shop, she was at the anvil.
Today, the smoke rising from the chimney of her personal workshop confirmed Draco’s suspicions.
He reached the heavy reinforced doors and didn’t bother knocking.
It was a privilege born of months of companionship….a rare level of intimacy and trust that Tsubaki extended to only a handful of people in her inner circle.
“Yo, Tsubaki,” Draco called out as he stepped into the dim, orange-lit room.
“How is my second-most favorite smith doing on this fine day?”
The rhythm of the hammer didn’t stop immediately.
Tsubaki, her hair tied back and sweat glistening on her brow, delivered one final, precise strike before setting her tools aside.
She wiped her hands on a soot-stained rag, her single eye narrowing as she looked at him.
“Second?” she muttered, her voice a low rasp from the dry air.
Draco caught the mumble and grinned, leaning against a workbench covered in blueprints.
“Of course. Lady Hephaestus is first. I’m sure even you wouldn’t dare argue with that ranking.”
Tsubaki clicked her tongue, though there was no real heat in the gesture.
“Tsk. You’re lucky you’re useful, brat. Otherwise, I’d throw you out for that kind of lip.”
She tossed the rag aside and walked over to a crucible that sat atop a specialized cooling rack. “Anyway, Draco, your timing is actually perfect. I’ve been staring at these bars for an hour, debating whether to start.”
She gestured toward a set of dull, grey alloy bars sitting in a secondary crucible.
Her demeanor had shifted instantly from playful annoyance to the focused intensity of a master artisan.
“Can you use that blue fire you manifested last time? I need these bars melted and purified to a degree the standard coals can't reach.”
Draco’s smile faltered slightly as he approached the crucible.
He stared at the metal, feeling the latent density of the material.
“I can, Tsubaki. But you know the toll it takes. It’s not exactly a ‘casual’ spell. It drains my magic reserves faster than a punctured canteen, and it’s hell on my body afterwards.”
Tsubaki stepped closer, her expression turning uncharacteristically pleading.
“Come on. Just for a short burst. It’s the last time I’ll ask for a while….you’re leaving the city tomorrow, after all. Consider it a parting gift to your favorite hammer-swinger.”
She let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle.
“Where else am I going to find a convenient, walking metal purifier in this city?”
Draco let out a long, weary sigh, though he was already beginning to roll up his sleeves.
“Ugh, fine. Just this once. But if I pass out on your floor again, you’re the one who has to explain it to yours and my goddess.”
He extended his arm over the crucible, his fingers splaying out.
To an observer, it looked like a simple act of magic, but for Draco, it was a complex synchronization of his heritage and his internal energy.
The process began with his partial dragon transformation.
His pupils narrowed into vertical slits, and dark scales appeared along his forearms.
Then, he layered his fire spirit transformation over it, an enhancement that pushed his natural affinity for the element beyond the limits of standard magic.
At first, the flames licking from his palm were a standard, roaring red.
Slowly, as he channeled more "Mind" into the cast, the hue shifted to a brilliant, searing yellow, then a blinding white.
The temperature in the workshop skyrocketed, the heat so intense it felt like it was peeling the moisture from his very eyes.
Finally, with a grunt of exertion, Draco pushed the limit.
The white flames flickered and deepened into a terrifying, ethereal blue….a hue that represented the pinnacle of thermal efficiency.
The metal bars didn't just melt; they surrendered.
Impurities were incinerated into nothingness, turned to ash and gas that vanished into the ventilation system.
The liquid metal became a shimmering, pure pool of molten potential.
Draco kept the stream steady for several minutes, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Every second felt like a hot iron was being pressed against his veins.
About a month and a half ago, when Tsubaki’s high-grade magic furnace had broken down, he had offered this service as a stopgap.
He had overextended himself then, collapsing in a heap, bleeding from his nose and ears as his body buckled due to his illness, combined with the strain of "Mind Down."
That incident had been traumatic for Tsubaki, but it had also revealed the precarious nature of Draco’s health……the secret reason he needed to journey away from Orario to find a more permanent solution to his condition.
Since then, their bond had slightly deepened.
It wasn't quite romance, but it had surpassed simple friendship.
“Enough!” Tsubaki shouted, seeing the tremor in his hand.
Draco cut the flow instantly.
He staggered back, leaning heavily on a nearby pillar.
His skin was flushed a dark crimson, and steam rose from his shoulders as his body tried to regulate its temperature.
“You got... what you needed?” he wheezed.
Tsubaki was already peering into the crucible, her eye wide with awe.
The results were magnificent.
The purity of the metal was leagues beyond what the current finest magic items could achieve.
It was the kind of material that allowed a smith to touch the realm of the goddess of the forge.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“It’s perfect. This will be the foundation for the piece I’ve been dreaming of.”
From this point on, Tsubaki only needed to advance her skills to handle the material.
Draco stayed for another three hours, mostly recovering while Tsubaki moved about the workshop in a flurry of inspired activity.
They talked about trivial things….the rising cost of supplies, the political climate of the city, and the rumors of new materials in the lower floors of the Dungeon.
It was a comfortable, idle chatter that masked the weight of his impending departure.
Eventually, the shadows in the workshop began to lengthen.
Draco stood, testing his body.
The exhaustion was completely gone, and he could feel his body brimming with strength again.
“I have to go, Tsubaki. Other people to see, things to pack.”
She paused, hammer in hand, and looked at him.
For a moment, it seemed like she wanted to say something more….perhaps ask him to stay, or tell him to be careful….but she simply nodded.
“Don’t die out there, Draco. I still need my metal purifier back in one piece.”
“I’ll do my best,” he replied with a smirk, turning to leave the warmth of the forge for the biting cold of the evening.
……………………………
The air on the southern main street of Orario was crisp, and the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold.
Draco wrapped his cloak tightly around him, but his mind wasn't on the weather.
He was heading toward Folkvagnr, the headquarters of the Freya Familia.
He didn't have business with the goddess of Beauty herself…..she was perched in her spire atop Babel, watching the world like a hawk.
No, Draco was going there for the "King."
He was there to challenge Ottar.
This wasn't a sudden whim or a death wish.
It was a calculated, perhaps even desperate, move for the future of the city.
The recent wars with evilus had forged many of Orario’s elites into stronger versions of themselves.
Finn Deimne, Riveria Ljos Alf, and Gareth Landrock had all pushed past the barrier to Level 6. The executives of the Freya Familia…..Hedin, Hogni, and the Gulliver brothers….had reached similar heights.
Ottar had ascended to Level 7, becoming the undisputed peak of the current era.
But Draco knew it wasn't enough.
He knew the disasters that were looming on the horizon…..the return of the Black Dragon, the depths of the Dungeon that remained uncharted, and the divine threats that stayed dormant only by luck.
The current crop of heroes was stagnating.
In the natural course of history, these legends would remain at their current levels for almost six years, their growth slowing to a crawl because they had no one to chase.
Ottar, in particular, suffered from this.
He was the strongest, the "King."
Without a rival to challenge his throne, his devotion to Freya turned inward, becoming a static shield rather than a sharpening blade.
If Draco could crush that status quo tonight…..if he could hand Ottar a defeat so absolute that it shook the very foundation of his identity…..the ripple effect would be monumental.
Ottar would be forced to carry the title of "second best," an insult he would never allow to reflect upon his goddess.
He would be driven to reach Level 8, or at the very least, attain stats that blurred the line between levels.
And it wouldn't stop with him.
If the Freya Familia was humbled, the Loki Familia would redouble their efforts to avoid a similar fate.
Especially the young Ais who viewed him as her mentor, and lived for the pursuit of strength, would find an even greater fire lit under her feet.
Draco stopped before the massive, ornate gates of Folkvagnr.
The guards, high-level warriors in their own right, straightened as he approached, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Draco reached up and unfastened his cloak, letting it slide from his shoulders into the snow.
He didn't need the warmth anymore; his blood was beginning to boil.
His tail, thick and muscular, flicked behind him, scattering frost like shards of glass.
A savage grin spread across his face, exposing rows of serrated, predatory teeth.
This was the side of him he rarely showed his familia members or friends….the side that was more monster than man, the side that hungered for battle.
It was a side which became more dominant after his battle with Mors.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum.
His fists clenched, the scales on his knuckles hardening into natural armor.
Despite all the noble justifications he had played out in his head….the need for Orario to grow, the tactical advantage of pushing Ottar…..there was a simpler, more primal truth at the core of his actions.
Draco wanted to be the best.
He wanted the world to know that the number one adventurer in Orario wasn't a boar or a smart pallum warrior.
Raising his hand, he didn't knock politely.
He slammed his fist into the reinforced gate with a resounding BOOM that echoed through the entire district like a clap of thunder.
The challenge was issued.
The King would have to answer.
A/N: So what do you all think of Draco's actions so far, let me know your thoughts. Feel free to read ahead on pat3on, donate and read 1 extra chapter as a free member.