He turned toward Gray, lightning flickering once again at his fingertips. "We've got a tournant to prepare for, Gray. So let's go all in. Let's show them what a monster really looks like."
Gray let out a low, excited howl in agreent as the two surged back into motion—a storm made flesh and fury, tearing through the training ground as their next phase of training began.
****
The forge roared like a beast, flas licking high into the air and bathing the stone walls in an orange, blistering glow.
The temperature was unbearable—molten heat that warped the air itself. No ordinary person could survive here. The room was utterly empty, save for a single figure at its center.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The relentless ringing of hamr against steel echoed through the chamber in steady rhythm, each strike purposeful and heavy.
Valen Droskar stood bare-chested before the anvil, sweat evaporating off his tanned skin the mont it appeared, muscles tense, forged as much by discipline as the fire that surrounded him.
His red eyes glowed faintly, locked onto the glowing tal on the anvil before him.
He worked in silence—focused, thodical, rciless. The sword in progress was being tempered with a precision that bordered on obsessive.
He quenched the blade in an enchanted basin of dark blue oil, watching the steam rise violently. Then, with tongs and strength alone, he returned it to the fla for yet another round.
This wasn't just smithing.
It was a ritual—one that refined not only the blade but the man. The flas bit into his flesh, searing away weakness, and he welcod it. Every swing of his hamr was a vow to perfection.
Finally, after hours, the blade was done.
Valen held it up under the dim forge light. To any untrained eye, it was flawless—gleaming silver edge, runes delicately etched into the fuller, a perfect balance of weight and form.
But not to Valen.
"Another failure," he muttered coldly.
Without hesitation, he flexed his massive arm and activated a sliver of his ability—{Titanform}. Muscle and force surged through his veins as he snapped the blade in two, the sword that took hours to craft crumbling like glass.
He dropped the shards without a second glance.
As he stepped out of the forge, the temperature plumted, but it barely fazed him. Waiting by the door was a maid, eyes cast downward. She offered a white towel.
"Sir, your bath is ready," she said, her tone respectful.
Valen nodded silently, wiping the soot and sweat from his face. His fra was massive, sculpted like a warrior-statue brought to life, with tanned skin, a square jaw, and sharp red eyes that shimred like embers beneath damp strands of dark hair.
As he neared the bathhouse, the steam already curling into the hallway, a figure waited at the doorway—his mother.
She wore a long white gown, her red hair neatly pinned, and though her skin lacked the bronze of her son, her poise held undeniable strength. Her na was Lady Virelia Droskar, Matriarch of House Droskar and a forr warrior in her own right.
She gave him a knowing glance. "How is your training going for the Crownspire Ascension?"
Valen snorted, eyes narrowing. "Why should I put effort into sothing that's already assured?"
Virelia folded her arms, her voice stern. "That doesn't matter. You shouldn't underestimate them. So of your opponents are just as powerful as you."
Valen stepped past her, fire still dancing beneath his skin. "They haven't t soone with real power yet. When the Crownspire Ascension begins, I'll show them their place."
Without another word, he entered the bathroom, the door hissing shut behind him.
His mother stood there in silence for a mont, staring at the steam curling from beneath the door.
"I hope you're right," she whispered.
****
Lancaster Estate – Training Grounds
The air trembled with heat and raw energy. Inside the reinforced combat do of the Lancaster Estate, Ethan, fully fused with Gray, moved like a thunderstorm given flesh.
Dozens of flying drones, sleek and agile, darted through the air with their laser turrets glowing red, locking on to his every motion.
But to them, Ethan was a blur—a streak of white hair and flickering lightning that moved too fast to follow.
Where he appeared, destruction followed. One drone was sliced in two by a precision wind blade, another disintegrated by a spear of lightning cast with surgical force.
He didn't waste energy. Every strike was deliberate. He didn't use Force might, choosing instead to refine the traits granted by his fusion with Gray—traits that hadn't yet reached their full potential.
His agility, elental control, perception, and refined motion—these were what he sought to master.
A split second later, Ethan appeared across the field, breathing lightly, eyes scanning the last wave of drones regrouping midair.
Their glowing optics trained on him.
"Let's hope we get it right this ti," he muttered, wind and static coiling around him.
From deep within, he felt Gray's silent agreent, a ntal nod echoing in his core.
The drones charged—lasers powering up, prid to fire.
Ethan responded in kind. He summoned lightning into his left hand, wind into his right, a storm of opposing forces writhing in his grasp.
As the lasers began to discharge—
"{Storm pulse Convergence}!"
He slamd both hands into the ground.
A massive shockwave of lightning-infused wind erupted outward, a howling tempest laced with crackling destruction.
It tore through the battlefield like a divine judgnt. The drones had no ti to react. They were obliterated mid flight, vanishing into sparks and shattered tal.
Silence followed—broken only by the distant hum of broken generators and the crackling energy still dispersing in the air.
Ethan exhaled sharply, his shoulders rising and falling. "That was exhausting…"
The fused glow faded from his body as he defused from Gray, the white lightning flickering off his skin. He looked around.
The training ground was a disaster zone—craters marred the earth, drone parts were scattered like confetti, and the reinforced walls bore deep cracks.
"…Hope Sophia won't mind," Ethan muttered with a half-smile.
He straightened, then brought up his Status Interface. The translucent screen flickered before him as he focused on one of the new abilities he'd obtained.
---
[Ability Information]
— Ability Na: Manifest Armant
— Ability Type: Extrinsic / Instant / Summoning
— Mastery Level: Peak
— Tier: Uncommon
— Ability Description:
Manifest Armant allows the user to summon a weapon of their choosing through a synthesis of will and provided materials. The summoned weapon reflects the user's intent, combat style, and desired form—ranging from blades to ranged constructs or elental conduits. The quality of the weapon directly depends on the rarity, purity, and taphysical resonance of the materials consud during summoning.
Once created, the weapon is bound to the user and adapts over ti with repeated use, enabling evolution based on combat experience and environnt.
— Note: Weapons summoned with inferior materials will degrade quickly or fail to manifest. However, those ford from high-grade materials or artifacts can rival relic-class arms.
---
Ethan's eyes glead as he read over the panel.
****
Ethan stood in the middle of the wrecked training field, the status panel still flickering before his eyes, displaying the details of Manifest Armant. The power embedded in those words stirred sothing deep within him—not just awe, but frustration.
"Uncommon tier…?" he muttered, his brows furrowing. "Seriously?"
He closed the panel, the faint glow disappearing as he turned his gaze to the crater-filled ground.
"This ability should be Legendary, if not Mythical." His tone was sharp, edged with disbelief. "I can summon any weapon I want based on my will and materials, and you're telling that's… uncommon?"
It didn't sit right with him. Not at all. It was as if the Sanctum, his innate talent responsible for granting skills, simply tossed tiers around without thought, assigning labels just to keep the balance intact for his current level. Nothing more. No foresight. No true evaluation of potential.
And that's what made Ethan choose it.
The mont it popped up among his ability options he instantly knew. This wasn't normal. This wasn't just another flashy ability.
Even now, he could feel the raw potential coiled inside Manifest Armant, like a forge waiting to be lit.
But potential was useless without the right resources.
"Of course," he sighed, "it's basically dead weight until I get my hands on top-tier materials. Common steel won't cut it… not if I want to create sothing worthy of the Crownspire."
He paused, a sudden thought sparking across his mind.
"Wait… isn't one of the Crownspire Ascension participants a blacksmith?" He smirked faintly, rubbing his chin as the idea took root. "Valen Droskar, right? Firstborn of the Droskar family. A legendary Level 7 hero… and a forge freak, from the Intel Natasha gave ." He added the last part but who would care.
He chuckled under his breath, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes.
"Now I feel like I'm cheating," he said, amused. "But if I am handed a forge... I'm going to make sure I use it."
The wind carried the soft scent of scorched tal and lightning. Ethan glanced toward the horizon, the gears in his mind already turning.
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