Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of the small hotel room, warm and heavy, already announcing another scorching day in Jaffa. Lucien had barely slept... visions, memories, and the weight of unspoken questions kept his mind awake long after the city fell quiet.
A knock at his door broke the silence.
Cédric stepped inside, phone in hand."Good news. I've arranged a meeting with the local Hunter Association branch. They want to talk to with me today. Maybe about what we're doing here."
Lucien raised a brow. "Already?"
"They insisted." Cédric shrugged. "You're… a person of interest."
Lucien didn't like the sound of that.
Before the unease could settle, he asked, "Is there somewhere I can train? And I need a forge. I have a weapon to fix and another to replace."
Cédric grinned. "Already ahead of you. There's an old forge near here. Belongs to a man named Ahmad Ben Hadad. He agreed to let you use it."
Lucien paused, genuinely surprised. "You arranged that yesterday?"
"I figured you'd ask." Cédric winked. "Come on. He's expecting you."
The Forge of Ahmad Ben Hadad
The forge sat tucked between two stone buildings, hidden beneath the branches of an old fig tree. A faded wooden sign swung above the entrance, its letters worn but still legible.
Lucien stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the metal smell of a place long dormant.
"Ah, you must be Lucien de Mireval," a voice called.
An elderly man stood beside an anvil... thin, with wise eyes and hands marked by a lifetime of work. His beard was white, trimmed neatly, and his posture still carried the quiet pride of a craftsman.
"I am Ahmad," he said warmly. "Welcome to my forge."
They shook hands.
"You still practice the craft?" Lucien asked.
Ahmad chuckled. "No, no. Those days are behind me. My son chose another path... medicine. A good path." His eyes softened. "The forge belongs to the family, so I keep it. Even if she sleeps."
He gestured around. Tools hung neatly on the walls. The furnace stood cold but intact. The place had a soul... Lucien felt it the moment he entered.
"I haven't lit this forge in many years," Ahmad continued. "But Cédric told me you needed a place to work. He brought fresh materials this morning."
Lucien's brows tightened. Cédric did all this? The Association is moving too fast… too generously. Why?
Still, he bowed his head. "Thank you. I won't trouble you."
"You're no trouble," Ahmad replied with a smile. "A forge lives when someone works it. It will be good to hear her heartbeat again."
He left Lucien alone.
Lucien removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and lit the forge. Flames roared to life, hungry and bright. The heat felt familiar... like shaking hands with an old friend.
He placed what remained of his broken sword on the anvil.The metal was cracked beyond repair. Orc Cleaver, too, had taken damage.
He would need more than simple maintenance.
As he began to work... hammer striking steel, sparks dancing across the ground and his thoughts spiraled.
Cédric moves like a handler, not a guide.The Association gave me an aid , transport, access… a forge?Why? Hunters die every day. They never cared before.
He hammered harder.
Are they watching me? Steering me?
Sparks burst around him like tiny explosions of doubt.
He had survived the werewolves.He had seen the shattered Grail in his vision.Someone had tampered with his memories.
And now… everyone seemed suddenly invested in his path.
Lucien paused, the metal glowing beneath his hands.His reflection bent in the heated steel.
"Eyes on me," he muttered under his breath. "Always, and at all time i must assume."
He returned to his work, the rhythm steady and sharp.
Whatever game the Hunter Association was playing... he would discover it.But first, he needed weapons worthy of the truth he was chasing.
Two hours later...
Orc Cleaver lay on the workbench, newly restored. Its dark edge gleamed faintly under the warm forge light, the repairs seamless and solid.
Lucien wiped sweat from his brow and whispered:
"Appraisal."
A thin light traveled along the blade.
Orc Cleaver — Condition: Restored
Good. It would serve him a while longer.
The other sword... his primary blade was nothing but a memory now. The cracks had become deep fractures; the spine of the weapon had warped beyond salvation. No forge in the world could bring back a blade whose core had died.
Lucien stared at the broken pieces laid out on the table.A part of him felt strangely hollow without it.
His gaze shifted to the items beside it: the twin werewolf fangs, the trophies he'd taken from the boss of the previous rift. Large, curved, bone-white with veins of faint silver.
He picked one up.It throbbed faintly in his palm.
"What am I supposed to do with these…?"
A soft shuffle of sandals announced Ahmad's return.
The elderly smith entered carrying a tray: cups of steaming tea, a jug of cold water, and a small plate of pastries dusted with sugar.
"You've worked enough for a first day," Ahmad said gently. "Drink."
Lucien set the fang down and accepted the tea with a nod."Thank you."
Ahmad followed his gaze to the werewolf trophies. His brows lifted, just slightly.
"Monster fangs," he murmured. "From something powerful, I assume."
"From a boss," Lucien replied. "Twin werewolves."
"Ah." Ahmad sat on a crate, hands wrapped around his own cup. "And you wish to forge a weapon from them, yes?"
Lucien hesitated. "I wasn't sure. I don't know if it's possible at all."
"It's possible. That is because they carry residue from the creature's inner mana," Ahmad said. "Some materials from rifts can be use this way. They don't simply belong to the monster..."He tapped one fang with a fingertip."...they are part of its essence."
Lucien took a slow breath."So… how do I use them?"
"You don't," Ahmad replied, smiling. "Not as they are. Fangs, claws, bones… they rarely make good weapons on their own."
He stood, walked to a dusty shelf, and pulled out an old iron-bound notebook.He flipped through it and held a page toward Lucien.
"It is better," Ahmad explained, "to melt them down and use them to create an alloy with steel."
Lucien blinked. "Alloy? With monster material?"
"Of course. Human steel is strong, but… limited." Ahmad gestured around the forge. "Your world is changing. Hunters need steel that remembers the beasts it was forged from."
He lifted one fang carefully, weighing it in his palm.
"These werewolves were fast, yes?" Ahmad asked."And resilient?"
"Yes." Lucien's jaw tightened with the memory of the fight. "Very."
"Then that is the nature of the alloy you will produce," Ahmad said. "Speed. Flexibility. Regeneration of durability. Perfect for a blade."
Lucien stared at the fangs again, something like anticipation stirring in his chest.
A new weapon.One shaped by his own hands.One worthy of the battles ahead and the path he sought.
Ahmad poured more tea and smiled kindly.
"When you're ready, Lucien de Mireval… we will forge something the world has never seen. Maybe... humm" He said smiling...
Lucien thanked Ahmad and stepped out of the forge."I'll try it tomorrow," he said. "I want to be fully focused when I start."
"Good," Ahmad replied with a nod. "Forging a monster alloy demands clarity."
Lucien left the workshop, the fading sunlight washing the narrow streets of Jaffa. He made his way toward the Association's local branch where Cédric was waiting.
But the closer he got, the more something felt… wrong.
A pressure in the air.A faint metallic taste on his tongue.Blood.
Lucien slowed, scanning the alleyways.
He wasn't imagining it... there was blood on the stone. A small smear on a wall. Another drop a few steps farther.
His body tensed instantly.
He followed the trail into the tight, twisting backstreets behind the Association. Shadows pooled like ink between the buildings.
Then he heard it.
A muffled cry.A scuffle.A choked breath.
Lucien sprinted.
He turned a corner...and saw Cédric pinned against a wall, blood running down his forehead.Two attackers hovered over him, both dressed in dark clothes, movements sharp and deliberate.
They were no common thugs.
One raised a curved blade...
Lucien moved before the thought even formed.
SCHLAK
His sword cleaved through the first attacker's leg, severing it clean at the thigh. The man collapsed with a scream.
The second assailant reacted fast, lunging with a dagger aimed at Lucien's throat.Lucien twisted aside, sparks flying as steel scraped steel.Another exchange...then another...their movements blurring in the confined space.
The attacker was skilled.Fast.Too fast for a normal human.
Lucien's eyes narrowed.
The man suddenly flickered...and vanished.
Teleportation.
He reappeared beside his wounded companion, trying to grab him and retreat.Lucien anticipated it.
He lunged, his blade slicing across the attacker's flank. The man hissed, blood spraying the wall, and teleported again... this time onto a nearby rooftop.
He stood there just long enough to lock eyes with Lucien…Then he disappeared into the night.
Silence fell.
Lucien lowered his blade and turned toward Cédric, who was still breathing heavily, one hand pressed to his ribs.
"You..." Cédric coughed, trying to straighten. "Took your time…"
Lucien offered him an arm to steady him.
"It seems," he said calmly, eyes still fixed on the rooftop where the assassin vanished,"we've just established a very… interesting contact."