The 150 credits Daemon had earned from the unassisted, lethal subjugation of the Rixdorf Goblins represented far more than a simple payday; it was the key to the next phase of his operation. His core was still humming with the latent energy and expanded capacity gained from the high-stress test, and while the temptation to immediately pursue another high-reward mission was strong, his rigorous methodology dictated otherwise. The data collected in Rixdorf confirmed his physical augmentation was progressing beautifully, but his technological advancement—the true strategic bottleneck—was lagging. He had enough money to buy full-day access to the Academy Forge, and that was the priority.
Daemon viewed the Forge not as a mystical workshop, but as a vast, thermal laboratory, and he knew his first act must be resource preparation. The sack of rusted steel weapons scavenged from the Goblins was his gold mine—free raw material. He could have spent hours tediously removing the heavy corrosion, but efficiency demanded specialization. He found Zian, a classmate with a middling Lightning affinity, whose skills Daemon assessed as perfectly suited for a task he saw as simple electrical engineering.
"Twenty credits for an afternoon of work," Daemon stated, his tone flat and businesslike, offering no preamble. "You will apply a steady, low-grade electrical current to these rusted blades while they soak in a mild acid solution. The goal is to remove the iron oxide. Precise, sustained current control is required."
Zian, a merchant's son desperate for spending money, was instantly sold. He spent the entire afternoon performing electrolysis, marveling at the strange commission while Daemon supervised, occasionally correcting the electrical current's frequency. The process efficiently stripped the rust, leaving behind stacks of clean, usable iron and steel alloys, all acquired at minimal cost. This simple transaction not only yielded resources but established a crucial principle: magic was a quantifiable service that Daemon could purchase and direct when necessary, conserving his own unique energies.
With his raw materials prepared, Daemon claimed his paid time in the Forge. The facility was immense, its internal heat regulated by massive, glowing runes etched into the stone walls, the air thick with the scent of coal and hot metal. He wore only a heavy leather apron, relying on his augmented strength to manipulate the immense heat and heavy tools. He knew that as a novice in Runic Enchantment, attempting complex spell matrices on this first batch would be foolish. The goal was to forge physically perfect templates ready for later enchantment.
He spent the entire day in a state of intense, meditative focus. The work was demanding, even for his augmented body. He used the immense strength provided by his core—now operating at a new peak, perhaps 7.5x his original baseline—to manipulate the heavy bellows and control the hammer strikes with inhuman precision. This strenuous physical labor was a controlled application of his latent power, continually reinforcing the connection between his core and his muscle fibers, ensuring the strength multiplier remained active and robust.
Daemon meticulously folded the scavenged iron hundreds of times, controlling the temperature and oxygen flow to ensure purity. The resulting blades were not merely shaped; they were engineered. He manipulated the steel to create a visible, flowing Damascus pattern, an effect prized by nobles but which Daemon valued for the superior micro-crystalline structure it conferred, promising unparalleled strength and edge retention.
By the time the shadows lengthened across the Forge floor, Daemon had created three distinct, specialized weapons systems, designed to complement his combat data from the Rixdorf mission.
The first was a slim, single-edged blade, similar to a ninjatō—designed for speed, silent dispatches, and quick draws in enclosed, chaotic environments like the Goblin cave. Its balance point was perfectly centered, allowing for rapid changes in attack direction.
The second, and most impressive, was a bastard sword. This was the centerpiece, a versatile, two-handed weapon that benefited most from his augmented strength, offering the reach and power of a full longsword without sacrificing the nimbleness required for Academy duels.
Finally, he forged a series of daggers, inspired by the clean, ergonomic design of modern combat knives—optimized for throwing, reverse grip, and close-quarters defense.
For the hilts, he used the cleaned animal bones salvaged from the Goblin cave, sanding them smooth and wrapping them tightly in cured leather. The scabbards were constructed from dark, well-sanded wood, molded perfectly to ensure silent, swift drawing. The result was not just a collection of weapons, but a personalized, integrated killing system, superior in physical quality to anything the Academy sold.
As the last dagger cooled, Daemon felt a profound, satisfying exhaustion. His body had been pushed to its limits by the controlled labor, and his mind was heavy with the detailed, complex forging parameters he had tracked. He wrapped his creations tightly in canvas. Testing their efficacy and edge retention would have to wait until the morning.
He had just finished scrubbing the sweat and soot from his hands when the heavy oak door of the Forge swung inward with a jarring noise. Standing silhouetted against the dimming light was Cassian, the silver-braided noble, flanked by his usual sycophants. Cassian had likely just finished a late, intense practice session, as his fine clothes were slightly stained.
The noble's gaze swept the room, halting abruptly on Daemon's workstation. The canvas wrapping had come partially loose, revealing the deep, complex shimmering of the bastard sword's Damascus patterning.
Cassian swaggered forward, his previous disdain for the orphan forgotten, replaced by avarice. He reached out without permission and lifted the sword, testing its sublime, effortless balance with a sharp, practiced swing. The quality of the blade was undeniable, far exceeding the standard-issue weapons provided to even the noble students.
"Well, well. Look what the commoner's been making with the Kingdom's resources," Cassian drawled, running a proprietary finger along the unsharpened edge, his green eyes glinting with possessive demand. He dropped the blade slightly, fixing Daemon with a look of absolute, entitled authority. "This is too good for an orphan to possess. Sell it to me. Name your price, or I'll simply ensure the Academy takes it from you and grants me first option."