Everyone waited patiently in front of the furnace for nearly an hour. When Brandwaldden finally took the sword out and touched it, he found it only faintly warm—not even hot.
"It seems the current temperature of the furnace isn't enough for the re-forging. We'll have to activate the backup plan," Brandwaldden said, shaking his head helplessly. Thankfully, they were well-prepared.
Alan nodded. With magic infused, all the runes on the sword blank were active and defensive. Indeed, using ordinary flames was now too strenuous to soften the metal.
"Then we'll use Fiendfyre, but for safety, we can't forge indoors anymore." Alan walked out of the tent and surveyed the area, pointing to a flat, rocky clearing on the mountain peak. "Let's move the equipment there and forge in the open air."
Brandwaldden nodded and directed several centaurs to move the anvil, workbench, and quenching trough outside. Once everyone was ready, Alan looked solemnly at the group. "For safety, I will handle the heating process alone. All of you, keep your distance."
Alan took out a brazier, chanted a spell to conjure a wisp of Fiendfyre within it, and carefully controlled the cursed flame to prevent it from spreading. As this was his first attempt at forging with Fiendfyre, he took a metal flask from his belt and poured a stream of enchanted water around the brazier as a containment ring. This flask was his own replica of Newt's "Traveling Flask." While his materials—Agriba Alloy rather than Urim steel—were slightly inferior, the water was more than sufficient to handle a contained wisp of Fiendfyre.
"I'm starting! If anything unexpected happens, get away quickly," Alan warned, then focused his attention on the brazier. He held the sword blank in one hand, extending it into the brazier, while gripping his wand with the other to direct the flame. Simultaneously, he had to continuously infuse magic into the sword, a series of operations that was extremely taxing.
The sword blank showed incredible resistance. The Fiendfyre transformed into a miniature flaming beast, biting fiercely at the metal, but the shimmering magic patterns remained unharmed. After a long stalemate, the temperature finally began to rise. The color of the sword turned a deep red, showing the first signs of becoming malleable.
Seeing this, Alan pulled the sword from the brazier and used the surrounding water ring to instantly extinguish the Fiendfyre. Without stopping, he moved to the anvil. Together with Brandwaldden, he began the second round of hammering.
Alan's magic infusion could not be interrupted; he had to channel energy into the blade while simultaneously striking it with the hammer. This process was faster than the initial shaping, as the sword's form was already set. The goal now was to use the "strengthening" and "purifying" arrays on the tools to bond Alan's magic to the runes and perfectly integrate the materials.
However, both Alan and Brandwaldden felt that each strike was much more strenuous than the last. Every blow felt like a stone sinking into a deep sea, as if the blade beneath the hammer was no longer just metal. It felt as if they were forging magic itself.
In the eyes of the young centaurs nearby, the scene was mystical. With each powerful hammer strike, a flurry of fine magical light erupted from the sword, like gold and silver dust dancing in the air. These were the magical impurities being forced out; the forging was a process of ultimate purification.
As the work progressed, the hammers gradually lost physical contact with the sword. The star-like flashes disappeared, replaced by arcs of electricity surging from the blade that held the hammers back just millimeters from the surface. The sharp clanging of metal turned into dull, heavy thuds.
"That's enough. We just need to repeat this until no impurities remain," Alan said, his eyes filled with joy.
He reignited the Fiendfyre. Everyone noticed that the sword now took significantly longer to heat. After reaching a glow again, they hammered once more. With each repetition, the magical starlight became sparser, replaced by a silver radiance and crackling arcs. Eventually, even the Fiendfyre could no longer turn the sword red—it only managed a faint pink.
"Look at the sky!" Firenze snapped out of his trance and cried out in alarm.
Bane, Ronan, Hog, and even Alan and Brandwaldden looked up. Above the peak of the mountain, thick, inky black clouds had gathered. These dense clouds seemed to be pressing down on them in layers, and within the darkness, faint flashes of lightning flickered.
*Is it because of you?*
Alan looked at the sword in his hand, lost in thought. He had never heard of forging magical equipment causing celestial phenomena. Could this truly reach the status of a sacred artifact? He had a premonition that after this final round of hammering, the sword would reach its complete form. After this, no flame would affect it, and no hammer could find an impurity.
"Brandwaldden, this is the final moment!" Alan shouted. He realized the storm above was tied to the blade in his hand. Now was the time to finish the work!