Chapter 79: Arming the Future
With a pulse of mana, Reyn vanished from the academy grounds, reappearing in his workshop in a swirl of blue light. The familiar scent of burning metal and oil filled his nose, the warmth of the forge washing over him like a comforting embrace. The rhythmic clanging of metal against anvil echoed through the workshop, underscoring the life he had built here.
Outside, atop the mountain next to Reyn's workshop, the air crackled with energy. Kael gritted his teeth as he struggled to lift Mjölnir, the mighty hammer brimming with thunderous power. No matter how hard he tried, it refused to budge.
"This thing's impossible!" he growled, sweat dripping down his brow. His muscles strained, veins bulging from the effort.
Nearby, Alarcus diligently scribbled notes on a parchment, analyzing the results. Amber, the black-furred cat, sat perched on a crate, tail flicking lazily as she watched the display with faint amusement.
A portal tore open behind them, and Reyn stepped through, his boots crunching against the stone. The lingering magic of his teleportation faded into the air.
"Having trouble?" Reyn smirked.
Kael huffed. "It won't move unless it wants to! I'm strong enough to lift it, I know I am!"
Reyn strode forward and grabbed Mjölnir's handle. The moment his fingers wrapped around the cold metal, lightning pulsed outward, responding instantly to his touch. He lifted it effortlessly, twirling it once before resting it against his shoulder.
Kael scowled. "Oh, come on!"
Reyn chuckled. "Mjölnir isn't just a weapon—it's a partner. Strength alone won't let you wield it." He placed the hammer back on the testing platform. "You'll have to figure out what it's looking for."
Kael crossed his arms. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Nope."
Amber let out what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
Reyn turned to Alarcus. "By the way, I never got the chance to ask before—back when you returned from the northeastern dukedom, you mentioned something about rebels. What's their situation?"
Alarcus, who had been taking notes on Thor's Hammer as Kael tried to swing it again, paused. "Ah, yes. The rebels are still in hiding. They're being careful, growing their numbers slowly, but the nobles are tightening their grip. Supplies are running low, and they lack strong fighters."
Reyn frowned and called Alarcus to follow him back to the vault. Kael followed, eager for a break. As they secured several Imperial Arms in a spatial bag, Reyn said, "Then they'll need these to even the odds." He gestured to the weapons in the bag. "You've tested them with Kael and could use them yourself since you had my permission—but when it comes to others, these weapons require specific kinds of people."
Alarcus furrowed his brow. "So, I'm not deciding who gets them?"
Reyn shook his head. "No. You'll find the right wielders. The weapons will resonate with those who are meant to use them. Once you find them, let them prove themselves."
Alarcus exhaled. "Understood."
"Once you've delivered these, meet us at the border to the elven nation. I'm going to start setting up other trials across the empire and meet up with you there."
Alarcus raised a brow. "Elves, huh? What are you looking for there?"
Reyn replied, "Those with the best connection to spirits and the best archers."
He turned back to Alarcus. "There's something else. While I was at the academy, I ran into assassins."
Kael tensed. "Assassins?"
Reyn nodded. "They were after me—sent by nobles from the northern dukedom. I managed to capture and interrogate a few before dealing with them." His eyes darkened. "And I learned something troubling."
Alarcus narrowed his gaze. "Go on."
Reyn crossed his arms. "There are other assassin groups out there. The nobles in the eastern and northeastern dukedoms have also sent their own. They're all trying to take my weapons for who knows what."
Kael clenched his fists. "Bastards. We should strike first. Take the fight to them."
"They want to force me to forge weapons for them," Reyn said coldly. "They must have found out that I'm connected to the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales as his student. But since they still think I'm just a student, only ten assassins came to capture me. Someone they can control."
Alarcus pushed his glasses up, his expression unreadable. "That's dangerous. If they think you're just an apprentice, they'll try to keep you alive—but once they realize the truth…"
Reyn nodded. "Then they'll stop holding back. They'll send real forces."
Kael cursed under his breath. "We need to hit back before they figure it out."
Reyn smirked. "That's why I'm moving fast. They won't get the chance to realize their mistake—until it's too late. We leave in two days."
Kael and Alarcus exchanged a look. They had no doubt about that.
Reyn entered the vault, where six massive blades rested on pedestals, each pulsing with power. The air felt charged, thick with latent energy, as if the weapons themselves were waiting for their rightful wielders. He carefully sealed them inside the steel box, ensuring they would remain untouched until the time was right.
Then, with a whispered incantation, his body shifted. His youthful frame disappeared, replaced by that of an old man—the same old man he was in his previous life. The illusion was flawless, down to the weathered lines on his face and the slow, deliberate gait of someone who had seen a lifetime of hardship. He flexed his fingers, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and detachment. It was an old mask, one he hadn't worn in years.
With the black steel box in hand, Reyn descended the mountain, heading for the Adventurer's Guild in the city. Tonight, the game would change. And soon, those nobles would realize their mistake.
Garrett leaned against the cold stone wall of the Adventurer's Guild, arms crossed as he eyed the bustling hall. He was still thinking about the strange message Reyn had sent him through one of those bird golems.
"Remember what i mentioned earlier, meet me at the guild. I'm putting on a show. Just go with it."
Garrett sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had learned long ago that Reyn had a knack for turning simple meetings into something far more chaotic. And yet, here he was, waiting.
Around him, adventurers stole glances at the massive Buster Sword on his back. Some admired it with respect, others with envy. It had become almost as famous as him, a weapon of legend among the adventurers of Greyhold.
Then, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Well, if it isn't the guild's walking fortress," Liora said, smirking as she approached.
Garrett smirked back. "And if it isn't the—"
"Don't say it." Liora's glare was instant, her tone sharp.
Garrett chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. He had been about to call her Heart Shocker, the nickname she hated—the one she had earned after rejecting way too many suitors in the guild.
"You're still getting stronger," Garrett said, changing the subject. "I can tell."
Liora folded her arms. "Of course. Someone has to keep up with you and Reyn."
Garrett tilted his head. "Speaking of, what's he up to?"
Liora hesitated for a moment, then gave a small smile. "I don't really know what he's planning right now."
She did know something, though. She remembered when Reyn had told her his plans to travel the continent soon and asked—When the time comes, will you leave with me just like we always talked about as kids?
She had said maybe.
But her heart had already screamed yes.
She just wanted to see the look on his face when he wasn't sure.
A soft blush rose to her cheeks at the memory. Maybe the time had come—and if it had, she was ready.
Before the conversation could turn awkward, Garrett leaned against the wall again. "So, what have you been up to lately? Any good quests?"
Liora grinned. "Took out a pack of shadow wolves on the outskirts of the forest. Nasty things—kept phasing in and out of the trees. Almost got me a few times."
Garrett nodded, impressed. "Shadow wolves, huh? They're tricky. You gotta time your swings just right before they flicker away."
"Yeah, well, I figured that out after they nearly shredded my cloak." She sighed. "What about you?"
Garrett smirked. "Escorted a merchant caravan up north. Bandits thought they had an easy score—until I broke their leader's axe and his arm in one swing."
Liora rolled her eyes. "You and your overkill."
He laughed. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
Before Liora could reply, the entire guild was rocked by a deep, mechanical revving noise from outside.
The doors to the guild slammed open, and a towering figure strode inside.
The room fell silent.
The newcomer was an imposing old man, broad-shouldered and wrapped in a heavy cloak, his face shadowed beneath a deep hood. A thick gray beard framed his stern expression. But what caught everyone's attention was the steel box strapped to his back and the overwhelming aura of mana that pulsed from him like a storm barely contained.
A few adventurers whispered among themselves.
"Who the hell is that…?"
"I can feel his mana from here…"
The old man's sharp gaze scanned the room before locking onto Garrett.
"Garrett Storme."
Garrett pushed off the wall, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Yeah?"
The old man took another step forward, his presence almost suffocating. "You have proven yourself time and time again." His voice was deep, steady, carrying the weight of authority.
Garrett frowned. "Who are you?"
The old man ignored the question. Instead, he continued, "my child That blade you carry—" he motioned to the Buster Sword, "—has served its purpose. But it is not your final sword."
More whispers spread through the guild.
"What does he mean?"
"Is he… that blacksmith?"
The old man glanced at the steel box on his back. "My pupil told me of your ambitions. You plan to open a swordmanship school in the future. You've already taken on a student too."
Garrett's eyes narrowed. He had taken on a student recently—a promising young adventurer who looked up to him.
The old man nodded as if confirming something. "Then it is time. Pass the Buster Sword down to him. And take this instead."
With a heavy thud, he dropped the steel box onto the ground. The locks clicked open on their own, and the lid creaked back.
Inside, six massive blades hovered, each gleaming with a blue aura.
Gasps erupted around the guild.
The blades lifted into the air, circling around Garrett like predators before suddenly collapsing inward— mechanicaly merging in a flash.
When the glow faded, a single monstrous sword remained.
The Fusion Sword.
It hovered there for a moment before floating gently into Garrett's outstretched hands.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, his breath caught.
It was heavier than the Buster Sword—but somehow more balanced. The mana pulsing through the weapon wasn't just powerful; it was attuned. Every part of the sword felt like it responded to his will, shifting with him, not against him.
Garrett gave it a small swing, and even that motion caused the air to tremble. Nearby adventurers instinctively stepped back, wide-eyed.
"…This thing's alive," Garrett muttered, almost in awe. "It feels like… like it's waiting for a real fight."
"Expand your legend," the old man said. "You've made your name in the western dukedom. That's fine… but this Empire is vast, and stories need wings."
Garrett's eyes narrowed. The aura. The confidence. The way the old man moved, like he belonged in every forge and battlefield at once. It wasn't just the weapon. It was the showmanship.
He glanced at Liora, who looked just as stunned—but there was a knowing look in her eyes.
They both realized it at the same time.
"That's Reyn," Garrett muttered under his breath.
Liora nodded slightly, whispering back, "He really went all in on the disguise, huh?"
They didn't say a word to anyone else. Let the guild wonder. Let the name of the legendary blacksmith spread.
And maybe that was the point.
The old man exhaled slowly. "For decades, I have remained silent, forging weapons meant only for the worthy. But now, the time has come." His eyes swept across the stunned crowd.
"after seeing how well the trials i set up by the academy is doing, I shall begin to set up other trials across the Empire… and beyond." His voice was solemn. "Only those who prove themselves shall wield my creations."
Garrett clenched the hilt of the Fusion Sword, feeling the raw power radiating from it.
"You know," he said, his voice thoughtful but laced with warmth, "setting up these trials across the Empire... it kind of feels like being a father. A father making sure his sons and daughters—my weapons—find good partners. Ones who'll treat them with respect, wield them with purpose, and never misuse them."
A few adventurers in the room chuckled at the sentiment, some even shaking their heads with amused smiles.
"Guess I'm getting sentimental in my old age," he added, brushing his beard with a laugh.
Garrett remembered Reyn's message delivered by the bird golem.
He hadn't expected this.
But Reyn wasn't just showing off. By making a spectacle, by turning attention to the idea of the trials and sending weapons across the continent, he was creating a smokescreen. Letting the world look one way while he slipped another getting thoses assassins off his tail.
Neither Garrett nor Liora knew about the assassins yet, but they'd find out eventually.
For now, they kept quiet. Smiling to themselves.
"Now, hand over the Buster Sword." the old man said.
Garrett hesitated, then unslung the massive blade from his back and passed it to the old man with reverence.
He held it in one hand, like it weighed nothing, then glanced toward the others.
"Since your student is still quite young… and short…" he added with a chuckle, "I'll shrink this down a bit. The weight'll stay, though. They'll still have to earn it."
With a wave of his hand and a whisper of ancient magic, the Buster Sword shimmered with a blue glow and rapidly compressed in size, going from massive to something more manageable—just a bit taller than a child's back.
Gasps echoed through the Adventurers' Guild.
"No way," someone whispered. "Did you see that? He shrank a Buster Sword…"
He stepped closer, voice lowering." also outside, waiting for you, is a little gift to help with that. It's built for distance… and style."
Garrett blinked. "Style?"
"It's called Fenrir," the old man said with a hint of pride. "A motorcycle. Something entirely new to this world. Built for speed, power, and of course…" he gave Garrett a knowing look, "…to carry those big swords of yours. Got special compartments for 'em and everything."
Garrett raised an eyebrow. "A… motorcycle?"
"I figured a walking legend deserves a ride worthy of one," the old man continued. "Might take a little getting used to. Throttle, clutch, mana-conversion drive core—nothing too fancy."
Liora looked at Garrett, trying not to laugh. "You're definitely going to crash that thing."
Garrett grinned. "Only once."
"I'll ride it," he said. "And I'll make sure every story spreads like wildfire."
The old man nodded, a strange, satisfied glint in his eye. Then he turned, cloak swirling behind him, and vanished into the gathering crowd, leaving behind whispers and wonder.