Chapter 25
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: The Iron Song (2)
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The sky over the Steel District was a clear blue.
Even past noon, the heat was still raging.
Bran approached a peddler dragging a cart of wares.
"One bottle of the orange stuff, please. The strong kind."
"Here you go. Seven silver coins."
"My fist doesn't recognize faces, old timer. I'll give you one chance to correct your mistake."
"......Sorry about that. Just one coin, then."
The peddler lowered his gaze sheepishly and handed over a bottle filled with orange liquid.
Snap! Bran snatched it like a hawk and turned away, muttering under his breath.
"Pathetic lot. They always try to fleece outsiders on sight."
It was a type you found anywhere tourists gathered.
Not double the price—seven times? Hope he trips and cracks his forehead open.
"Anyway, we made it. My memory's still sharp as ever."
It had taken about thirty minutes to reach the Steel District.
The city's layout matched what he'd seen in the game, making navigation a breeze.
Arrogant as it sounded, he was confident he could've done it blindfolded.
As long as he didn't run into one of those Iron Bulls trained as assassins...
"Still whining? Typical."
"B-Bran, you're too... mmph!"
Kael couldn't even finish before his mouth was covered.
Blame Bran, who'd parkoured across the city in a straight line.
He'd slashed their travel time dramatically, but at the cost of Kael's dignity—hoisted over his shoulder like a sack.
"Hic! So mean... Didn't even listen to me..."
"Quit the dramatics and look up. Picked a spot with a killer view just for you."
"Uh...?"
It was a hilltop overlooking the entire Steel District.
The moment Kael lifted his tear-streaked face, the iconic skyline of Valkeros unfolded before them.
"......Incredible."
His tears dried up.
Sprawling across the plains backed by the Crimson Mountains was a massive industrial complex.
Steel mills, forges, precision workshops churning out golem parts.
The exposed facilities loomed like giant bones, rivaling any modern factory district in grandeur.
"Hey, hurry up over there!"
"C-Coming, Master! Let's go together!"
"Yeah. Ten thousand training longswords? Not a thousand—ten thousand by next week... We're screwed."
"Miners from the Crimson Mountains keep going missing. Worrying times."
Blacksmiths and their apprentices, miners, out-of-town tourists—all bustled through the streets.
A far cry from the sleepy Tin District, where everyone just napped.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Hammer strikes echoed from every direction.
Dozens of industrial magic golems wove through the crowds, hauling materials.
"Eyes sharp on the road. Heard some lunatic wrecked one in the Tin District."
"Mooo."
Iron Bulls—the ones that had tried to kill Leodorn—were a common sight, too.
Their massive carts overflowed with iron ore from the Crimson Mountain mines.
A city of fire and steel, true to its name!
Bran poked Kael's side.
"What do you think? Pretty badass, right?"
"Yeah... Totally..."
"We gotta head deeper in. Chug this first."
Bran handed Kael the potion he'd bought from the peddler.
"What's this?"
"Heat resistance brew. We're going deep—no way you last without it."
"But why only one bottle... Wait, were you planning to drink it?"
Kael asked cautiously, eyeing the bottle's rim like it was poisoned.
Bran shook his head.
"Nah. Figured I'd tough it out."
He needed to train like breathing.
Especially with his physique-focused build.
Every act of enduring or overcoming directly boosted his stats.
Speaking of which, this punk...
Thwack! Bran smacked Kael's head.
"Ow! Why'd you hit me?!"
"Pisses me off seeing a guy flinch like that. You some noble lady or what?"
"I-I didn't mean it like that... Anyway, I'll drink it! Thanks!"
Gulp gulp. Kael downed the potion in a hurry.
The two started down the main road.
They picked up backpacks along the way—no more lugging sacks forever.
"Man, it's huge... Widest road I've ever seen."
Kael marveled, looking around.
This avenue dwarfed the Tin District's paths; it was one of the empire's vital arteries.
At its distant end soared a towering spire.
"That the Steel Tower?"
"Yep. Valkeros's second masterpiece, forged by the legendary blacksmith himself."
Even from afar, its majesty awed.
An icon of great industry... yet harboring dark secrets.
Not their destination, but a must-visit later.
"Second? What's the first?"
"You'll see soon. This way."
"Whoa!"
Bran grabbed Kael's wrist and veered sharply.
The road led into the heart of the industrial zone.
Countless smokestacks belched plumes into the sky.
"Damn. It's heating up for real."
Bran flapped his shirt collar.
Sweat poured down. The deeper they went, the hotter it got.
Made sense, considering what lay ahead.
Hammer strikes grew louder.
"Eek! You okay, Bran? Your face is apple-red...!"
"Nope."
"T-Thought so... Saved some just in case—want it?"
Kael jiggled the bottle; about thirty percent sloshed inside.
Bran shook his head. Kael pouted.
"......Just take it. Barely touched the rim."
He seemed genuinely bummed.
Sweet of him, but no dice.
The path to mastery was harsh.
Another thirty minutes, and a crater hundreds of meters wide yawned before them.
The Steel District's sweltering heat rose from its depths.
Whoooosh!
A blast of hot wind surged up, tousling their bangs.
"Gah! Hot!"
"Ngh...!"
Even with the potion, Kael yelped.
Bran pointed down.
"That's the Dragon Heart Furnace—Valkeros's heart."
At the crater's center glowed a mechanical behemoth larger than most buildings.
Shaped like a heart. Myriad heat rays of flame radiated from it.
"Valkeros's first masterpiece. Powers the whole district—hell, the city—with heat. Never gone out once since it was built."
"A-Amazing... But Dragon Heart Furnace—made from a real dragon's heart?"
"Nah, that's what makes it genius. Inspired by an ancient dragon's heart, but pure mortal engineering. Pinnacle of our tech."
The furnace pumped heat across the Steel District like a beating heart.
Closer to it meant hotter flames, so top forges lined the crater's rim.
"Heh, Beudum, your weapons are top-tier. Worth the trip to this inferno!"
"Heh, you have an eye for quality. These signature wave patterns? Exclusive to my forge."
"Not the Blacksmith of the Year for nothing! Haha!"
Crowds milled between workshops, chattering away.
Folks who'd downed pricey resistance potions for the best gear.
One forge drew the biggest throng: a dwarf surrounded, boasting about his work.
"Whoa, huge crowd. He the best?"
"No way."
Bran clicked his tongue.
Even artisan towns had blowhards.
True masters never flaunted; he knew that well.
"Bunch of hacks. The smith we're after? Down below."
"Huh... So... under the crater?"
"Bingo. You're getting sharper, Kael."
Bran grinned, ruffling his hair.
Squinting, Kael spotted rickety stairs hugging the crater wall.
Despair washed over his face.
"Raweina..."
Out of respect for Bran, no scream escaped.
It took a grueling ten minutes to descend.
Thoom... Thoom...!
The furnace's pulses mimicked a dragon's heartbeat, slow and resounding.
Blasts of heat made it hard to keep eyes open.
"B-Bran? You alive?"
"......"
No answer.
Opening his mouth felt like it'd scorch his insides.
Without heat resistance, mental fortitude, and stamina boosts, he'd have bolted crying ages ago.
Enduring harsh conditions continuously. Tenacity of the Weed activates!
Stamina growth rate increases slightly!
The spec boost from Tenacity of the Weed was a silver lining.
Stamina was always right. Dudes needed stamina, after all.
Pressing on, a stone building came into view.
"F-Found... it...! That's... the forge!"
"B-Building down here?!"
Kael gawked.
The rundown forge stood not a hundred paces from the furnace.
It vibrated with every pulse.
A crumbling stone door bore the name: The Iron Song.
Inside, Bran wiped his face in relief.
"Haaah... Fuck. Feels livable now."
"Huff... huff... Yeah, definitely."
Still scorching, but better than outside.
Kael caught his breath. Classic smithy setup: hammers, anvils, tools everywhere; a furnace linked straight to the Dragon Heart Furnace looming large.
Hundreds of failed weapons littered the place.
Then—
"Who's there?"
"Eep."
A unfamiliar voice from the back.
Delicate, un-blacksmith-like timbre.
They turned.
It came from a room down the hall, beyond an iron partition.
"If you seek a weapon suited to you, come closer. Otherwise, get lost."
"......Pardon?"
"Spare me. You're here on behalf of some client, right? Merchants or politicians who couldn't swing a sword to save their lives."
Like a buggy AI assistant.
Before Bran could ask what that meant—
Shiiiing!
The partition split, revealing a slender man.
"Gonna make me show you the door the hard way?"
"Hiii?!"
Kael freaked.
A razor-sharp longsword gleamed in the man's left hand.
Masterwork blade. Silver surface rippled with edge that could cleave water.
With a weird kiai, he slashed diagonally.
"Kiyap!"
"This is a bit much."
Bran chuckled dryly.
He'd half-expected it, but still...
Dagger drawn from his belt, he lunged.
Claaaang!
Blades clashed, ringing sharply.
"Nice to meet you, Billmorris."
"Hm...! Not bad at all."
Billmorris recoiled like a spring.
Ignoring the greeting, he admired his buzzing hand.
"Fine ring! Short for your reach, but solid fundamentals. Impressive power for your build—you qualify as a client!"
"Spot-on. Downright chilling."
Bran sheathed his dagger and faced him.
Billmorris's signature rite: every prospective client faced this test.
"Forgive the rudeness. Have to weed out the pests somehow."
"No worries. Skip the test for my non-combat buddy here."
"Ah, that explains the soft presence."
Billmorris nodded.
Kael stared, dumbfounded, as they bantered.
What the hell? Ring? Test?
Amid the confusion, one thing caught his eye.
"Elf...!"
Kael's eyes widened.
He'd just noticed: Billmorris's ears stretched like leaves.
Twisted from burns, but elven enough to tell.
Unthinkable combo.
Human or dwarf, sure—but an elf smith?
And that wasn't all off.
The elf spoke.
"Yes. I cannot see. Blind, as they say."
"Gasp."
Kael inhaled sharply.
His eyes were open, but unfocused.
Forest-green irises dulled, lightless.
"I am the sailor lured by a siren's song, the traveler who thrust his hand into a serpent's den for gold. Enraptured by cold iron's beauty, I lost my sight... but gained the dragon's fiercest flame."
"Means he went blind from working too long by the fire. Dragon flame's the Dragon Heart Furnace."
"Heh, clear as day. Exactly right."
Billmorris snapped his fingers at Bran's gloss.
Just as quirky in person as through the screen.
'Lucky he was still alive when I dropped in.'
Billmorris Adelian.
Top-five blacksmith in the Return Lord's world.
Dwarves usually topped the ranks, but his obsessive madness—sacrificing sight—and elven senses made him irreplaceable.
Billmorris tilted his head.
"Do we know each other? You're awfully chummy; I forgot to check."
"Never met. But I know you're the Steel District's finest smith."
"Finest smith... Curious what yardstick you're using. I don't get many visitors. Beudum's place is packed—he must be the best, no?"
Laced with amusement.
Beudum: the showboating dwarf from earlier.
Here was the hook.
Bran cleared his throat and delivered his line.
"But Beudum's weapons lack soul."
"......What was that?"
"No soul. Saw some on the way—fell flat. Flashy, but no..."
"Damn right!!"
Billmorris shot up.
Sword down, he gripped Bran's shoulders.
"That runt's 'swords' are just iron bars! Stick to farm tools, kid... Not dissing plows, mind—noble weapons for farmers' wars. Point is, Beudum's no armorer!"
"Average dwarf. Calm down."
"Who are you, barging in and making my day?"
"Late intro: I'm Bran. Friend here's Kael."
Bran introduced them and opened the chest from Leodorn.
He pressed a chunk of numerite ore into Billmorris's hand.
"Came to have you forge a weapon from this. Valkeros's greatest smith."
"W-Wait. This feel and weight—is it...?"
Billmorris trailed off.
His blind eyes bulged.
Caressing the stone, he yelled again.
"I-Is it real? This is numerite?!"
"Yes."
"Mercy. How's a young human like you got this?!"
Rare even for his centuries.
Made sense.
Numerite: ultra-rare ore.
Bran had seen it twice max.
Unlike items earned through effort or knowledge, pure luck required.
Its perk: mass manipulation.
Feather-light or iron-heavy, depending on the wielder.
'Perfect for me now. Can't explain it but insane luck.'
If Leodorn's cart was all numerite, he'd reclaim his spot at Baek Eunsong Guild—and aim higher.
Bran humbly shook his head.
"Just got lucky."
"Luck alone doesn't snag this... No, doesn't matter!"
Billmorris thumped his chest.
"Trust me. Entrust it to Billmorris Adelian. I'll craft a piece worthy of the great Dragon Heart Furnace."
"I do. Obviously."
"Grateful beyond words. Now, what catalyst to bind the numerite...?"
Catalysts: sub-materials for high-end gear.
Not just minerals—some mad smiths used live creatures.
Same base, different catalysts yielded wildly varied effects.
Salamander tongue: fire damage.
Everfrost flower: ice damage.
Bran shrugged.
"Brought my own catalyst."
"Pardon?"
From his pack, Bran pulled a ragged pouch—from the Black Stone Fortress raid.
He fished out a metal vial.
"Use this. Rarer than numerite in some ways."
"Ha, good one. Rare stuff exists, but usually..."
"Harmeno sap. From the deepest stem."
"......What?"
"The Three Dragon Tree Harmeno. Elves call it the dragon coiling the land, right?"
Billmorris's smile vanished.
Ah, Harmeno. The tree that gives without end.