The Anvil Sings Back

"Damn it. Why the hell isn't this working?!"

The material mix was perfect. The shield's shape was exactly as he'd envisioned. But no matter what, he couldn't produce an item with the grade or options he wanted.

Of course, if you grasped the item's intended design, these were solid options. But to Vulcan, they fell woefully short.

"At this rate, it's not item power—it's just relying on user control to cover the gaps?"

Was the story lacking? Was his focus and delivery too weak? Or maybe there was another way to embed the narrative altogether?

"Can't just go back and ask for more water."

The confidence that he'd churn out a Unique-grade shield any second had hit rock bottom. He considered heading back to the Artisan Hall for more advice from Gremori Hatoon, but gave up on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠idea.

"……No way he'd teach me anyway."

- Heh heh heh. You think that'd be easy?

He'd introduced himself as the Artisan Hall manager, but since Vulcan had never seen him before, it was clear he only appeared under special conditions. Even if he went back and met him again, he'd probably just spout more vague tales—no point expecting detailed guidance. Gloria Saga had no kindly NPCs like that. It'd likely just end in disappointment.

Even Tud, watching him closest, was too busy mocking his flailing attempts.

"Only a day left……."

It had already been three days since they met. If he didn't have a breakthrough in the remaining day, their connection might snap forever, forcing him to wait another month.

"The anvil's song is like a bard's harp."

What was he missing? What separated his work from the bards' songs?

- Huh? Where you going?

"Out to clear my head."

It was just a metaphor—no way it was exactly the same—but with his frustration boiling over, Vulcan left the forge again. Some problems demanded direct confrontation, but inspiration from the outside world was sometimes essential too.

He headed to a pub where bards gathered to comfort weary artisans, singing tales of the weapons they'd forged and their exploits in the world.

Vulcan rarely visited pubs—he couldn't fathom dropping game gold on booze—but he hoped to glean something from the bards' songs.

"One watermelon juice……and one iced chocolate."

But no booze for him. Parched from the forge, he ordered watermelon juice, plus a chocolate drink for Tud, who was staring expectantly.

In other regions' pubs, it'd draw snickers, but here—where folks needed to keep working—it was mundane. Plenty stopped by to quench thirst or recharge on sugar.

"Next up, bard Lyut with the Ode to the Gale!"

Glancing back while waiting, he took in the pub: artisans sprawled casually, chattering noisily, or spit-flying debates on crafts and techniques. On stage, bards prepped instruments and songs for their turns.

Hilros the Gale Wind……

Vulcan knew the Ode to the Gale. A hero from ancient times, dubbed Hilros the Gale Wind.

Might get some reference material.

As the moniker suggested, it was about a style that shredded foes with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gale-like speed and ferocity.

A thief, but more like an evasion tank.

Despite being a stealth-and-ambush thief class, he wielded wind powers for superior speed, binding enemies and striking head-on—like a tank, warrior, and thief in one. Bizarre for the class, but his strength silenced critics. No one could nitpick when he was that overpowering, even if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he "wasted" his longsword.

Was the Ode about the Medeiya Battle? Where he swept 10,000 troops solo?

"Here we go!"

Dung dung dung dung—

The ode's tempo matched the hero's feats: blisteringly fast. Variations existed by bard, but it always captured the chaos and his traits, ramping up from the start.

The warrior's charge is a gale no one can halt

Arrow storms pour, yet never touch him

Where the gale brushes, dust clouds rise

Where the gale claws, blood mists linger

"……Hmph. Figures, derived from theater."

"Sounds nice, but no substance."

"Tsk tsk. Real bards sing their own songs—not chasing theater hits."

The Ode to the Gale wasn't ideal for bards. True bard songs, especially scene depictions, painted vivid pictures in listeners' minds. This one? Vague clouds without visuals.

Likely from a popular play. Paired with arrows whizzing, dodges, and slaughter, it'd hype the mood. No wonder it flopped here among artisans.

But to Vulcan—one man—it hit different.

"Wind……doesn't connect?"

He just needed a spark of inspiration. He'd started focusing on melody and flair, but the bard's impassioned crescendo conjured the scene.

Drawing on his veteran knowledge, it was easy. Hilros deflecting arrows with wind, flowing attacks aside—maybe Vulcan's ideal style?

How'd he pull it off? Overwhelming speed and wind meant no shield needed, but something clicked in Vulcan's mind.

The power of wind.

Hilros's root was wind manipulation. But Vulcan couldn't grant that.

Doesn't have to be literal wind, right?

Using his own abilities, he could mimic it.

"Your drinks. On the house since you didn't sip."

To seize the flash and embed it in the shield, Vulcan bolted up.

- My iced chocolate!!

'I'll buy you ten later—let's go now! Quick!!'

Drinks hadn't even arrived, so Tud wailed, but Vulcan promised tenfold and dashed out.

"100 gold."

"……Here."

He didn't head to the forge. Straight to the Mages' Guild for a mid-grade mana stone and spellbook.

Pricey gut-punch, hands shaking—but necessary. Back at the forge, he steeled for more pain.

"Extract."

Using Extraction on the spellbook, he gained the engraving recipe for Telekinesis enchantment.

The book shredded away, leaving the magic circle blueprint in his mind.

Prep done. Now the real test.

Crank the furnace, dump materials. Artisan contests allowed any materials if handled right—precision mixing was key, but Dragon Eye made it trivial for Vulcan.

Iron ore as base to lower item level, mixed with specials, melted sequentially, impurities skimmed, then hammered gleefully on the anvil.

But not the old horn shield. Sleek, aerodynamic curve instead of spikes. Smaller too—wrist to elbow coverage.

Lower defense risk offset by hinges and alloys.

Now……

Shape set, he pulled engraving tools. Inscribed the Telekinesis circle inside, melted mid-grade mana stone into it—embedding the skill as an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠option.

His answer to Hilros's wind control.

Telekinesis—twisting incoming attacks slightly, denying clean hits. Magic or physical.

Not just defense either.

Versatile: steal body control briefly (unless high resistance or overwhelming strength). Or nearby objects. Endless utility.

Still needed user skill and base defenses, so Vulcan boosted elasticity and rebound over raw defense.

Focus: attacks don't land.

Problem's the anvil's song……

Finishing touches left: temper surface, coat, polish.

But no song yet—he bit his lip, hammer up.

Kaang kaang kaang—

Precise strikes rang crisp and clear, tone brighter, fresher than usual.

But not song-like. Failure again?

No. Not over.

With firm belief, he hammered the mental image into the shield.

"!!"

The anvil sang. Raw still, but echoing Vulcan's will like a song, resonating with intent.

- Not bad. Already pulling this off.

Tud's rare praise fell on deaf ears. Vulcan danced the hammer to the anvil's tune, half-tranced in success's thrill.

Not yet. Still short.

Unsatisfied, he bit harder.

Craved perfection.

- You idiot! What the hell are you doing?!

Vulcan halted mid-swing. Risking broken focus and anvil silence, he flipped the shield.

Engraving tools out again.

Above the telekinesis circle, he engraved a bard-like epic line.

- Engraving words won't—

- ……add narrative power?

It works?

Vulcan wasn't sure, but the gamble paid off. Engraving that line completed the anvil's song.

Finishing touches done, the result exceeded expectations. A true masterpiece was born.