The Golden Flame

Raon's teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw.

Wrath!

The interference had struck at the worst possible instant. He had just reached a state of trance, on the very verge of forming his aura — and the energy that had been gathering began to scatter apart.

Ghk—!

He poured every shred of focus into condensing the fading aura of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames. But the moment he tried to force it into place by sheer will, a bone-deep chill came flooding in.

"This King told you, did I not?"

Mockery laced Wrath's voice.

"This King would strike at the moment you were at your weakest."

Kh…

He was right. Wrath had warned that he would attack at the most dangerous moment — and honestly, Raon had even predicted this. But the trance had taken him so suddenly that he had forgotten the creature's existence entirely.

"Now it begins!"

Wrath exploded forward in a torrent of frost. The cold was so vicious it froze even the sweat on Raon's skin, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. The pain of his bones freezing solid made him want to wrench his eyes open then and there — but if he moved now, his mana would reverse course and leave him a broken wreck.

This bastard…

He had been quiet for so long that Raon had almost forgotten: Wrath was not an ally. He was a demon. A king of the Demon Realm. And it seemed he meant to shatter this body and devour the soul within it.

The frost Wrath unleashed grew more venomous by the second, and the cold that had lain dormant in Raon's mana circuits stirred itself into a frenzy.

Urgh…

A scream tore through his clenched teeth. It felt as though his bones and skin were splitting apart. The frigid cold and the emotion of wrath itself began to gnaw even at his mind.

"It is over."

What rose in Wrath's icy voice was not rage, but rapture.

"Your body and soul now belong to This King."

Just as Wrath had said, a piercing, bone-numbing frost filled every inch of him. The pain gave way to something worse — his senses were vanishing. He felt as though he would lose consciousness at any moment.

Kh!

Raon bit down on his tongue. The pain hit him like a bucket of ice water, and for a brief instant his mind cleared.

Think. Think!

Wrath's frost had already swallowed his entire body. If this continued, it was only a matter of time before the creature claimed him.

I can't stop the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames either.

Even if he tried to circulate the Ring of Fire now, it would be too late. Wrath's frost would devour body and mind before the rings could even begin to turn.

I have to find a way out.

He endured by spinning the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames without pause — hanging from a cliff by a single thread.

"Give up. Your body has already fallen into This King's hands."

That's something you won't know until I try.

"A wasted effort. No different from that old man who tends his charcoal kiln day after day."

The charcoal kiln… the charcoal kiln!

There it was. A way to survive.

Raon crushed his fist tight and, with the last of his strength, dragged mana toward himself. What he pulled in was not the natural mana warmed by the kiln's heat — it was the mana from inside the kiln itself.

"You. What do you think you're doing?!"

Desperation!

That's right. This was desperation. Dying without being able to do a thing had been enough for his previous life. He would not die meaninglessly in this one.

A sound like crumbling leaves came from the kiln's ceiling, which had been sealed in hardened clay.

"You brat! Stop this at once!"

Ghk—!

The frost Wrath unleashed grew stronger still — powerful enough to freeze him through the skin and into the marrow. Sensation had already vanished from his arms and legs. He held on through sheer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spite and drew one last breath.

The earth itself seemed to split. A colossal wave of heat erupted into the air — flame bursting from inside the charcoal kiln. Raon drank it in all at once, just as he had the first time he ever learned to breathe with the fire.

The heat entered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not only through his nose and mouth, but through every pore in his body, driving back the frost that had occupied him from head to toe. The firepower was overwhelming. It felt as though lava were racing through his veins.

Beneath that raging torrent of heat, Wrath's frost melted away like spring snow.

"W-what is the meaning of this?!"

Get lost, Wrath!

Raon bit down on his lip and circulated the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames. He even pulled the vast quantity of frost melting through his mana circuits and drew it down into his dantian.

"D-damn it all!"

Hah…

Raon let Wrath's furious scream wash past him and gathered every last scrap of heat scattered through the air, along with every last drop of frost inside his body. Extreme, absolute concentration. He overcame Wrath's interference and sank into a second trance.

"Hah."

Vulcan fed another log into the hearth and let out a heavy breath. Fire caught in an instant, raising a thick, hungry blaze — and at the sight of it, old memories rose unbidden.

Has it already been thirty years?

Thirty years ago he had forged his final masterpiece, the Heavenly True Sword. After presenting the finest blade of his life to Glenn Zieghart, he had believed the story of his own life was over. He had wealth enough that a lifetime of spending would not exhaust it, and so he had declared his retirement, intending to enjoy whatever years remained.

And yet, whenever he came to his senses, he found himself sitting before the fire. There was no need to rise early. No need to light the furnace. But his feet carried him to the workshop before he even knew it.

He had stopped. Completely, thoroughly. His own time was still frozen in the days he had forged the Heavenly True Sword.

I can't cut it away.

He had made countless swords. He had rendered great service to House Zieghart. Glenn — the family head, and one of the strongest men on the continent — still wielded the blade Vulcan had given him. Even if he retired now, his name would remain in history. And still he could not sit still. He could not set down the hammer. He could not step away from the fire.

The reason he could do neither one thing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nor the other was simple. He wanted to keep working — but he had no confidence he could create a piece that surpassed the Heavenly True Sword he had presented to Glenn.

Stuck in that vague, in-between place, he had lit fires halfheartedly and lifted the hammer without conviction, and all that came back to him was emptiness.

That's why I built this kiln.

A little over a decade ago, he had constructed this charcoal kiln and begun producing charcoal — all in pursuit of Gold Charcoal, something beyond black charcoal and white charcoal alike. The thought had been that with charcoal that special, he might be able to forge a better sword.

But he had not succeeded even once. He had combined legend and rumor and tried countless methods, and still Gold Charcoal had never come into his hands. Even so, he had not wanted to give up. It was the last obsession of a life that did not have much left in it.

He had been burning away time like that, endlessly, when the boy arrived.

Raon Zieghart.

From the very first day they met, that boy had breathed with the embers in the hearth. A flame that had stood still for more than a decade bared its fangs like a beast and roared to life.

It was the first time. The first time the fire had ever responded. The first time the heat had ever risen. Nothing like it had happened in all the years until then.

Thinking something might change, Vulcan had allowed Raon to stay at his side — but he had not expected much.

This place is a living hell of fire, after all.

The heat this kiln threw off was vicious enough that even master craftsmen who had weathered every hardship imaginable would turn away from it. The artisans who had first come offering to help had not lasted more than a few days before quietly slipping away.

But the boy came every single day. Sweat poured off him in sheets. He bit his lip against the pain until it bled. And still he sat himself down in front of the kiln, day after day.

At first, Vulcan could see that the heat rising from the floor kept him from concentrating on his cultivation. The second day was the same. He trembled in the heat and bit down on his lip.

Three days. Four. A week. A month. And then three months.

Raon came to the charcoal kiln without missing a single day.

And today — as if answering the boy's inhale and exhale — the embers in the hearth blazed up with violent life, and the kiln's heat doubled in intensity. He commanded the flames of this place as if he had become an incarnation of fire itself.

This is—!

Vulcan realized in that instant that a vital opportunity had come to him. Not merely the chance to create a new charcoal — the chance to live as a craftsman once more.

"Hoo…!"

He poured his entire mind into maintaining the firepower of the blaze in the hearth. He blew, he fanned, he fed the flames — repeating every action that could make the fire grow. The embers were alive and breathing. A transparent flame at the center erased the dull, murky fire around it and drew up a denser, deeper heat.

Then something strange happened.

Frost began to settle over Raon's entire body — Raon, who should have been pouring sweat from the heat spreading through the kiln.

What?

Vulcan looked around in alarm, but the only place the cold had spread was Raon's body. The frost crept over him bit by bit, until even his golden hair began to freeze.

W-what am I supposed to do?

Raon's body was shaking violently. Vulcan could tell the boy was in a bad state, but he had no idea what to do about it. He knew you weren't supposed to touch someone in a moment like this — but if he left him like that, the boy looked as though he would die.

"H-hey! You…"

"Don't."

Just as Vulcan reached out to wake Raon, Rimer appeared — a movement like the wind itself.

"Rimer! What are you doing?! The boy's going to die like that!"

"There's nothing we can do right now."

Rimer shook his head. His brow was furrowed as he watched Raon tremble even more violently.

"Even the slightest shock from outside would make him cough up blood and die."

"Is that the frost you told me about before?"

"Yes. That child has carried that frost in his body since the day he was born."

"That's…"

Vulcan bit his lip. Something in his chest ached.

That little brat…

It was pitiful that a child whose hair had barely grown in had been born with a frost vicious enough to erase even the heat of the hearth — and it was admirable that he had endured it until now. Vulcan wanted to help him somehow.

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

"There isn't. If we so much as touch him, it'll be dangerous."

Rimer's expression was graver than usual. His hands were clenched into fists, his gaze locked on Raon and Raon alone. The two of them watched in silence as the frost crept further and further over the boy's body.

"A-at this rate he's really going to die! We have to do something!"

"Wait! Raon moved!"

Hope flickered across Rimer's face. He let out a disbelieving laugh as he stared at Raon.

"What? What do you mean… huh?"

Vulcan turned his head. The flames in the hearth that fed the charcoal kiln suddenly roared to life. Fire burst from the hearth and wrapped the entire kiln. The clay-sealed kiln ruptured, and a terrifying wave of heat flooded the air.

For a moment the heat was so immense he could not breathe. Even as a continental master craftsman, he had never felt anything like it. He ducked his body against it — but the scorching heat vanished as quickly as it had come.

The heat was spiraling inward, drawn into Raon. As that enormous firepower condensed, the frost covering his entire body melted away.

Scarlet flame blazed up over Raon's flesh. No — not scarlet.

Gold.

A golden blaze bloomed, dyed in the color of dawn rising over the eastern mountains. Even wrapped in those golden flames, Raon did not stop his cultivation. He took in not merely the heat of this place, but every last scrap of heat from the whole of Bukmang Mountain.

When the sun had fully unveiled its magnificent radiance, and the pouring light began to fade into a faint glow, Raon opened his eyes.

The moment those eyes met his, Vulcan swallowed dry. A tremor that began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at his toes drove straight through his skull.