Lucavion couldn’t hide the small, satisfied smile that crept onto his face at Harlan’s rare praise. He had finally proved himself in front of the old blacksmith. It had been a tough road, and the mission wasn’t without its challenges, but now he stood here, victorious and intact.
“Does that mean I’m qualified to get my weapon from you now?” Lucavion asked, his voice calm but carrying a hint of excitement.
Harlan turned to him, raising an eyebrow, and let out a gruff laugh. “It seems dealing with all those bandit bastards made you dumber, lad. Can’t you remember what we agreed on?”
Lucavion’s smile widened. “Of course I remember,” he said smoothly, his tone light. “I just wanted to hear it from you. You know, to confirm.”
Harlan crossed his arms, his frown deepening as he fixed Lucavion with a stern look. “You take me for a man who’d go back on his word?” His voice was low, gravelly, carrying the weight of his pride.
Lucavion shook his head, his smile still lingering. “Not at all. I just didn’t want to get ahead of myself.”
Harlan let out a snort, though there was no real malice behind it. “Aye, well, you’ve proven yourself, lad. I gave my word, and I’ll keep it. You’ll get your weapon.”
Lucavion nodded, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. He had earned this–through sweat, blood, and determination. The road had been long, but now, he was on the cusp of obtaining something far greater than a mere blade.
Harlan uncrossed his arms and turned back to the forge, his gruff demeanor softening just a bit. “But don’t think for a second that means you can rest easy. We’re just getting started. This sword will be like none you’ve wielded before. If you’re not prepared, it’ll break you before you even get to use it.”
Lucavion’s smile faded, replaced with a look of steely determination. “I’m ready,” he said simply.
Harlan gave a slight nod, his back already turned as he reached for his tools. “Good.” Harlan waved a hand dismissively, his gruff voice cutting through the quiet of the forge. “Now get out of here. I need to focus, and I can’t do that with you hanging around like a damn shadow.”
Lucavion opened his mouth to reply, but Harlan was already deep into his work, pulling tools from the walls and setting them around the forge with practiced precision. Realizing there was no point in lingering, Lucavion nodded quietly to himself and turned to leave.
But just as he began to move, something caught his eye–a glimpse of something on the workbench beside Harlan. Lucavion’s gaze flickered to the corner of the forge, where a large sheet of parchment lay partially rolled up. It was a blueprint, intricate and detailed, showing the outline of a sword’s body, its form sleek yet powerful.
His eyes widened slightly when he noticed the material Harlan was preparing on another table. Large, dark scales–faintly shimmering with an ominous, otherworldly glow. They were unmistakable. The scales of an Abyssal Wyrm. Lucavion had heard tales of how rare and resilient they were, nearly indestructible, forged in the heart of darkness itself.
The fact that Harlan had obtained such material–and had already begun working on it–sent a rush of anticipation through him.
‘He’s been working on it all along,’ Lucavion realized, his heart pounding in his chest. Harlan had already started crafting the blade, even before the mission had been completed.
The realization only deepened Lucavion’s respect for the old man. This wasn’t just going to be any weapon; it was something extraordinary, forged from one of the rarest and most dangerous creatures known to mankind. And Harlan was the only one capable of turning those materials into something Lucavion could wield.
As if sensing Lucavion’s lingering presence, Harlan shot a quick glance over his shoulder, his voice a low growl. “You still here, boy? I told you to leave. Come back when I’m done. You’ll know when the time’s right.”
Lucavion snapped out of his thoughts and gave a quick nod, stepping toward the exit. “Got it,” he said, suppressing the growing excitement within him. As he walked out of the smithy, the heat from the forge faded, replaced by the cool air of Rackenshore’s streets.
Vitaliara’s voice echoed softly in his mind as he left the building. [It seems you’ll have quite the weapon soon, Lucavion. Are you ready for it?]
“Heh…..Ready than ever.”
[Is that so?]
Just like that, Lucavion had left the place, as he returned to the inn.
*******
Roderick sat at his desk, his fingers tapping lightly against a stack of papers. He had called for Lucavion, and now, he waited. His eyes occasionally flicked to the corner of his office where a leather-bound folder rested–a file containing the identity he had painstakingly crafted for Lucavion. It had taken time, favors, and a considerable amount of money, but it was finally ready.
The door creaked open, and Lucavion stepped into the room, his usual calm and cold demeanor present as always. He glanced around briefly before settling his gaze on Roderick, who gestured for him to sit.
“Well,” Roderick said, leaning back in his chair, “it took a bit longer than expected, but I’ve got everything ready for you.” He opened the leather folder, pulling out a set of documents and a small, glowing ID card. “Your new identity.”
Lucavion raised an eyebrow, taking the seat offered to him but saying nothing. Roderick smirked slightly, knowing Lucavion was keen on details, especially with something as important as this.
“Lucavion Renwyn,” Roderick began, reading from the documents. “That’s your new surname. You’re an orphan from a small village called Veilcrest, located on the outskirts of the empire near the western border.”
Lucavion’s eyes narrowed slightly, absorbing the information.
“The backstory we’ve crafted for you is solid. You were raised in Veilcrest until the village was destroyed by a monster raid about a decade ago. That’s when you left and began wandering, picking up various odd jobs in mercenary work. If anyone looks into it, they’ll find records of Veilcrest’s destruction, as well as a few villagers who were relocated after the incident.
There’s even a temple that can verify your status as an orphan, should anyone bother to check.”
Roderick flipped through the pages, showing Lucavion a detailed background–meticulously fabricated but convincing. “You’ve been around for a few years, moving from town to town. Nothing too flashy. Just enough to blend in, but not enough to attract too much attention.”
He handed Lucavion the documents, letting him look through them. “This here,” Roderick continued, tapping the small ID card, “is the most important part. It’s your official identity as a citizen of the Arcanis Empire. It’s a magical artifact developed by the Empire’s arcane experts. Hard to forge, even harder to come by unless you’ve got connections.”
Lucavion picked up the ID card, watching as it shimmered faintly with magic. “How does it work?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the card.
Roderick grinned. “It’s tied to your mana signature. It’s essentially proof that you’re an official citizen. The Empire’s bureaucracy is strict, so without this, you’re no one. With it, however, you’ve got access to guilds, trade, even travel permits within the Empire’s borders. Anyone who tries to verify your identity will find you in the official records–name, origin, and backstory.
You’re now Lucavion Renwyn, orphan of Veilcrest.”
Lucavion nodded, inspecting the card further before slipping it into his coat. “It’ll do,” he said, his tone as calm as ever, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
Roderick leaned back, satisfied with his work. “Good. This wasn’t easy to pull off, but it should hold up to scrutiny. You’ve got the identity you need, and if you ever run into any issues, you know who to call.”
“Thanks.”
Roderick leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk as he watched Lucavion tuck the ID card away. “With this,” he said, “the first part of our deal is finished. But, as you know, there are two more things still outstanding.”
Lucavion’s eyes flickered with curiosity, though his face remained unreadable. He stood quietly, waiting for Roderick to continue.
“First,” Roderick began, sliding a neatly folded letter across the desk, “just as you requested, I’ve written a reference letter for you to the Adventurer’s Guild. While you’re not well known in their circles yet, this should smooth things over. Having a knight’s recommendation will certainly make the process easier for you to register and begin working under their system.”
Lucavion picked up the letter, glancing over the seal before slipping it into his coat alongside the ID card. “Efficient,” he remarked.
Roderick gave a small smirk, nodding. “I do try. Now, about the money.” He leaned forward slightly. “The reward that I had promised for taking care of Korvan and his lieutenants–it’s being processed as we speak. You’ll have your payment soon, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
Lucavion remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he listened.
Roderick paused, then sighed. “And that brings me to the final matter. The baron himself wants to meet you.”
At that, Lucavion’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had expected this, but hearing it confirmed sparked a flicker of annoyance in his gaze.
“Why?”
Roderick raised a hand as if sensing Lucavion’s frustration.
“He’s… interested. After all, you saved his son and took down the most dangerous bandit lord in the region. It’s only natural that he’d want to meet the man behind the blade.”
Hearing that, Lucavion will smile slightly.
“If that is the case, there is no way a commoner like me can refuse an order from a noble, can I?”
To that, Roderick could not help but look at Lucavion like a madman.
‘This bastard’s mood swings too fast.’