Primordial Expanse: I have the Strongest Talent!

Alex stared at the raw iron lump on the workbench, his eyes narrowing slightly as he flipped through the pages of the manual. The instructions were clear: heat the metal until it was malleable, then hammer it into shape.

Simple, in theory. The only problem? There was no furnace in the room.

He set the book down and exhaled sharply through his nose.

'Is this some kind of test?'

His instincts told him Darya had set him up to fail. It wasn't hard to see – she didn't take him seriously from the moment he said he wanted to be a blacksmith. She had probably sent him here as a joke, expecting him to storm out frustrated after realising he didn't even have the tools to start.

Alex smirked to himself.

If she thought he'd give up, she was sorely mistaken.

His gaze shifted to the piece of iron. He needed heat, and a ridiculous amount of it to make iron malleable.

A normal person, or a weaker awakened like Darya, would've been stuck at this starting point indefinitely without a furnace to provide them with this heat, clueless on where to even start.

But Alex was anything but normal.

He closed his eyes and focused inward, summoning the energy that burned deep within him. The familiar heat of his Phoenix Flames stirred in response, coiling within him like a slumbering beast roused from its rest. Slowly, he extended his right hand over the chunk of metal.

With a deep breath, he let the fire flow.

A small flicker of scarlet-red flame burst to life in his palm, illustrating the dim chamber with its intense glow. The air around him instantly grew hotter, and the iron on the workbench began to radiate a faint warmth in response.

Alex smirked.

"This'll do just fine."

He increased the intensity, letting the flames dance from his fingertips to engulf the iron entirely.

The metal, which had previously been dull and lifeless, began to flow – first a deep crimson, then orang, then yellow. Soon enough, it was heated to the perfect temperature, the same state it would've reached in a professional forge, one that he would've actually been provided in a real test.

He grabbed the tongs Darya had given him and clamped them around the now red hot iron, careful not to let his grip falter. Even though he was mostly resistant to his own flames, he had no intention on testing the extent of that resistance unnecessarily.

Alex moved to the anvil, feeling the weight of the sizzling hot metal in his grasp. He reached for the hammer resting nearby, rolling his shoulders to prepare himself, as the manual instructed.

'Alright, time to see if I have the talent for this. If not, I'll have to take another route at this.'

He raised the hammer and brought it down in a sharp, controlled strike. The sound of the metal rang through the chamber, with sparks flying everywhere. But Alex was unbothered by all of it. His focus was entirely on the metal on the anvil and the hammer in his grasp.

Another strike. Then another.

The iron began to take shape under his relentless blows, flattening slightly as he continued to hammer it into something resembling the blade depicted in the manual. His strikes weren't perfect, but he could feel the rhythm forming.

'Strike. Adjust. Strike again.'

His focus narrowed, with his mind syncing with the process. He could almost feel the flow of the metal beneath his hammer, responding to each movement.

Time passed in a blur. He didn't stop the rest. He just kept going, and going, reshaping the iron little by little. The heat, the sound, the force — it all melded together into something oddly satisfying. freewebnøvel.coɱ

'This is actually kind of fun!'

By the time he took a step back, the lump of iron had transformed into a rough, uneven shape of a blade. It was far from perfect, but for his first attempt, it was something.

Alex wiped the sweat from his forehead, letting out a breath.

'Not bad for my first try.'

Before he could inspect it further, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps

Darya stepped into the chamber, clearly expecting to find Alex sitting around in frustration. However, the moment her gaze landed on the glowing iron and the crude shape of a blade on the anvil, she froze.

Her eyes flicked to the forge-less room, then back to the metal.

"…How the hell did you heat that?"

Alex simply smirked. "Trade secret."

Darya narrowed her eyes. "You don't get to have 'trade secrets' when you haven't even learned the trade yet, kid." She crossed her arms, stepping closer to examine his work. "This isn't terrible. It's crap — but it's not terrible."

Alex chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

However before Alex or Darya could say another word, the air in the chamber seemed to shift. A presence – unnoticed until now – at least to Darya, made itself known.

A slow, deliberate tapping of boots echoed against the stone floor, and from the far side of the room, a figure emerged from the shadows.

An old man, clad in a soot-stained leather apron and heavy gloves, stepped forward with a frown on his face.

His sliver streaked beard was neatly trimmed, but his face bore deep lines, the kind that came from decades spent in the heat of the forge. His eyes, however, were sharp – too sharp for someone of his apparent age.

'He's an A tier, though he's only a Mutant class.' Alex thought to himself.

The old man didn't look at Alex. He didn't even glance at Darya. Instead, he walked past them without a word and reached for the rough, unfinished blade resting on the anvil.

With the ease of someone who handled iron for a lifetime, he lifted it, turning it over in his calloused hands. His thumb ran along the edge, though there never was a real edge to speak of since Alex had only formed its shape, yet to have sharpened it or the likes.