Forge District
Astra's boots struck the cobblestones with a rhythm borne of desperation. His instincts, sharp and unrelenting, screamed at him that he was still being pursued. Every shadow seemed to stretch and shift unnaturally, as if something waited, something ancient, something unfathomably powerful.
He pressed on, diving deeper into the labyrinth of darkness that surrounded him, his hands weaving a complex spell of shadows to mask his presence. But it was no use—no matter how many layers he wove, the weight of the gaze followed him, ever vigilant.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the presence faded. The pressure of unseen eyes lifted, and the sensation of being hunted slowly dissolved into the void.
Astra collapsed against a stone wall, his breath ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum. His muscles screamed in protest, but the fear that gripped his chest was far more visceral than any physical ache.
"Huff. Huff. Huff. What the fuck... that was no ordinary person..." he muttered, his voice shaking. His thoughts scattered, too quick to grasp, and his body trembled, still haunted by the memory of that gaze.
At first, the presence had been faint, a whisper on his senses, a shadow brushing the edge of his mind. But when he summoned the water barrier—his last line of defense—he felt it then: the crushing, overwhelming power that locked onto him. It had been primal, relentless, a force that belonged to something much older, much more powerful than any mere mortal. His blood had frozen in his veins. That was no rank-two warrior, no simple opponent he could evade. No, this had been a being beyond his reckoning.
"Nope!" Astra whispered to himself, eyes wide with the realization. "Never again. I've crossed some lines. I can feel it. I've offended some very, very powerful people." He shuddered at the thought. That gaze alone—he knew its source wasn't the kind of being one trifled with lightly.
Shaking off the last vestiges of the terrifying encounter, Astra turned inward. He reached into his Mana Storage, drawing the power of [The Pawn] to steady his nerves.
Through this connection, he also accessed the vast Mana Network which spread out before him, stretching its tendrils across the world like an invisible web that bound everything together. And within that web was a name, a legend—Ida Colvin, the "Seraph of Information" a genuine rank seven existence who roamed the land long ago.....
Ida Colvin was not just a name; she was the keystone that had shaped the very foundations of the world as it stood now. The Information Age had been born from her vision, her genius. Long ago, she had bound her magic to the infinite mana and the coins that now circulated through the realm.
She could have taxed its use, wielded immense power over the lives of those who accessed the network, but she had chosen not to. Instead, she had opened the doors wide, ensuring that knowledge, unrestricted, flowed freely between the rich and the destitute, the powerful and the powerless.
She claimed that "Atlas created his tales to guide us to divinity and power, for the betterment of the mana and the world. I as a fellow Seraph who has benefited and taken inspiration from <
Through her connection to the network, the realm was bound together in an unprecedented way. All it took was a coin and access to the Mana Network, and any soul could tap into the wellspring of wisdom, news, and resources that stretched across the continents.
But it was not just an age of information—it was an age of awakening. A time when every corner of the world, from the highest towers to the deepest dungeons, pulsed with the magic of the web that Ida had created.
Astra pulled up an article, a snippet of data gleaned from the public channels of the Mana Network. It was as much for his own peace of mind as anything else. He needed to be ready.
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Astra's mind absorbed the information as he read. His attention lingered on the words describing the shadowy dance of light and darkness in the forges. That was his domain. Shadow magic. It thrived in the flickering, twisted dark of this place. Perfect.
The article continued, describing how the flames seemed to burn with sentient intent, their light casting shadows that did more than merely stretch—they seemed to live. Astra's skin prickled. There was something undeniably alluring about this place, something that felt both dangerous and familiar to him.
"Intriguing," Astra muttered, as he stored the information in his mind.
His gaze turned toward another article, one bearing the seal of a noble house. House Steel.
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Astra's breath caught in his throat. Agnar Steel. The name was legendary, etched into the annals of history. A rank-six angel, one of the very top in Duskfall. He was said to be in the top five most powerful beings in the city—a force that could level mountains with but a thought. His very reputation was enough to send chills down anyone's spine. And this man was the mastermind behind the legendary artifacts that defined House Steel. Not many dared to challenge Agnar Steel and very few live to tell the tale.
But there was more. Astra's eyes narrowed as he read further, his mind piecing together the layers of a tale that seemed far more intricate than he had first thought many legendary artifacts were time tied to House Steel. The powerful relics forged by House Steel, the weapons and artifacts that shaped history.
As Astra continued his journey deeper into the heart of the Forge District, the sounds of the forges grew louder, more insistent.
The rhythmic clanging of metal on metal—an unyielding, chaotic cacophony—pounded through the air, mixing with the hiss of steam and the roar of fire. The walls seemed to tremble with the sheer power of the forges, the streets narrowing as the heat and smoke thickened, and the air vibrated with the ancient, arcane energy that flowed through the very stones beneath his feet.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Astra's footsteps echoed, faint and uncertain, as he ventured deeper into the belly of this dark, molten world. The shadows seemed to grow longer here, warping in unnatural ways as the fires flickered and twisted.
The world had changed since Ida Colvin had woven her magic into the very fabric of existence. But Astra knew one thing for sure—this forge, this realm of creation, fire, metal and destruction, would not welcome him as a friend.
Not unless he proved himself worthy.
Astra's eyes roamed over the endless activity of the forge district, his gaze lingering on the dwarves as they hammered, sculpted, and shaped metal in a rhythm as ancient as the earth itself. It was a spectacle that filled him with awe—a display of industrial might and martial strength that few others could match.
The dwarves—though a name that seemed to betray their true nature—were, in fact, the descendants of ancient giants, their lineage an unbroken thread that stretched back through time. These were not the squat, stunted folk one might expect from the name.
No, the dwarves were towering, formidable beings, their smallest members standing well over six feet tall, and all of them built like living mountains. Their strength was beyond measure, both in the mastery of their craft and the sheer power they wielded.
The molten metal that flowed in rivers through the forges seemed to obey them, shaping itself to their will as though the very earth bent to their indomitable might. And yet, despite their size, their movements were precise, graceful even—an ancient dance that had been perfected over millennia. It was not simply strength that defined them; it was the power of creation itself.
Astra couldn't help but watch them, his heart pounding with both admiration and envy. Their skill was a testament to ages of tradition and an unyielding bond to the earth and fire. Every hammer strike was a note in the symphony of creation.
But Astra had seen the true essence of these "dwarves." They were giants who had somehow downsized through the ages, adapting to a world that no longer required their titanic form. Their ancestors had towered over the world, giants in body and in will. Now, their descendants, though still massive by any standard, walked in the shadows of their ancestors' greatness. It was a cruel irony—one the dwarves themselves probably accepted as a matter of course. What was a few feet, when measured against the weight of history?
He found himself lost in the chaotic beauty of it all. This was his first time within the inner forges of the district, the area restricted to mages—though that restriction was more of a suggestion than a hard rule.
Astra had slipped past unnoticed, blending into the shadows with the help of [Shadows Embrace], the magic wrapping around him like a cloak of darkness, allowing him to move unseen through the labyrinthine depths.
Few would have raised an eyebrow at his presence; magic users were common here, and a mage's magic was hardly cause for alarm in these parts. After all, the forge district, in all its chaotic splendor, thrived on magic in all its forms.
But Astra was distracted, his mind tugged away from the mechanical rhythm of the forges by something else—a presence, a pull.
A glint of something in the air. A feeling deep in his chest, igniting his blood like fire. Something beyond reason. His instincts screamed that it was important—vital, even—but he couldn't place why. He couldn't name the source of the stirring in his gut, the strange resonation within him.
His narrowed gaze shifted toward a grand estate that stood out like a dark stain against the vibrant, bustling activity of the district.
"Strange," Astra muttered, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and something darker. There was an aura of neglect, of isolation clinging to the estate, but it didn't feel abandoned in the way one might expect. No, this place… it pulled at him.
He could feel it—a magnetic force, a whisper from the depths of his being telling him that this estate held something of great significance. It resonated with him on a level he could not fully comprehend, but he knew it was important.
The underground estate was a marvel of ancient craftsmanship, an edifice untouched by time yet steeped in it. Hidden away in a secluded corner of the Inner Forge, it loomed like a relic of a bygone era, its dark obsidian walls glistening faintly in the dim glow of molten metal. The two towering spires that rose from its center were adorned with golden carvings—intricate, serpentine patterns that seemed to pulse with a faint, forgotten magic. The estate stood as if it had been cast from the very bones of the earth, an outpost older than even the deepest forges themselves.
Astra paused, her mind swirling with confusion. How had this place been left untouched? It seemed impossible that, this deep into the Inner Forge, such a magnificent relic had been allowed to deteriorate—ignored, or worse, forgotten.
The air was thick with the weight of its history, and yet, it felt abandoned, like a forgotten tomb beneath the hum of industry. The thought gnawed at him. What had happened here? Why had no one dared to maintain such a monumental testament to the past?
Without thinking, his feet moved, carrying him toward the estate. His heart drummed in his chest, but it wasn't fear that drove him—it was something else. Something far more compelling, far more primal. The sense of fate, of something meant to be.
The estate loomed ahead, its oppressive silhouette casting a long shadow over the cobblestone streets. Astra's breath slowed, his senses heightened. Whatever lay inside, he was certain now—it wasn't a mere curiosity. This was no coincidence.
He had to know.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The heavy, rhythmic strikes of hammer against anvil seemed to echo through the air, each resounding blow vibrating through Astra's very bones. The noise was a harsh contrast to the unnerving silence of the abandoned estate. It was as if the very sound of creation was following him, a constant reminder of the forging of both metal and destiny.
Astra's feet carried him forward, drawn toward the doors of the estate with an unsettling pull. There was no one here, no sign of life. The cobblestone path leading to the entrance was overgrown, and the ivy that clung to the walls whispered secrets that only the wind could decipher. Yet, despite the absence of inhabitants, there was something undeniably alive about the place.
The gates, worn by years of neglect, creaked open with the slightest touch of Astra's hand. His senses sharpened, his heart pounding with an instinctual awareness that something significant lay within.
He stepped over the threshold. The air was thick with the scent of age—of secrets buried beneath layers of stone and shadow.
And then, his gaze fell upon it.
At the entrance of the estate property , hung on an iron post beside the door, was a sign. Simple in design, but bizarre in its starkness. A weathered piece of wood, hand-painted with black letters that read: "SHOP."
A shop?
The word sat there like a riddle, offering no explanation. The estate was clearly no place of commerce, not by any measure Astra could imagine. This building was far too grand, too hidden, to be simply a shop. And yet, the sign hung there in plain view, as if mocking any sense of logic.
Astra's brow furrowed as he stepped further into the gloom
There was no visible sign of any owner, no servant or merchant to greet him. Only the cold emptiness of the space, the lingering echo of hammer strikes from distant forges, and that inexplicable sign.
"Strange," Astra muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger, the familiar weight of it reassuring as he stepped forward. Whatever lay inside, it was no coincidence that he had found himself here.
Astra could feel the air growing colder, the shadows lengthening around him, wrapping the estate property in a cloak of ancient mystery.
And somewhere, deep within, he knew that this was no simple shop.
No, it was far more than that.
As Astra stepped into the main hall, the dim light barely touched the polished floors, yet the estate was pristine, as though untouched by time or the hands of the living. The walls were lined with relics—ancient weapons, ornate shields, and tapestries that told stories long forgotten. The grandeur of the space was overwhelming, luxurious beyond anything Astra had ever seen.
Every room exuded an elegance that felt almost regal, though Astra couldn't quite place why. Was it royal? He wasn't sure, though his fleeting experiences with noble women sneaking him into their mansions made him think so. But even those mansions were nothing compared to this.
A sudden thought crossed his mind: Should I leave? It was a fleeting doubt, yet something deep inside urged him to keep moving. His intuition screamed that to stand still now would be a regret he'd never shake off.
Clang.
Clang.
The sound of hammer striking anvil grew louder as Astra moved deeper into the estate, his bones vibrating with the force of each strike. It was as if the very air trembled with power.
At the heart of the Obsidian Estate, he found it—the forge. But this was no ordinary forge. It was a place where reality itself seemed to buckle beneath the heat and rhythmic clang of the hammer.
An ancient anvil stood at its center, its aura heavy with the weight of a forgotten magic—an artifact of immense power. Dark iron pillars rose around it, veins of marble pulsing with a strange light. The forge stretched far beyond his sight, and the sounds of hammering reverberated through the Underforge, echoing for miles, a haunting reminder of the forgotten forces at work within.
Astra was stunned
The forge's flames blazed bright and eternal, their heat enough to melt stone and warp metal. But it was not the common fire of the dwarven smiths that burned here. These flames were fed by a deep, magical source—a molten river of pure, untainted essence that ran beneath the city, its energy drawn from the very heart of the earth. The flames themselves were not bound by the mundane laws of nature; they flickered with colors that shifted and writhed like living things, casting eerie shadows that danced across the blackened walls.
Astra felt the shadows dance and revel in the power of this forge
In the heart of the forge stood the Anvil—a vast, dark slab of obsidian so ancient that it seemed on the verge of crumbling with the slightest touch. The very air around it crackled with the weight of its age.
Encircling the forge was a massive circle of Soul Stones—ancient, floating crystals, each imbued with the power of long-dead Mana Beasts of unimaginable strength. The aura they gave off made Astra's skin crawl. His voice barely escaped him: "R... Ra...nk Five?!" The words were barely a whisper, the terror settling in his chest as the stones hummed with a strange, ethereal power. They hovered above the forge, glowing with shifting lights, their faint illumination casting an eerie glow across the room. Their power was vast, yet contained, like a storm held just beneath the surface.
Around the forge, shelves of books, scrolls, and grimoires lined the walls, filled with knowledge long forgotten, secrets passed down through centuries. The very air in the room was thick with the scent of molten metal, burning incense, and the perfume of ancient magic. The subtle auras from every rank of magic collided in the space, a discordant symphony that made Astra's stomach churn.
The forge itself felt alive, as if it was not just a tool, but a force—its pulse a reminder that it had never been tamed. The estate hummed with a strange energy, as if stone and fire had fused into one eternal heartbeat. Astra could feel it deep in his bones: this was a place of endless possibilities, yet infinite dangers.
It was a forge that demanded respect.
As he stood there, overwhelmed by its power, a deep, ancient voice reverberated through the walls. "Well, hello there… strange visitor…"
A figure emerged from the shadows—a dwarf, ancient and scarred, his body a map of battles fought long ago. Shirtless, with skin dark as polished stone, his deep blue eyes mirrored the morning sky, and his presence was as commanding as a mountain. In his hand, he wielded a golden hammer that shone with a brilliance that reminded Astra of the sun itself.
The aura the dwarf exuded was unmistakable: this was no mortal man. Standing before him the subtle aura of that dwarf was angelic., Astra felt as though he were facing the reincarnation of a vast super-volcano—unstable, primal, and utterly terrifying.
"Ra...ank... Six..Angel!!!." Astra barely managed to stammer, fear rooting him to the spot.
The dwarf eyed him with a knowing gaze. "Say, kid... how the hell did you get into the inner city?"
Astra swallowed hard, his voice shaking. "I… I really don't know. I'm kind of lost, sir. I don't know why, but I felt like I needed to explore this estate." The dwarf's aura was so overwhelming that Astra knew he couldn't lie. The weight of the man's power was unbearable—one swing of that golden hammer, and Astra was certain this entire city could be erased from existence.
And yet, the dwarf's gaze softened, the faintest glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.
.