Trigger of Progress

A subdued hum filled the workshop—a blend of old, rugged machinery and modern, digital readouts. Overhead lamps cast a pale, glaring light across the metal tables, where half-finished weapons lay in neat rows. Neon signs from the city outside flickered through the windows, infusing the space with splashes of pink, orange, and green.

Donte stood near an advanced forging station, heart thrumming with anticipation. Before him lay a near-complete frame of a pistol—his first official standard-tier weapon. He ran a hand across the sleek metal plating, inhaling the acrid smell of superheated alloys and machine oil. This was it: the moment he'd spent two weeks preparing for with near-obsessive focus.

His mind buzzed with the potential synergy required for the pistol's finishing touches. He'd hammered the barrel only an hour ago, shaping steel that could handle modern gunpowder blasts yet remain stable under a single Thalics line. Now, with the forging mostly done, all that remained was the final assembly plus one carefully inscribed script.

It felt surreal. Two weeks ago, he'd have collapsed from forging half this. Yet here he was, about to create a recognized, Church-compliant firearm. He let out a measured breath, recalling the torturous training that led him here.

- Two Weeks Earlier -

The clang of hammers against metal had become his daily anthem. Under Markus's watchful gaze, Donte spent hours each morning perfecting the Flow cycle, forging small brackets, short blades, and occasionally trial gun components from leftover scraps. Day by day, the synergy alignment grew more natural. By the end of the first week, he could hammer out a short sword's raw shape without his arms giving out.

Markus introduced more advanced workshop gear, too. The station wasn't just an anvil and a forge. It included temperature-regulated furnaces, mechanical presses that could bend steel in uniform arcs, and scanning devices that measured synergy vibrations. Donte marveled at how old-school forging hammered into advanced tech created consistent, top-tier results. He'd load a chunk of alloy into a press, refine its shape manually, then rely on the synergy readouts to ensure each step held stable Flow. The swirling neon lights on the readouts never ceased to fascinate him.

In the yard behind the workshop, Donte combined short sprints and push-ups with spear drills. The battered, fenced enclosure had an auto-target mechanism rigged up by Markus—basically rotating metal arms that whirled at variable speeds for agility training. Donte nearly got smacked silly the first few times, but Flow-based footwork saved him. By the second week, he could dodge the metal rods or deflect them with a spear tip, sweat pouring down his brow yet never nearing collapse as he once had.

Each evening, Markus let Donte do "free forging"—test items that weren't for an order. Donte hammered prototypes—small knives, or partial gun frames—for pure synergy practice. He timed each hammer strike with an inhale or exhale, binding the synergy so the metal rarely overheated or warped. Markus even complimented him one night, half-smiling as he said, "You're forging these brackets in half the time it took you last week. That's real progress."

Concurrently, Donte refined the scribing technique. Early on, he'd only manage a single "Minor Durability" line on scrap steel. Now, his synergy control allowed one or two lines without meltdown—though two lines usually flickered if synergy boosters weren't involved.

Day after day, he carefully etched standard-tier scripts from the battered Thalics tome onto worthless metal stubs. Scenes played out: Donte hunched over the table, stylus trembling with Church-approved ink, fighting to keep each arc of the script aligned with his steady breathing. By the eighth day, he could hold a single line with near-perfect glow, forging a recognized effect if it were on a real item. Markus said it was time to try placing lines on an actual dagger. Donte did—and it worked. The synergy stabilized enough to pass any basic Church scan.

Nighttime found him in the dim corner of the workshop or his cramped apartment, pushing the envelope. He quietly scrawled runic lines behind a Thalics line, hoping they'd fuse. The synergy demanded more than he had. Most nights ended in partial meltdown or fizzled runic arcs, but he grew less dizzy each time. A part of him suspected that once he truly mastered synergy, he might seamlessly overlay runic scripts behind official lines. But not yet, he reminded himself. Small steps.

Throughout, his body hardened. The yard drills toned his arms and torso. Short sprints, combined with forging, gave him lean muscle. He could now hold a forging hammer for two hours, break for ten minutes, then do it again, all while maintaining synergy. Soreness remained, but he found a measure of confidence in each hammered piece of steel.

His mental stamina also climbed. The Church's Thalics lines, once draining to read or scribe, became second nature. He developed a breath-rhythm method that pivoted seamlessly from forging to script writing. Each stroke with the stylus felt akin to a gentle hammer blow.

Midway through the second week, Markus approached him with a half-smile. "You've done enough small stuff—time to forge something bigger. A real standard-tier item. We can do a dagger or a gun frame. Your call." Donte thought about the high-tech city he lived in, the presence of advanced firearms. He loved forging short blades, but the idea of building a workable pistol, bridging mechanical triggers and synergy, called to him.

He chose the pistol.

Markus agreed, cautioning Donte not to push beyond a single synergy line. "No exotic materials means no multi-line script. Standard-tier only, or meltdown's guaranteed." Donte accepted. He still had more to learn, but the excitement of forging a legitimate piece of synergy tech overshadowed his caution.

- Present -

Now, those two weeks were culminating in the form of a half-finished pistol. Donte exhaled, letting the memory of each forging drill fill him with confidence. He'd done the planning. He'd tested minor frames on scrap. This final version only needed to be refined, assembled, then etched with one stable line.

He turned to the forging station's interface, an LED control panel built into the anvil's side. The touchscreen displayed temperature readouts and recommended synergy pulses for each forging step. He double-checked the numbers: barrel heated at 1,200 degrees, synergy stable. He eased the barrel from the forge with a pair of mechanical tongs, pivoting to the anvil.

The barrel's orange glow lit his face. Satisfied with the shape from his prior hammer session, he paused just to admire it. Traditional forging lines glimmered along the steel, but the design was modern—optimized for ballistic discharge. He hammered lightly once or twice, adjusting a slight bend near the muzzle, the hammer's ring echoing in the hush. Each blow was timed with an inhale or exhale, a subtle Flow cycle. No exhausted arms, no dangerous meltdown. Two weeks of sweat, right here.

He set the barrel aside, focusing next on the pistol's main frame. He'd hammered out the plating yesterday. The advanced multi-joint clamp and press behind him had helped shape the handle section. Tonight's job was simple: connect the final plating, ensure the trigger alignment, and scribe one Thalics line.

He reached for a piece of synergy-measuring tape—a narrow digital sensor strip—to confirm the synergy resonance of the metal. The small LED readout beeped softly, indicating stable synergy levels. Perfect. The handle plating was just waiting for that final infusion.

Markus approached, crossing his mechanical arm over his chest. "Looking good. You hammered the edges well. You're certain you want to do a synergy line on the handle, not the barrel?"

Donte nodded, eyebrows furrowing in thought. "I considered placing it near the barrel for recoil control, but the handle's synergy flow is easier for me to manage. I'll just do a single line: maybe 'Stability' or 'Reinforced Frame.'"

Markus grunted. "Smart. Overcomplicating your first synergy gun is asking for meltdown. One line, standard-tier. That's it."

Donte smiled faintly. "Right."

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the handle plating, carefully slotting it onto the pistol's skeleton. The mechanical press beeped behind him, waiting for any final bending commands. Instead, Donte pressed the plating snug, fastened a few small screws by hand—he preferred tactile control here—and locked them in place with a gentle synergy push. Each movement felt fluid, controlled. The two-week routine had sharpened his forging reflexes.

At last, the pistol mostly resembled a functional sidearm: a short barrel, sleek handle, and a basic mechanical trigger assembly. A digital readout on the side blinked, presumably for ammo or safety checks, though Donte's first iteration would be modest—no advanced features. For now.

He set it on the anvil, letting out a slow exhale. The time for scribing had come.

Reaching for the Church-approved Thalics ink, he recalled all those hours practicing lines on scraps. He placed the ink bottle on a stool, unscrewed the top carefully, and lifted the stylus. The glowing fluid within the bottle shimmered, each fleck a mild catalyst that would hold synergy for one line. Enough for a standard-tier effect, no more.

He positioned the stylus over the handle plating, inhaling deeply: Flow cycle. Arm still, mind calm, synergy in check. On the exhale, he began writing the short phrase from memory. Each loop of text felt like a gentle forging hammer blow, timed to the surge of breath. His gaze flicked across the incomplete script, ensuring no line was left stray. The synergy glimmered behind his eyes, a mild tingle under his skin.

Markus watched quietly, mechanical arm resting on the forging station. Donte could sense his presence—ready to intervene if meltdown threatened. But meltdown didn't come. The synergy line glowed, stable and sure, as Donte completed the final stroke. He lifted the stylus free. The text shimmered, a faint white-violet gleam etched along the pistol's handle.

"'Reinforced Frame,' standard-tier," Donte murmured, reading the text. The synergy sank into the metal, leaving a gentle hum.

Markus nodded. "Stable. That's definitely a recognized line. Good job."

A wave of relief crashed through Donte. He secured the stylus, carefully re-corked the ink bottle, and set them aside. The pistol now bore a single synergy line, enough to classify it as a standard-tier item by Church definitions. If a local Church inspector scanned it, they'd see "one line, no meltdown, minimal synergy usage," stamping it with approval. Donte had done it: an official synergy-based weapon, bridging mechanical triggers and Thalics magic in one piece.

He raised the pistol, careful to keep the barrel pointed away. The integrated handle plating felt balanced, not too heavy. He tested the mechanical trigger—click. Smooth. He pictured loading a magazine in the next step, but for forging demonstration, the synergy reading was enough. I made a gun. A synergy-based gun that I can call my own creation.

Markus stepped closer, hand on his hip. "It's a simple design, but you followed all the synergy steps. Standard-tier is no joke. People pay good coin for a stable, synergy-infused sidearm. You're well past forging brackets and knives now."

Donte let out a half-laugh. "It's been a wild two weeks."

"Sure has. Don't get cocky, though." Markus motioned at the runic side of the workshop, where Donte's secret experiments might lurk. "This is the easy level. If you try two lines next time, or incorporate your unknown scripts, meltdown's back on the table."

Donte swallowed, a faint grin surfacing. He knew exactly how precarious multiple lines would be, especially if he tried layering runic power. "Right. One step at a time."

He carefully placed the pistol on a small calibration pad. A digital reading popped up on the overhead display: "Synergy rating: Standard – 1 line recognized." Perfect. The sense of fulfillment swelled in Donte's chest. All that forging, yard drills, Thalics scribing, and synergy practice had led to this success.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Donte turned to see the city's neon skyline glimmering through the workshop windows. Even now, vehicles soared overhead, the hum of advanced engines echoing in the distance. The forging station's mechanical arms idled, waiting for the next job. The entire environment pulsed with that blend of futuristic and traditional—exactly the realm Donte thrived in.

He recalled the rumors of forging higher-tier gear with Arhost fragments or specialized alloys. That day would come. For now, standard-tier forging was enough. He gently lifted the pistol, testing the grip. It felt right—like forging and synergy had truly become one in his hands.

Markus grabbed a rag, tossing it over. "Clean up. We'll do a short function test tomorrow, maybe sell it or keep it as your personal piece. Proud of you, kid."

Donte caught the rag, dabbing the last traces of sweat from his face. "Thanks. Feels… real, you know? Like I can actually produce gear that stands up to inspection."

Markus nodded, stepping away. "That's forging for you—small steps become leaps over time. Keep at it, and maybe we'll see about that second line eventually." He paused, throwing Donte a knowing look. "Or you'll keep messing with that old script behind my back, I'm sure."

Donte's chest tensed. He forced a casual chuckle. "I'll be careful."

Markus let out a dry laugh, turning to stoke the cooling forge. "Always are, so far."

A hush returned. Donte gazed at the pistol—his pistol. Standard-tier, single-line synergy, fully recognized. The last two weeks had shaped him into a real synergy forger, bridging the gap between mechanical design and Thalics enchantment. And the seeds of runic forging lurked in his mind, waiting. There was no rush; he had plenty more forging days ahead, each building upon the last.

He gently set the sidearm on a cushioned pad. The synergy line glowed faintly, confirming its stabilized enchantment. Outside, the city's lights brightened in the dusk, a swirl of advanced technology and forging traditions that mirrored Donte's own growth.

He exhaled, letting the tension slip away. Tomorrow, he'd refine the final handle shape or test the synergy discharge. Then perhaps he'd consider scrounging up a second line or exploring the swirling runes that haunted his late-night thoughts. But for now, this was enough—a completed synergy-infused pistol, proof of how far he'd come.