The journey to the northernmost tip of the Lion God continent was not a trip for the faint of heart. The Iron-Root Mountains were a jagged wall of obsidian and permafrost, where the wind screamed like a banshee and the air was so thin it felt like breathing through a wet cloth.
Sam and Headmaster Barnaby traveled by "Gravity Slide," a specialized spell that allowed them to skim over the snow at terrifying speeds. For Sam, it was a constant drain on his concentration, but for his mana? It was a drop in the ocean.
"The man we are going to see is named Thrum Iron-Finger," Barnaby shouted over the roaring wind. "He is a Dwarf of the Old Blood. He doesn't care for gold, and he cares even less for Princes. He only cares about one thing: the weight of a man's soul."
They reached a massive stone gate carved directly into the side of a frozen volcano. It wasn't a gate so much as a solid slab of mountain. There were no handles, no keyholes—only a single, deep indentation in the center of the stone, shaped like a human palm.
"Place your hand there, Samuel," Barnaby instructed. "But be warned. This door doesn't check your identity. It checks your potential."
Sam stepped forward, his boots crunching on the frozen earth. He pressed his palm against the freezing stone. For a second, nothing happened. Then, he felt a sharp, needle-like prick in his hand. The stone began to glow—not with the blue of mana, but with the golden-green of Gaea's affection.
RUMBLE.
The mountain itself seemed to groan in recognition. The massive slab retreated into the ceiling, revealing a tunnel that radiated a heat so intense it felt like walking into a dragon's throat.
The interior of the mountain was a sprawling cathedral of industry. Massive chains, each link the size of a carriage, hung from the ceiling, connected to bellows that were pumped by the pressure of the earth's magma. In the center of it all stood a forge that looked like a sleeping sun.
Beside the forge was a man who looked more like a boulder than a person. Thrum Iron-Finger was short, wide, and covered in soot that seemed to be etched into his skin. His beard was braided with copper wire, and his eyes were a piercing, molten orange.
He didn't look up as they approached. He was staring at the "Frozen Flame" in his forge—a strange, flickering fire that stayed white-blue and cold until it touched metal.
"Barnaby," the Dwarf grunted, his voice sounding like two mountains grinding together. "You've brought me a skinny brat. I told you a century ago, I don't make kitchen knives for schoolboys."
"He isn't a schoolboy, Thrum," Barnaby said, stepping into the warmth. "He's the one who patched the Anchor."
Thrum stopped. He slowly turned his head, his orange eyes boring into Sam. He sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling.
"The scent of the First Era," Thrum whispered, his tone shifting from annoyance to a strange, fearful reverence. "So... the legends were true. The Architect returns when the house is falling down."
"I don't know about being an Architect," Sam said, standing tall despite the heat. "But I need a weapon. Something that can handle a 2% recovery loop without melting."
Thrum laughed—a deep, booming sound that shook the anvils. "2%? Boy, if you want to fight the Void, you'll need to handle 100% and then some. But I can't build it for you. You have to provide the spark."
Thrum pointed to the bellows. "The Frozen Flame is dying because the earth is growing cold. To forge the Aether-Conduit, the forge needs to be fed. Not with coal. Not with wood. With pure, refined mana."
"How much?" Sam asked.
"All of it," Thrum grinned, showing teeth made of iron. "Every drop you have, for as long as it takes to melt the Star-Silver. Most mages last thirty seconds before they pass out. If you stop for even a heartbeat, the metal ruins, and the mountain collapses."
The Trial Begins
Sam walked to the intake valve of the forge—a massive crystal funnel that led directly into the heart of the white-blue fire.
"Whenever you're ready, brat," Thrum said, picking up a hammer that looked too heavy for a giant to lift.
Sam grabbed the handles of the intake.
"[Mana Gift: Full Output]," Sam whispered.
A torrent of blue light exploded from Sam's palms. It wasn't a stream; it was a flood. The white-blue fire in the forge roared, turning a brilliant, blinding violet. The heat in the room spiked instantly, the air shimmering with the sheer density of the energy.
MP: 450/450 -> 0.
Recovery Triggered... 2%... 4%... 6%...
"Hah!" Thrum shouted, his eyes wide with delight. "Keep it coming! The Star-Silver is stubborn!"
Thrum tossed a chunk of metal into the fire. It didn't melt. It sat there, defiant. Sam gritted his teeth. He felt the vacuum in his soul as his mana was ripped out of him. Normally, a mage's mana pool was like a tank of water. When it was empty, it stayed empty. But Sam was a fountain. As fast as the forge drank, the universe poured it back in.
Ten minutes passed.
The heat was so intense that Sam's school uniform began to singe. His skin felt like it was peeling. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs—thump-tick, thump-tick—perfectly synced with his recovery.
"The metal is softening!" Barnaby shouted, shielding his eyes. "Samuel, hold on!"
But Sam was no longer listening. He was in a trance. Through the flow of mana, he could feel the Star-Silver. He could feel its molecular structure, the way it resisted and then finally succumbed to his will. It wasn't just metal; it was a memory of the stars.
Twenty minutes.
Sam's vision began to blur. Even with his recovery, the speed of the drain was putting a massive strain on his physical heart. His veins were glowing blue beneath his skin.
"He's going to burst!" Thrum warned, but he didn't stop hammering. "If he lets go now, the backblast will level this mountain!"
'Not yet...' Sam thought. He reached out with his mind, connecting not just to the forge, but to the distant tether of Eli.
Eli... give me some of that fire!
Through the [Exp Bind], Sam felt a surge of adrenaline and raw combat instinct from the south. He didn't take her mana; he took her will.
With a roar, Sam pushed his output to the limit. The forge didn't just glow; it screamed. The Star-Silver liquefied, turning into a swirling pool of liquid light.
"Now!" Thrum yelled.
The Dwarf plunged his hammer into the liquid light, pulling it out and slamming it onto the obsidian anvil. CLANG! The shockwave knocked Barnaby back. CLANG! The sound was like a god's heartbeat.
With every strike, Sam poured more mana into the metal. He wasn't just fueling the heat; he was coding the weapon. He was etching the laws of his past life into the steel.
Stability. Flow. Resonance.
After an hour of continuous, high-output mana venting, Thrum gave one final, earth-shaking blow.
The room went silent. The white-blue fire died down to a soft ember.
Sam collapsed to his knees, his hands charred and his breath coming in ragged gasps. But he didn't look at his wounds. He looked at the anvil.
Resting there was a weapon unlike anything in the current era. It was a long, slender blade made of translucent, silver-blue metal. It had no crossguard—instead, a ring of floating crystals hovered around the hilt. The blade didn't reflect the light; it seemed to hold it.
Thrum picked it up with a pair of tongs and dropped it into a vat of liquid nitrogen. The steam filled the room. When it cleared, the Dwarf handed the weapon to Sam with a shaking hand.
"It has no name," Thrum whispered. "Because a name would limit what it can do."
Sam took the hilt. The moment his skin touched the metal, the floating crystals began to spin.
[NEW ITEM ACQUIRED]
Weapon: The Aether-Conduit (Relic Grade - Growth Type)
Effect: Removes the cap on [Mana Gift] output. Converts 50% of recovered MP into a permanent Shield.
Special: [Past Life Resonance] - Skill unknown.
"It's perfect," Sam whispered. He swung the blade—it was weightless, moving with the fluidity of thought.
"Don't get too comfortable, boy," Thrum said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "A weapon like that is a beacon. The Void sensed that spark. You've just told the monsters exactly where the Architect is hiding."
Sam looked at Barnaby, who was pale but nodding.
"We leave for the Red Coast tonight," the Headmaster said. "The Prince has moved his forces, and the first Great Rift is showing signs of awakening. The Battery and the Vanguard need to be together."
Sam sheathed the blade—the crystals clicking into place around his waist. "Let them come. I'm tired of being the only one who knows the world is ending. It's time we showed them what a 'Battery' can really do."