Though puzzled, Ray obediently walked over and sat beside his father, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at him. He could tell from Wilheim's expression that this was not an ordinary conversation.
"Son," Wilheim began slowly, "you've chosen the path of becoming a Soul Master, and as your father, I will support you fully. But you must understand that this road is not only difficult in cultivation. It will also bring challenges to our family."
He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully before continuing. "When a Soul Master reaches rank ten, they must obtain a soul ring in order to advance. In the distant past, soul rings were acquired by hunting soul beasts. But that era has long passed. Today, spirit souls have replaced them. Spirit souls are more stable, safer, and some can even grow alongside their masters. They are created and controlled by the Spirit Tower, and for commoners like us, the only way to obtain one is to purchase it."
Ray listened quietly, his small hands resting on his knees.
Wilheim's voice grew heavier. "Dad's income is limited. I earn just enough to keep our family going. With you and Vivienne eating as much as you do, even the lowest-grade spirit soul will be extremely difficult for us to afford when the time comes."
The words struck Ray harder than he expected.
Until now, money had been an abstract concept, something distant and vague. Yet suddenly, it stood directly in front of him, blocking the path to his future.
"There are only two ways to obtain a spirit soul," Wilheim continued. "The first is to be a true genius. Those who cultivate extraordinarily fast are granted their first spirit soul for free. But…" he hesitated, then continued honestly, "with Silverfalls Vine, that path will be very difficult for you."
Ray clenched his fists.
"The second way," Wilheim said, "is to buy one."
Ray lowered his head. "Then… what should I do, Dad?"
Wilheim gave a bitter smile. "Dad will do everything he can to help. But in the end, you'll need to rely on yourself." After a moment, he asked, "Do you remember Uncle Gilbert?"
Ray's eyes lit up as the memory surfaced. "Yes! The tall uncle with the loud voice."
Wilheim nodded. "He's an outstanding blacksmith. I spoke to him about our situation. He's willing to take you as an apprentice for two hours a day over the next three months. If you can learn to forge simple items, you'll be able to earn money."
Ray's hesitation vanished instantly. His eyes shone with excitement. "I want to do it, Dad. When can I start?"
Wilheim studied him carefully. "Forging is not easy. It's exhausting, repetitive, and painful. Are you sure you want to try?"
"I'm sure," Ray replied without hesitation. "I'll earn the money for my spirit soul myself."
Wilheim smiled, pride evident in his eyes. "Good. Then go and try. If it's too much, you can stop."
Later that night, after Ray returned to his room, a single drop of water fell onto Wilheim's shoulder. He turned to see Selina standing behind him, her eyes red.
"He's still so young," she said softly. "Why make him carry this burden?"
Wilheim sighed deeply. "Blacksmithing isn't just about money. It tempers the body and the will. If he can endure it, he'll gain more than a spirit soul. And if one day we're gone… he'll have a way to stand on his own."
Selina said nothing more, but her tears fell silently.
The next morning, Ray left home full of energy. After a night of meditation, he felt closer than ever to his Silverfalls Vine, as if it had become a companion rather than a burden.
School passed quickly. He performed well in cultural classes, earning praise from his teacher.
After school, he was surprised to see his mother waiting for him.
"Mom? Where's Vivienne?" he asked.
Selina lifted him into her arms. "I'm taking you to Uncle Gilbert. Are you really sure about this?"
Ray nodded firmly. "I want to earn it myself."
Selina set him down and kissed his face repeatedly. "Good. Let's go."
After a short walk, they arrived at a large workshop. The building looked old and worn, with heavy doors and the sharp scent of metal in the air.
Above the entrance were three words:
Gilbert's Workshop.
Selina rang the bell. Moments later, the door opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark skin and a thick beard.
"You're here," Gilbert said simply.
Ray bowed slightly. "Uncle Gilbert."
Gilbert nodded, then turned to Selina. "You can leave. Come back in two hours."
Selina hesitated, then forced herself to smile. "Thank you."
As she walked away, Ray stood tall.
His first step toward forging his future had begun.
"Come in," Gilbert said curtly, turning and walking into the workshop without waiting for a response.
"Oh." Ray hurried after him.
The moment he stepped inside, Ray felt as if he had entered a completely different world.
The air was thick with the smell of metal and oil, heavy and sharp in his nose.
The workshop's main hall was cluttered with all kinds of metallic parts scattered across tables and shelves.
Some were twisted and unrecognizable, while others were neatly arranged, gleaming faintly under the dim lights. Ray couldn't tell what most of them were, but from the occasional markings and faint energy fluctuations, he guessed that many of them were components used for soul machines.
Gilbert walked ahead at a steady pace, never once slowing down, forcing Ray to jog a little to keep up.
They passed through the chaotic hall and entered a smaller inner room. Compared to the outside, this room was far more orderly, though the scent of iron was even stronger here.
At the center of the room stood a workbench, solid and worn, its surface scarred with countless marks left behind by years of forging. The height of the bench reached just past Ray's chest, making it clear that it wasn't designed for children.
Gilbert stopped and turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Do you know what forging is?"
Ray froze for a moment before shaking his head honestly.
Gilbert's voice remained flat. "To be frank, I didn't want to take you in at first. You're too young, and forging is not something children should be doing. But your father insisted I give you a chance." His gaze sharpened. "If you fail, you leave. No crying, no complaining. Do you understand?"
"I won't cry," Ray replied firmly, lifting his chin.
Gilbert didn't comment further. He simply pointed toward the side of the room.
There stood a waist-high metal table. On its surface rested a round, dull-colored lump of metal. Beneath the table was a small soul power machine screen, currently dark.
Gilbert reached over, picked up two metal hammers, and placed them into Ray's hands. "Your task for today is simple," he said. "Strike that metal lump one thousand times. Each proper hit will be counted on the screen. Use all your strength. If you finish, I'll tell you what forging really is. If you can't, don't come back tomorrow."
Without another word, he turned and walked away.