After Xize left as well, Weber looked expectantly toward the shadows. Usually, by this time, Fantasi would have left a fifth-tier magic core to settle the tab—never a delay. If Xize knew the real price of the drink, he'd probably lose sleep over it.
But this time, the familiar figure never appeared.
Weber stared into the darkness, lost in thought. A warrior of that caliber would never stoop to skipping out on a bill.
Francis Anvil sat motionless before his workbench, his gaze fixed on two starkly different letters. The gilded invitation on the left bore intricate wisteria patterns, its parchment edges woven with mithril threads that shimmered with magical luminescence in the forge's glow. The crumpled letter on the right appeared torn from some old ledger, its yellowed surface smudged with coal dust.
The blacksmith's calloused fingers gently traced the humble missive. Three days ago, when the courier delivered this parcel from the royal capital, he never imagined such thin paper could carry such earth-shattering secrets. Now he reluctantly unfolded it again, allowing those frantic scribbles to upend his destiny once more:
"My dear apprentice, by the time you read these words, you must have felt the gears of fate beginning to turn. Beyond being a master smith, your teacher also serves as the 88th Guardian of the Kingdom. This legacy now passes to you - become the 89th Guardian."
"Remember three ironclad rules: never refuse princely favors, never earn their enmity, but always maintain distance. Before the new king's coronation, the Guardian's identity must vanish like sparks during quenching."
"Spur Village is no longer safe. Make haste to the capital. I await you at the Starspire."
The letter crumpled in Francis' grasp before being slammed onto the anvil. Dancing forge flames cast his writhing shadow across the wall like some restless demon. Had he learned the truth sooner, he could have prepared properly instead of being trapped in his smithy between hammer and hard place.
His eyes shifted to the ornate invitation. The Lyster family wished him to accept some youth named Moses as an apprentice blacksmith. In normal times, he'd have smashed the pretentious thing with his hammer or tossed it into the furnace. But now...
The blacksmith snatched his star-forged hammer and stormed toward the forging area. Whenever troubled, he'd lose himself in the rhythm of metalwork, letting hammerfalls drive away all worries. Yet this time, his hand froze mid-reach for the coal - the storage stood completely empty.
The face of that blond, blue-eyed scoundrel Heizer inevitably surfaced in his mind.
Meanwhile, the freshly-escaped Heizer crouched by the market square fountain, counting his sins on grubby fingers: stealing the lord's warhorse, setting off fireworks in the church belltower, tossing the steward's wig into the moat. Remembering Steward Claude's livid expression made the boy shiver.
"Maybe... just disappear?" The thought exploded in Heizer's mind like magical sparks. With old Fantasia bedridden, nobody in the castle could restrain him anymore. He kicked a pebble in excitement, watching it trace a perfect arc through the air before clanging against a patrolling guard's helmet.
"Blast!" Heizer ducked his head and darted into a nearby alleyway like a startled wood-elf.
The moment Xize's eyes landed on that familiar silhouette, every alarm in his mind went off. After all these days in hiding, he'd finally been tracked down by Francis. What puzzled him was why it had taken the man so long to find him—this was unusually sluggish even for him.
Dangling from the blacksmith's brawny arm, Xize made no attempt to break free. Though the position was uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to Uncle Xiu's rough means of transportation. Besides, having witnessed Francis send a forging hammer flying with a single slap, any resistance would be futile.
They passed through several cobblestone alleys before the copper-studded wooden door of the smithy came into view.
"I'll pay for the damages," Xize blurted the instant his feet touched ground. He knew well that taking initiative when caught red-handed often gave one the upper hand.
"Damages?" Francis froze, images of collapsed walls and recent ruins flashing through his mind. The proposal did have merit.
Clearing his throat, he unconsciously rubbed his chin. "We'll certainly discuss compensation." Smoothing his clothes to hide a flicker of embarrassment, he readily accepted this unexpected boon.
But time was slipping away, each moment precious. If this negotiation failed, he'd need another plan.
"We'll settle that later." Francis waved a hand, his expression turning serious. "First, let's discuss you becoming my apprentice."
He took half a step forward, eyes burning into the youth. "Didn't you say last time you wanted to learn from me?"
"Never said that." Xize shook his head.
"I've thought it over carefully, and you—" Francis's words cut off as he stared in disbelief. "What did you say?"
He leaned in eagerly, almost grabbing the boy's shoulders. "You definitely said it, didn't you?"
Xize mercilessly shattered his illusions with another head shake. "I really never mentioned apprenticeship."
"You clearly did!"
"Didn't."
"Absolutely did!"
"Really didn't."
...
After a long and fruitless argument, both their throats felt dry.
"What will it take for you to admit it?" Francis yielded first, lest this pointless debate stretch into the night.
"I really never—" Xize began his habitual denial, but under the other's pleading gaze, he changed tack. "First explain why you suddenly want an apprentice."
"Because I've realized you're a natural-born blacksmith." Francis's eyes shone with sincerity.
Xize answered with a derisive snort.
Watching the setting sun, Francis finally confessed: "Truth is, a noble insists I take his son as apprentice, but Master forbids it. Now they're about to arrive, and Master won't let me refuse directly..."
Understanding dawned on Xize. "So you need me as a shield?"
"Exactly!" Francis exhaled in relief, grateful to avoid repeating the whole story.
"Then prepare the ceremony," he said cheerfully.
"No." Xize flatly refused.
"You just agreed!" Francis stamped his foot in frustration.
"That was before."
"And now?"
"Not interested anymore."
"How can you be so fickle?" Francis accused indignantly.
"I feel like it."
"Name your price." Francis hung his head in defeat.
Xize thought for a moment. "Forge me a new kitchen knife."
"Take the one you liked," Francis offered generously.
"I want it newly forged."
"Fine, but we need to wait for the new tools to arrive."
"Use all nine remaining pieces of meteorite iron," Xize added.
"Deal!" Francis's cheek twitched painfully. "Anything else?"
"About the damages..." Xize ventured.
"The damages..." Francis wrestled with himself before reason prevailed. "Must be paid."
"Then no apprenticeship." Xize threatened, chin raised.
"Separate matters. No damages, no deal." Francis stood firm.
If the boy insisted on reneging, he'd rather tear down some walls tonight and flee to the capital to seek his master's protection.
"Fine, no damages." Xize clicked his tongue in regret. Such bargaining opportunities were rare, but judging by the other's expression, pushing further might ruin everything.
With terms settled, the ceremony proceeded simply. Neither cared much for formalities, hastily completing the rites to establish their master-apprentice relationship.
As dusk deepened, Xize stepped out of the smithy satisfied. Though serving as the other's shield, it was too early to tell who was really using whom.
Thinking of his coveted kitchen knife soon becoming a divine weapon, the boy couldn't help but smile.
High above the sky, two figures stood suspended in a tense standoff.
A sinister glow erupted from the tip of Claude's staff as dozens of debilitating curses slithered toward Barlow like venomous serpents. "So it was you all along!" Claude's voice was laced with frost, each word dripping with lethal intent.
Barlow's body radiated a soft golden aura, dissolving the incoming curses effortlessly. "I've always respected you as my elder, yet you'd resort to such despicable schemes behind my back!" Fiery magical power danced between his palms, his robes whipping violently in the surging energy.
Claude fell silent, his fingers tracing arcane patterns in the air. The negative spells had merely been a diversion—the true killing blow was taking form upon his lips. The forbidden incantation, Prelude of the Deepfreeze, was nearly complete.
Sensing the frantic gathering of ice elements in the atmosphere, Barlow's brow furrowed deeply. The Sprout Village lay too close—unleashing a forbidden spell here would turn the entire settlement into an icy wasteland. Yet how could he simply quell the fury raging in his heart?
"Dare to settle this in the mountain depths?" Before the words fully left his mouth, Barlow had already transformed into a streak of light shooting toward the dense forest.
"Gladly!" Claude sneered, following close behind as his staff left trails of azure starlight in its wake.
Meanwhile, Xize had finally convinced his mother it was all a misunderstanding. Hugh scooped the boy into his arms, the golden greatsword gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. As the warrior leaped into motion, Xize watched the surroundings blur into streaks of color, the howling wind nearly tearing at his eardrums.
A biting chill suddenly gripped the air. Looking up, Xize saw the sky woven into a dense net of ice crystals, countless icicles dancing wildly within the blizzard. Through the hazy curtain of snow, he glimpsed two figures still locked in stalemate and let out a sigh of relief.
"Please stop! This is—" His cry was abruptly cut off.
A beam of white light pierced through the icy mist toward the mountain's heart, another figure hot in pursuit. As the two vanished into the distance, the raging blizzard gradually subsided. Xize surveyed the devastation—collapsed homes, charred beams, and the unconscious Fantacy—his young face etched with sorrow.
Deep within the forest, the two faced each other once more.
"Surrender the mental magic, and I might spare your life." Barlow hovered mid-air, his billowing sleeves radiating undeniable authority.
Claude stared in momentary shock before a mocking smile crept across his aged features. "So that's it... No wonder you sent assassins."
"Since you refuse to cooperate, don't blame me for showing no mercy." Crimson flames ignited at Barlow's fingertips. "I'll simply extract what I need from your mental seas after killing you."
The ring on Claude's finger suddenly pulsed with an eerie light, unleashing dozens of low-level spells like falling rain. Simultaneously, ancient, esoteric chants flowed from his lips as white frost spread rapidly from his position. When the mist condensed and contracted, it formed into a great dragon clad entirely in crystalline ice scales, throwing back its head to release a roar that shook the valley.
A blazing firewall rose before Barlow, his incantations weaving with his opponent's into a strange harmony. The sky suddenly burned crimson as raining fire fell, reducing ten miles of forest to charred remains. The scorching energy ultimately coalesced into a phoenix reborn from flames, spreading wings of fire that spanned a hundred meters.
The ice dragon charged through swirling frost toward the fire phoenix, claws aimed directly at the mythical bird's head. The phoenix answered with a clear, melodious cry, its burning beak striking precisely at the dragon's neck. When the two forbidden spells collided, ice and fire detonated into a spectacular shower of light.
As the energy waves dissipated, both combatants stood battered. Claude's beard and hair were singed and curled, while Barlow's robes were shredded by ice blades.
"They say you're the rising star who mastered all seven schools of magic," Claude remarked, wiping blood from his lip. "Why use only fire?"
"One school is enough to deal with you."
"Or perhaps you're spread too thin?" The old man's eyes gleamed shrewdly. "That sacred staff capable of wielding all elements is currently suppressing the curse in your son. Pity... it's merely treating the symptoms."
Barlow stiffened. "You mean... you can lift the curse?"
Claude responded with meaningful silence. Only then did Barlow realize the battle wasn't over, forcing composure into his voice. "If you hadn't placed mental compulsion on Xize, none of this would have happened!"
"Preposterous! You're the one who sent agents to steal my research!"
Both fell silent simultaneously, finally realizing this conflict concealed a much deeper conspiracy.
When he stepped out of the blacksmith's workshop, dusk had already painted the sky in deepening shades. Xize's fingers brushed the newly reforged darksteel kitchen knife at his waist, its blade shimmering with intricate patterns that seemed to whisper of the day's strange turn of events. Who would have thought that a day which began so bleakly would end with such a twist of fate? Not only had he obtained the legendary cooking tool he'd long dreamed of, but he'd also been unexpectedly taken as an apprentice by the unassuming yet masterful blacksmith. The thought brought a faint smile to the young man's lips—now he could learn the art of forging while enjoying his master's protection against Claude's schemes.