Setting: Emberleaf's Great Forge Wing Assembly – morning

The forge didn't hum. It rumbled.

A deep, earth-fed kind of breathing, as if the entire building was alive—its pulse the rhythmic clang of steel on stone, its breath the rolling hiss of bellows feeding enchanted flame. Heat shimmered in waves, rising through metal rafters etched with containment runes, while pulsing orange veins of molten mana glowed beneath the floor grates like lava-fed arteries.

Kael stood just beyond the center forge ring, eyes narrowed as he examined a soot-dusted sketch splayed across a reinforced iron table.

It looked nothing like a sword.

The lines were jagged, experimental. The barrel channel was slim and rune-stamped, designed to hold three crystal cores. A rotating fire-aspect chamber connected to a reinforced trigger path, and tiny conduit lines were drawn along the side like spell veins—etched to direct mana like blood through a body.

"It's not elegant," Kael muttered, running a gloved finger along the edge of the sketch. "But it's ours."

"Looks more like a fire wand that stubbed its toe," came the gruff reply.

Marrun Emberpick, the stocky, broad-shouldered dwarf Kael had invited from the Runebrick hold, peered down at the diagram through thick goggles. His beard was singed at one edge, and both of his gloves were scorched. "Sturdy bones, I'll give it that. But this design's half theory and half hope."

"Hope's what we've got," Kael said. "And Rimuru."

"I am not just hope!" Rimuru chirped, bouncing onto the table and immediately slapping a puddle of sticky gel beside the sketched firing mechanism. "I am science. Slime science. You'll thank me when your shoulder isn't broken by recoil."

Marrun sniffed the goo. "This reeks of bad decisions and—hang on, is that basil?"

Kael stifled a laugh.

Nana, leaning against a support pillar, arms crossed, didn't bother hiding her smirk. "You want this thing to be wielded by goblins, miners, farmers…? You'd better make it foolproof."

"That's the point," Kael said. "If we make weapons only a mage can wield, we lose every battle we never show up for. This—" he tapped the crystal chamber—"this gives power to people no one ever planned for."

Great Sage:

"Mana flow schematic analyzed. Structural flaws: crystal core stabilization incomplete. Adjustments required to prevent premature mana surging. Estimated field viability after iteration: 4 to 6 successful test firings."

Kael exhaled.

Then turned to Marrun. "What's your read?"

The dwarf ran a calloused thumb along the etched barrel sketch, squinting. "If we use fire-aspected crystal, reinforce the chamber with tempered dusksteel, and balance it with a compressed slime dampener... you might have something that won't explode."

"I prefer 'won't explode most of the time,'" Rimuru offered cheerfully.

Kael nodded. "Then let's forge one."

A sudden hush fell over the forge as Marrun struck the table with a heavy wrench. The sound rang out like a starting bell.

Dwarves, goblins, and demi-human smiths snapped into motion. Slime assistants slithered to collect core casings. Mana-fed furnaces roared to life. Marrun barked measurements while Rimuru began drawing up a rune-bonded safety glyph shaped like a smiley face.

Kael stepped back from the table, heat brushing his face, the sound of purpose thick in the air.

They weren't just building weapons.

They were building a future where the powerless could finally point back.

And fire.

The inner forge was quieter than the main hall.

Not silent—but deliberate. A low, concentrated focus filled the room as enchanted anvils pulsed faintly with bound heat, and every wall was carved with rune-insulated glyphs to keep mana from building too violently during test infusions.

This was where dangerous artifacts were studied.

Where mistakes were expensive.

Kael stepped forward and unwrapped the cloth bundle he'd been carrying since the Emberdeep trial—its black silk frayed at the edges, slightly scorched from his last training match.

Inside lay Blazebinder.

The fire-aligned katana whispered as it touched the forge table, the air around it bending slightly with heat.

Its blade was a deep burnished crimson—not red like paint, but the color of coals that had burned so long they remembered their origin. Ember veins ran through the steel like molten cracks. The hilt was wrapped in flame-threaded leather, reinforced by dungeon-etched inscriptions that still hadn't translated fully, even under Great Sage's scrutiny.

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Marrun leaned in, brow furrowing.

"This… is no ordinary forge blade," he murmured.

Rimuru peeked from under the table, blinked twice, and then slurped halfway onto the surface.

"Okay," she said, awestruck. "I've licked a lot of weapons. This one might be sentient."

Kael rested his fingers lightly against the scabbard. The blade trembled—faintly responsive to his mana even when sheathed.

Great Sage:

"Blazebinder: dungeon-forged coreblade. Material origin: unknown blend of volcanic dusksteel and pre-cataclysm fire crystal. Sentience: latent resonance detected. Bonded wielder: Kael. Activation potential: 39%. Awakened form: locked."

Marrun scratched his beard slowly. "This thing isn't made. It's grown. Formed through heat, pressure, and will—like it knew who would carry it before it cooled."

Kael glanced up. "Can we learn from it?"

"Maybe. If we don't insult it first."

Rimuru gently prodded the blade with a gooey tendril. It didn't flinch—but the ambient forge temperature ticked up two degrees.

"Noted," she whispered. "Don't poke the artifact."

Kael drew the sword just an inch from its sheath.

A hiss filled the air—not threatening, but… hungry. A thin ember flicked from the blade's edge and vanished into the forge's exhaust crystal.

Marrun and Nana both took a step back.

Kael sheathed it again, slowly.

"I don't want to replicate it," he said. "I want to understand it. Its logic. Its soul. If we're building weapons that anyone can wield… this one shows what happens when power learns to listen."

Great Sage:

"Unlock path detected: • Catalytic exposure to high flame mana • Resonant combat under duress • Or direct inheritance from fire-class dungeon lord core"

Marrun let out a low whistle. "So it needs blood, danger, or prophecy. Classic."

Kael smiled faintly. "So do I."

He wrapped the blade again—carefully this time—and tucked it back beneath his cloak.

But the table still radiated warmth.

Even hidden, Blazebinder was awake now.

And it was listening.

The test field was a wide, scorched patch of blackened dirt just east of the forge wall—marked with burned targets, broken crates, and a crooked sign that read:

"IF IT EXPLODES, BLAME GOBCHAE."

Kael stood with arms crossed, squinting at the prototype cradled in Marrun's hands. Rimuru hovered nearby, wearing a custom-forged miniature helmet. No one had asked her to.

"This is the Ember Repeater, Mark One," Marrun announced, holding it up like a sacred relic—or a weaponized apology.

It resembled a short, iron-cased wand fused with a reinforced grip. The side barrel housed a tri-crystal mana core ring, and the outer casing was etched with fire-aspect stabilization runes. Rimuru had added slime-filled shock channels along the inside. They wobbled gently when the weapon was tilted.

Kael reached for it. "Ready?"

Marrun hesitated. "Define 'ready.'"

Great Sage:

"Probability of misfire: 52%. Probability of non-lethal discharge: 71%. Probability of immediate death: 3%."

Kael shrugged. "Could be worse."

Rimuru bobbed behind him. "It could also be better."

He aimed the Ember Repeater at a nearby reinforced dummy—then channeled fire mana slowly into the grip.

The weapon pulsed once. Glowed red.

Then—crack.

A sharp burst of flame shot forward, smacking into the dummy's chest with a sound like a thunderclap and knocking it backward into the dirt.

Everyone blinked.

Marrun exhaled. "Well. It works."

Then the repeater hissed in Kael's hands. The back crystal popped like a cork, and a small tongue of flame shot sideways across the test yard.

Kael cursed and dropped it. Rimuru slurped forward and engulfed the entire weapon like a blue safety bubble.

She paused.

Then spit it out gently into the dirt, steaming.

"Okay," she muttered. "Mark One… needs a timeout."

They ran four more trials that afternoon.

Mark Two fired, but the recoil shattered the grip.

Mark Three didn't fire at all—until Rimuru bumped it, which nearly set a training tent on fire.

Mark Four exploded backward into the loading chamber, which Marrun dubbed "the goblin finger remover."

But Mark Five was different.

Kael adjusted the barrel chamber with a set of new focus runes, Rimuru infused a balancing gel between the core slots, and Marrun reinforced the casing with thin dusksteel strips from a melted down Emberdeep relic.

The result?

The Ember Repeater, Mark Five.

It didn't look elegant.

But when Kael fired it, the bolt flew straight. It hit a second dummy. It burned clean. And it didn't explode.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Rimuru whispered reverently: "We made a wand with attitude."

Kael held it up to the light.

Not a sword. Not a staff.

A tool.

Made by them, for those who didn't have dragons on their side.

And it was only the beginning.

The sky was burning gold by the time Kael stepped onto the forge overlook, the Ember Repeater slung carefully over his shoulder.

Below, the forge yard still flickered with residual heat. The testing dummies lay charred and broken. Gobrinus was hosing down a scorched training wall while a few excited goblins took turns pantomiming "firing poses" behind Rimuru, who had already declared herself their "tactical slime captain."

Kael sat on the rooftop's edge and let the evening settle into his lungs.

The Ember Repeater rested across his lap, still warm.

Not glowing. Not humming.

Just there.

Real.

Great Sage:

"Current prototype success rate: 43%. Adjusted scaling potential: high. Estimated unit cost for mass production: moderate. Projected impact on infantry-class engagements: significant."

Kael didn't answer right away. He stared out past the rooftops, past the farms and rising towers, to where the horizon bled into forest.

Where the borders of Superbia lay just beyond the trees.

"We've changed the rules," he said softly.

Behind him, Rimuru floated into view—holding two slimed-up goblin helmets and humming a tune she insisted she invented. She drifted down beside him and blinked.

"You okay?"

Kael turned the Ember Repeater in his hands.

"This isn't a weapon of power. It's a weapon of access."

Rimuru tilted slightly. "Like… a door?"

He nodded. "A door that doesn't care who you are. Just that you're willing to stand."

Rimuru squished into a soft lean against his side. "That's the kind of door you build for people who can't knock."

Kael smiled faintly.

Below, the forge fires were being covered. But Emberleaf wasn't cooling.

It was preparing.

Great Sage:

"Strategic note: existing kingdoms may respond poorly. Rapid advancement attracts retaliation."

"But… revolution spreads faster than fear."

Kael stood slowly, slinging the weapon across his back.

He glanced down at the quiet steel in his hands… then toward the scabbard hidden beneath his cloak.

Blazebinder pulsed once—just enough to remind him it was still listening.

"One weapon for a king," he said.

He tapped the repeater's side.

"And one for the rest of them."

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