My fingers were worn down to calluses, my face was coated in a layer of coal soot, and my clothes were completely saturated with the smell of rosin, scorched metal, and oil fumes. But as I pulled the heavy lever of the press one last time and extracted the fifth, perfectly smooth, mirror-black thermal core from the mold, a deep sense of relief washed over me.
In front of my workbench stood our new reusable smelting converter. Heavy, angular, bound in thick steel bands, featuring a massive latch for rapid catalyst swaps.
"Finally! We did it!" Elyria spun beneath the ceiling. "My wings already reek of this awful soot, but the device is ready! Iron, tell me we're geniuses!"
Leaning heavily against the doorframe by the wall, Noah sat watching us. "I hope this was worth the time," he grunted hoarsely. "We blew two weeks on this thing, after all."
"It absolutely is," I said, securing the three remaining cores in a specialized pouch on my wheelchair's armrest. "Let's roll the converter outside."
A crowd gathered in the square almost instantly.
I loaded the first compressed core into the receiver compartment, locking the latch with a heavy metallic click, and fed the starting batch of raw materials into the crucible: chunks of deep blue "Ocean" and iridescent "Prism."
"Ignition!" I commanded.
The converter let out a powerful drone. The air around the nozzle shuddered, but this time the machine's casing stayed cool—all the thermal radiation was absorbed by the replaceable black core, channeling the intense heat strictly into the melting chamber. A minute later, a blinding stream of molten metal poured from the drainage spout into the prepared mold.
Once it cooled, a monolithic bar of the new alloy lay before us.
"Got it! First one's a success!" Marek shouted joyfully.
The continuous assembly line began. The converter stamped out perfect metal, cycle after cycle. The second run—flawless. Third, fourth, fifth...
On the ninth cycle, the machine suddenly let out a sharp, muffled crack. Something clinked heavily inside the compartment.
[Attention! The thermal lifespan of replaceable core No. 1 has been completely exhausted. Structural destruction of the damper has occurred.]
I nodded with satisfaction. Nine melts! Right within Lumon's calculated parameters. Feeling relieved, I knocked loose the smoking fragments of the first core with a swift flick, grabbed the second one from the workbench, and confidently slammed it into the latch.
"Round two, boys! Load the ore!" I called out to the workers.
I flipped the ignition toggle once more. The converter began to rev up, the drone building steadily, when suddenly—BANG! The converter violently jerked sideways as showers of toxic green sparks and thick plumes of suffocating black smoke erupted from the nozzle. The melted alloy splashed out, instantly flattening into a useless, steaming blob on the ground.
The crowd recoiled in panic, shielding their heads.
"What the hell was that?!" Noah coughed, swatting away the soot.
Numb with shock, I stared at the red system alerts flashing across my vision.
[Critical Error! Emergency destruction of thermal core No. 2 at the 3rd second of the cycle.] [Cause]: Latent assembly defect. Deviation in the internal geometry of the mirror matrix during the compression process. Localized thermal breakdown.
Was it the rush, or something else entirely? I could feel dozens of bewildered eyes locked onto me.
"Damn it—everyone stay back! Don't go near the converter!" I barked, gathering up the three remaining cores. "I need to re-examine every single piece. No one enters the workshop until I open the door myself. Clear?"
Without waiting for a response, I threw my weight into the wheels of my chair, racing back toward the workshop at maximum speed. Once inside, I slammed the heavy oak door shut with a resounding bang and threw the bolt.
While tools clattered behind the locked workshop door, a collective sigh of relief washed over Dornheim's rocky hill. One by one, the laborers buried their pickaxes in the dirt and collapsed onto the grass.
Leaning heavily on his shovel, Marek took a triumphant look at the fruit of their two weeks of labor. The excavation for the tower’s titanic foundation was completely finished. Under his direction, the men had literally carved into the settlement's bedrock, clearing a perfectly level plateau and laying down a massive foundation level strictly according to Iron’s blueprints. At long last, the crew had some well-earned downtime.
Dr. Albert stretched his aching legs toward the fire, slowly sipping a hot herbal brew. The stream of injuries from the construction site had finally dried up, allowing the medic to enjoy a rare moment of peace.
Nearby, Noah sat on a fallen log, staring blankly at his boots. Elyria buzzed around his ear, practically vibrating with unspent energy despite her weary look.
"Oh, look at you!" the spirit squeaked, hovering right in front of his nose. "You barely lifted a finger, yet you're acting like you built the whole thing! You've gotten so lazy lately!"
In the blink of an eye, Elyria spun on her axis, sending a tiny drop of sticky berry juice dead-center onto Noah’s forehead.
He slowly closed his eyes, his right eyelid twitching with irritation.
"That's it..." Noah hissed, and in that exact instant, his figure blurred into a high-speed strike.
His palm swiped through the empty air with a sharp snap where Elyria had just been hovering, but the spirit darted backward with a ringing laugh, leaving nothing but a trail of emerald sparks in her wake. Noah tried to corner her, but Elyria used her tiny size to duck and weave through every single swipe. To make matters worse, each time she buzzed past his ear, she flicked compressed gusts of wind at him, making Noah’s head jerk sideways in a comical rhythm.
"Gotcha!" Noah growled, materializing right above her.
"Not a chance! Take a wind kick!" came the bubbly, mocking laughter in response.
Sitting by the fire, Marek, Darwin, Clara, and Albert just shook their heads at the spectacle. Realizing the two were just blowing off steam after two weeks of grinding together, the quartet decided to give them space and quietly migrated to a more peaceful fire at the far edge of the site.
Clara settled onto a wooden crate, wrapping herself in a warm shawl. With a soft, gentle smile, she took in the illuminated camp: the women bustling around the cooking pots, the weary laborers resting, and the trail of green sparks Elyria left in the air.
"You know..." she murmured softly, "Looking at all of this, my heart feels so light. No offense to our pasts, but in the middle of all this chaos, it feels like we've become a real family. I truly hope this atmosphere in Dornheim—this warmth and unity—stays with us forever."
The men fell silent for a moment, watching the dancing flames.
"Yeah," Marek said simply, tossing a dry branch into the fire.
Darwin rumbled a low grunt of agreement into his beard, and Albert nodded, taking another sip of his tea. Afterward, they drifted into a quiet conversation about their modest plans, everyday trifles, and what their new homes would look like.
Inside the workshop, the air smelled of scorched copper. Having thrown the heavy bolt on the door, I was left alone with my remaining blanks. An error in the compression? That meant I needed to re-verify the internal geometry of every remaining core down to the micron.
I rolled the third mirror-black blank under the light of an oil lamp. The precision tool in my hand moved deliberately, checking for micro-fissures. To correct any potential misalignment in the matrix, I had to manually adjust the locking grooves.
Creeeak.
My hand gave a slight shudder from sheer exhaustion. The tool slipped, digging a fraction deeper than intended and popping loose from the steel clamp. Instantly, something clicked inside the black core, and it suddenly flared with a toxic green glow.
Not again! panicked through my mind.
Reflexes cut through thought. Clamping down on the vibrating core casing with my prosthetic hand to lock it in place, I used my left to yank the emergency pressure release lever, forcing the budding shockwave into the heavy metal intake of the exhaust system leading to the roof.
THOOM!
The workshop rattled violently, and a plume of black smoke and sparks whistled out of the rooftop chimney. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing heavily through the thick fabric of my shirt. The smoke slowly cleared into the ventilation system, revealing a heavily scorched but intact third core. Right on cue, Lumon's status lines flickered into view:
[Attention! Critical thermal breakdown in an enclosed space averted.] Current Status of Core No. 3: Localized structural compromise of the mirror matrix.
Durability Efficiency: Reduced from 5–10 to 0–3 operational cycles.
Status of Remaining Blanks (No. 4, No. 5): Within normal parameters (5–10 cycles, geometric defects eliminated).
I let out a weary breath, unclenching my fingers. Zero to three cycles was practically nothing. But at the very least, it would still yield metal for the tower. The main thing was that I had fixed the remaining two devices properly.
Waiting for my racing heart to quiet down, I raised my right arm and stared at it. I clenched my fingers into a tight fist, listening to the grating mechanical whine.
An idea had been brewing in my mind for a long time: completely ridding myself of the prosthetic and regaining living, biological flesh. Merging cellular regeneration, high-end technology, and magical circuits into a single augmentative system. The initial conceptual drafts of this technology were already sitting at the bottom of my drawer, but I forced myself to look away.
"Not now, Iron. First the tower. First Dornheim's survival—the arm can wait," I cut myself off harshly.
To loosen my spine, which had grown stiff from hours of sitting, I leaned back in my chair and stretched as hard as I could, reaching my arms upward. And in that exact instant, a strange, sharp sensation rippled through my body, starting from my lower back and traveling downward.
I froze, terrified to even draw breath.
Slowly lowering my head, I stared down at my boots, resting completely motionless on the wheelchair's footrest. I closed my eyes, focusing all my mental energy into a single point, and forced a command down toward my limbs. Come on! Move!
My teeth ground together with a low growl. A heavy bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. And then... the leather on the toe of my right boot twitched ever so slightly.
My toes. I could distinctly feel them! Right after that, my right foot shifted a couple of centimeters to the side with a faint, unmistakable scrape against the footrest!
"Lumon! Quick scan of biological status! Now!" I barked internally.
The interface flashed instantly, unfurling a detailed medical log before my eyes:
[Nervous System and Energy Circuit Scan Complete] Motor Function Recovery of Lower Extremities: 74.7% (Attention: Muscle atrophy is being offset by neural regeneration.) Damaged Magic Circuit Restoration: 51.8% (Status: Stable capacity growth.)
But I had been sleeping four hours a night at most, breathing in toxic fumes... Where on earth was my body pulling such colossal regenerative resources from?
My gaze involuntarily drifted to the corner of the workshop, where a neat stack of empty clay plates sat on a wooden stand. And then, it finally hit me.
Clara. Throughout these entire two weeks, three times a day, without fail, her quiet knock had echoed from the other side of the door. She never tried to force her way in, but a tray was always left on the threshold—holding a massive bowl of steaming, rich meat broth, fresh bread, and nourishing herbs.
Realization washed over me. All the exhaustion of the past two weeks, all the pain from the converter explosion—it all suddenly felt like completely trivial white noise.
Grabbing my tools from the table with a sudden surge of renewed strength, I pulled the fourth core toward me.
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