The late afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the three-league expanse of the Grand Exhibition Plaza.
Above Sacred Flame Peak, the swirling clouds of sulfur and furnace ash had taken on a deep, burnt-orange hue. Despite the grueling heat that had baked the caldera for two consecutive days, not a single spectator among the tens of thousands in the basalt tiers had departed. If anything, the atmosphere had grown even more electric.
The scoreboard projected high above the central terrace remained locked in a razor-sharp, unyielding deadlock:
*Scarlet Sun Palace: 1 Major Discovery (Self-Circulating Thermal Loop)*
*Black Tortoise Mountain: 1 Major Discovery (Directional Density Gradient)*
Following Gu Chen's monumental revelation of the directional density gradient, the seventh and eighth batches of Core Smiths had taken their turns upon the white-jade platform. Craftsmen from the River-Crossing Clan, the Thousand Hammer Pavilion, and several foreign delegates from the merchant leagues had exerted every shred of their divine senses. Some had managed to trace minor acoustic resonance nodes along the flanged ridges; others had calculated the superficial cooling threshold of the outer obsidian glaze.
Yet, none had succeeded in breaking the 1–1 stalemate.
The twin crafting hegemons sat in heavy, watchful silence. On the southern guest balcony, Grand Elder Yan Lie stroked his crimson beard with slow, deliberate rhythm, his molten eyes locked onto the warded platform. Beside him, Chi Yao sat upright, her slender fingers tracing the glowing fire ribbons at her wrists, her earlier arrogance tempered by the realization that Black Tortoise Mountain's foundational heritage ran far deeper than she had imagined.
Opposite them, on the White Basalt Terrace, Sect Master Xuan Yuan and Grand Domain Smith Elder Duan remained as motionless as ancient statues, exuding the sovereign, immovable presence of mountain peaks.
***
Down in the lower eastern tiers, where the disciples of the Ironblood Faction were gathered, the mood was relaxed and celebratory.
Disciples were eagerly discussing Gu Chen's acoustic formulas, loudly boasting about the superiority of heavy-forging kinetic dispersion over the "fickle parlor tricks" of the Scarlet Sun Palace. Pitchers of roasted barley spirit tea were being passed around, and several junior smiths were already sketching new hammer designs inspired by the directional density model.
In the very back row of the wooden benches, leaning lazily against a polished basalt pillar with a steaming cup of tea resting between his palms, was "Mu Tie"—Fang Lin.
His faded grey robes were plain, his cuffs lightly dusted with soot from his daily forge work, and his posture carried not the slightest hint of competitive fire. To any passing elder, he looked like nothing more than an ordinary, introverted Rank 2 Core Smith who had come simply to enjoy the spectacle and drink free tea on the sect's merit.
Senior Brother Ma Teng, who had spent the last two hours passionately debating kinetic load theories with the other disciples, finally wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked over to the back bench. He slumped down beside Fang Lin, letting out a long, exhausted breath.
Ma Teng glanced at Fang Lin, who was taking another slow, content sip of his tea. Then, Ma Teng's eyes drifted down to Fang Lin's waist, where the golden registration token issued by Elder Huo, hanging loosely from his leather belt.
Ma Teng blinked in bewilderment.
"Brother Mu," Ma Teng asked, lowering his voice as he looked around at the buzzing arena. "Aren't you going again?"
Fang Lin lowered his teacup slightly, turning his head to look at Ma Teng with a placid, half-amused expression.
"What would I gain?" Fang Lin asked mildly.
Ma Teng stared at him as if he had just spoken in the ancient dialect of the demon beasts.
"What would you gain?!" Ma Teng whispered fiercely, leaning closer. "Brother Mu, this is the Annihilation Analysis Gathering! The entire continent is watching! The elders of all ten major sects, the grandmasters of the Star River Alliance, even the reclusive Grand Domain Smiths are sitting right above our heads! If you go up there and present a passable analysis, your name will spread across the thirty-four counties by tomorrow morning!"
Ma Teng raised an eyebrow, gesturing grandly with his hands. "Fame, Brother Mu! Everlasting crafting fame!"
Fang Lin looked at him, completely unmoved, and took another calm sip of his tea. He already had enough issues and becoming famous now would be going against his plans for the future.
"I already have enough work," Fang Lin replied simply. "Custom spearhead commissions, furnace maintenance, alloy refining... If I become famous, more elders will come knocking on my cave mansion with special orders. That sounds like a headache."
Ma Teng's mouth opened, but no words came out. He sat frozen for several breaths, his face twitching between utter disbelief and profound exasperation. In a sect where every single young craftsman fought tooth and nail for every scrap of reputation and division prestige, Mu Tie's complete, unapologetic laziness was nothing short of miraculous.
"You... you really are an anomaly, Brother Mu," Ma Teng groaned, rubbing his temples in defeat. "I don't know whether to admire your detachment or throw you into a smelting pit."
Fang Lin merely smiled behind his teacup.
*Fame?* Fang Lin thought with dry amusement. *If they found out who actually forged that mace, the 'fame' would involve cultivators hunting me across the continent for the secret of the Laws of Destruction. I'll stick to my quiet forge on Peak 74.*
However, before Ma Teng could say another word, a heavy shadow suddenly fell over the two of them.
The ambient chatter of the surrounding Ironblood disciples died down instantly.
Fang Lin and Ma Teng looked up. Standing before their bench was Elder Huo.
The broad-shouldered old master had wiped the spirit wine from his beard, but his eyes were still bright with residual excitement from Gu Chen's earlier victory. He stood with his massive arms crossed, his gaze falling squarely upon "Mu Tie."
"Elder Huo!" Ma Teng immediately straightened his posture, cupping his fists with respectful deference.
Fang Lin also set his teacup down on the wooden bench and rose to bow respectfully. "Greetings, Master Huo."
Elder Huo did not speak right away. He walked forward with heavy, rhythmic steps that vibrated through the stone floor, stopping right in front of Fang Lin. His sharp, discerning eyes swept over Fang Lin's calm face, lingering on the unused golden registration token at his waist.
Elder Huo reached out. His massive, calloused hand—hardened by hundreds of years of striking red-hot spiritual iron—settled firmly upon Fang Lin's shoulder.
The weight was heavy, but there was no harshness in the grip. Instead, it carried a steady, grounding warmth.
"Mu Tie," Elder Huo spoke, his deep, gravelly voice surprisingly gentle, stripped of all the boisterous shouting he had directed at the Scarlet Sun Palace earlier.
"Elder Huo?" Fang Lin responded softly.
Elder Huo looked toward the center of the arena, where *Volcanic Annihilation* rested beneath the fading sunlight, its obsidian head radiating faint pulses of crimson heat.
"I know you don't care for sect politics," Elder Huo said quietly, his voice pitched so that only Fang Lin and Ma Teng could hear. "You spend your days tucked away in your secluded forge, minding your own business, never fighting with your fellow disciples over merit allocations or division titles. In many ways, your temperament is far better suited for the Dao of crafting than the rest of these hot-headed youngsters."
Elder Huo paused, looking back down into Fang Lin's eyes with absolute sincerity.
"I did not register your name to use you as a weapon against the Scarlet Sun Palace," Elder Huo said, his tone carrying the deep, earnest weight of a true mentor. "And I don't care if you write a treatise that scores zero points before the Judgment Council."
Elder Huo squeezed Fang Lin's shoulder gently.
"A weapon of this grade—an artifact that commands the Laws of Destruction without a single surface rune, balancing sovereign heat with unyielding directional density—appears in this world perhaps once every several hundred years. For a young Core Smith like you, simply placing your hands upon its grain and feeling the resonance of a true grandmaster's hammer will teach you lessons that no manual in our library could ever impart."
Elder Huo looked him straight in the eyes, his rough, weathered face filled with genuine, fatherly hope.
"Do not go up there for Black Tortoise Mountain. Do not go up there for the Ironblood Faction. Go up there for yourself. Feel the hammer of a master, see how high the sky truly reaches, and broaden your path for the rest of your life."
Elder Huo patted his shoulder once, his voice firm and unwavering.
"Go."
Fang Lin stood in silence.
Looking into Elder Huo's earnest, bloodshot eyes, a subtle, profound warmth stirred within Fang Lin's chest.
In the ruthless, dog-eat-dog cultivation world of the Demon Immortal Continent, where disciples were so often treated as disposable tools for factional glory and sect politics, Elder Huo's simple, unselfish care was an extraordinary rarity. The old man genuinely wanted nothing more than for his quiet disciple to experience the pinnacle of their shared craft and grow as an artisan.
Fang Lin felt a faint prick of guilt, knowing that the "master" whose hammer Elder Huo revered so deeply was standing right in front of him in dusty grey robes. Yet, alongside that guilt came a deep, sincere sense of gratitude.
Fang Lin lowered his head and bowed deeply, his cupped fists held steady and true.
"This disciple obeys Master Huo's guidance."
Elder Huo's rough face broke into a broad, satisfied grin. He gave Fang Lin an affectionate shove toward the stairs. "Good lad! Go on, the final batch is about to be called!"
***
*DONG——!*
The ancient bronze bell chimed across the caldera, its solemn resonance signaling the commencement of the final shift of the First Round.
"The ninth and final batch of the First Round shall now take the stage!" the attendant deacon's voice boomed across the amphitheater. "All remaining registered Core Smiths, present your tokens and ascend!"
Fang Lin picked up the golden token from his belt, smoothed down the lapels of his grey robes, and began walking down the wide basalt steps of the eastern stands.
Beside him, disciples from various smaller pavilions were hurrying forward, their faces tense with nervous anxiety as they prepared to face the continental judges. In contrast, Fang Lin walked with relaxed, unhurried steps, his hands resting lightly within his sleeves.
Inside his soul sea, the Dark Flame Spirit was lying on a floating cushion of black flames, resting its chin in its spectral hands while grinning with immense, mischievous delight.
*Well, well, well,* the spirit chuckled, its lovely voice filled with amused warmth. *The old blacksmith actually has a heart of gold. 'Feel the hammer of a master,' he says! If only he knew that the master's hammer was the very one he scolded for being lazy five years ago!*
*Elder Huo is a good man,* Fang Lin replied calmly in his mind as he reached the perimeter of the testing grounds. *Such sincerity deserves respect.*
*So what's your plan, kid?* the spirit asked, rolling over and tossing a wisp of flame into the air. *Are you going to pretend to be a clueless novice, or are you actually going to write something that makes that old turtle proud?*
*We'll see,* Fang Lin replied with an inward smile. *There is no need to show the whole sky. But giving Master Huo a small reason to smile won't hurt.*
Fang Lin arrived at the entrance of the appraisal barrier.
He handed his golden token to the attendant deacon, who glanced at the inscribed characters.
"Ironblood Faction, Core Smith Mu Tie," the deacon read aloud, nodding politely as he logged the entry into the official ledger. "You have precisely two hours upon the platform. Step inside."
Fang Lin inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
With the late afternoon sun painting the white-jade stage in deep crimson gold, and the eyes of tens of thousands of spectators watching the final shift assemble, "Mu Tie" stepped across the translucent amber barrier.
He walked past the nervous, whispering crafters, coming to a halt directly before the heavy basalt pedestal.
There, resting in absolute, silent majesty, was *Volcanic Annihilation*.
The dark obsidian mace lay completely still, its flanged edges absorbing the dying sunlight, radiating a faint, rhythmic heartbeat of deep volcanic heat that only its creator could truly comprehend.
Fang Lin stood before the mace, his plain grey sleeves fluttering lightly in the rising caldera wind. He looked down at his own creation, slowly raising his hand toward the obsidian surface as the two-hour bell began to toll.
-