The morning sun had barely crested the jagged eastern ridges of Sacred Flame Peak when the quiet, forgotten dirt path leading to Peak 74 ceased to exist.
In its place was a bustling, congested thoroughfare of robed cultivators. Inner court disciples, senior deacon envoys from the thirty-six major mountain peaks, and representatives of wealthy regional merchant clans stood lined up along the dusty volcanic slopes, each holding jade presentation boxes, silk-wrapped scrolls, and fragrant bottles of hundred-year spiritual nectar.
Standing before the wooden gate of Fang Lin's humble smelting shed, Senior Brother Ma Teng looked as though he were caught in the middle of a divine tribulation.
His dark hair was disheveled, his sleeves were pulled up, and his thick arms were completely buried beneath a staggering mountain of glowing commission slips.
"Senior Brother Ma, please!" an inner court disciple from the Sword Pavilion pleaded eagerly, thrusting forward a gilded jade box inlaid with gold filigree. "This is three drops of Thousand-Year Earth-Marrow and eight thousand sect merit points! We only ask for an hour of Master Mu's time to appraise our pavilion's ancestral flying sword!"
"Senior Brother Ma! The Peak Lord of Cloud Mist Peak offers an entire pouch of mid-grade fire crystals just for Master Mu to review our defensive formation's resonance!" another deacon shouted over the din of the crowd.
Ma Teng wiped a thick sheen of sweat from his forehead, stammering with wide, dazed eyes. "E-Everyone, please! Calm down! Master Mu is... Master Mu is still resting from the gathering! The Ironblood Faction cannot accept three hundred commissions in a single morning!"
Just two days ago, if a disciple came to Peak 74, it was only to demand a cheap iron sickle or to complain about a dull logging axe.
Now, the mere signature of "Master Mu" on an appraisal slip was worth more than an inner disciple's entire annual stipend.
***
Meanwhile, inside the stone cave, Fang Lin sat quietly beside his wooden table, calmly sipping a bowl of hot water while listening to the roaring chaos outside.
Inside his soul sea, the Dark Flame Spirit was chuckling with dry amusement.
*Look at them, kid,* the spirit murmured, its fiery eyes glinting. *Before yesterday, you were just a dirty bellows-pumping helper in their eyes. Now they're practically lining up to wash your boots with spiritual wine. Human nature is truly the most predictable law in the cosmos.*
*The world respects only two things: overwhelming martial power and sovereign crafting mastery,* Fang Lin replied with a calm, inward murmur, setting down his clay bowl. *When you possess neither, you are dirt. When you possess either, you are an immortal ancestor.*
He stood up, brushed a light speck of soot from his faded grey robes, and walked toward the back exit of the cave.
He had no intention of getting trapped in a sea of tedious social pleasantries. Today, the real fruits of the promotion awaited him in the upper halls of Black Tortoise Mountain.
***
Stepping out from a secluded mountain trail onto the grand basalt walkways of the Heavenly Forge Division, the transformation of his reality became immediately, unmistakably apparent.
The moment Fang Lin walked into the grand Assessment Hall, the ambient clatter of hundreds of apprentice hammers and bustling deacons died into an eerie, reverent hush.
Disciples carrying heavy carts of raw ore immediately halted, pulling their carts to the side of the corridor and bowing with their hands cupped to their chests, parting like the tides of the Eastern Sea to give him a clear path. Inner court geniuses who had previously strutted through the halls with arrogant, unapproachable gazes now lowered their eyes respectfully as he passed, whispering in hushed, awe-struck tones:
"Look... that's Master Mu."
"The youngest Rank 3 Master Smith in continental history..."
"He uncovered the structural domain genesis that baffled even the Grand Domain Smiths..."
Even more striking was the reaction of the division elders.
At the entrance of the central pavilion, two veteran Rank 3 Division Elders—men with long, white beards who had forged weapons for over a century—saw Fang Lin approaching. Instead of waiting for a junior disciple to bow, both elders halted in their tracks, straightened their dark-gold robes, and cupped their hands politely with warm, deferential smiles:
"Ah, Brother Mu! You are up early today."
"Brother Mu, if your new caldera requires any auxiliary smelting cauldrons or extra apprentice hands, simply send word to our Hall. The Mountain-Core Division would be honored to assist."
Fang Lin stopped, maintaining his modest, quiet demeanor as he returned the bow with perfect, unpretentious etiquette. "Senior Elders are too polite. Mu Tie is merely a junior who had a stroke of fortune. I will certainly rely on the elders' guidance in the future."
The two veteran masters beamed with visible relief, thoroughly pleased by the young Master Smith's lack of arrogance.
***
Further down the grand corridor, a booming, thunderous laugh rolled through the arched ceilings, shaking the dust from the hanging lanterns.
"Hahahahaha! Elder Zhao! Did you see the look on old Yan Lie's face yesterday?! He looked like he had swallowed three pounds of volcanic slag! Hahahahaha!"
Elder Huo strode through the division halls like an emperor inspecting his domain.
His thick, muscular chest was thrown out so far it seemed ready to burst his dark robes, his massive hands resting proudly on his hips, and his grey-streaked beard practically bristling with radiant, uncontainable glory.
Behind him walked four division deacons, carrying heavy ledger scrolls detailing the newly restructured division resource quotas.
Because the Ironblood Faction had produced a second Master Smith and single-handedly saved Black Tortoise Mountain's sovereign pride on the continental stage, the sect's high council had tripled the faction's annual allocation of high-grade spiritual charcoal, refined volcanic ore, and premium magma conduits overnight!
The Mountain-Core Division and the subtle array-refining factions, who had spent decades sneering at the Ironblood smiths as crude, unrefined hammer-swingers, were now sweating with profound anxiety. Their elders had spent the entire morning sending peace-offering scrolls, rare spiritual teas, and diplomatic invitations to Elder Huo's private residence, desperate to mend relations before the new political balance solidified.
"Brat!" Elder Huo roared the moment he spotted Fang Lin walking down the corridor.
The burly elder lunged forward and caught Fang Lin in a bone-crushing bear hug that would have pulverized the ribs of an ordinary Core Smith. "Look at you, walking around in those tattered grey robes! You are a Master Smith of Black Tortoise Mountain now! I've already ordered the tailoring pavilion to weave three sets of Dark-Gold Master Robes from thousand-year fire-silk for you!"
Fang Lin smiled helplessly, catching his breath as Elder Huo finally released him. "Elder Huo, simple robes are more comfortable for working the anvil."
"Nonsense! A Master Smith must carry the dignity of his hammer!" Elder Huo barked happily, wiping a stray tear of laughter from his eye. "Come! Head Treasury Elder Jin has been waiting for you in the Grand Treasury Pavilion since dawn. It is time you claim what the sect owes you!"
***
Passing through the central administrative halls, Elder Huo and Fang Lin descended deep into the subterranean roots of Sacred Flame Peak.
Passing through seven layers of heavy basalt blast-doors and thirty-six defensive array barriers guarded by silent, armored Core Formation elders, they arrived at the absolute heart of the mountain: **The Deep Ancestral Resource Vault**.
Waiting before a massive, void-engraved vault gate forged from thousand-year frost-iron stood Head Treasury Elder Jin, a gaunt, sharp-eyed elder clothed in shimmering gold robes.
The moment Elder Jin saw Fang Lin, his solemn face broke into a respectful, reverent bow.
"Master Mu," Elder Jin spoke, his voice carrying the deep deference reserved exclusively for the sect's highest authorities. "By the sovereign decree of Sect Master Xuan Yuan and the Grand Domain Smiths, your promotion to Rank 3 Master Smith comes with two supreme covenants."
Elder Jin raised two fingers.
"First: you are officially granted ownership and forge sovereignty over **Caldera Peak 9**—an independent, volcanic mountain peak wreathed in natural earth-fire conduits, equipped with an advanced Ninth-Order Grand Warding Array, and granted absolute immunity from division inspections."
Elder Jin presented a glowing golden command jade, which Fang Lin accepted with a respectful nod.
"Second," Elder Jin turned toward the massive vault doors, channeling his divine sense to unseal the nine heavy locks, "as a Master Smith of our mountain, you possess an unrestricted annual draw quota from the High-Grade Material Pavilion. Within this chamber lies the accumulated wealth of our sect's ten-thousand-year heritage. Whatever your hammer requires, you may claim."
*CREEEAAAK——!*
The monolithic frost-iron doors slowly ground open, releasing a wave of ancient, concentrated elemental Qi that made the surrounding air hum with vibrating power.
Fang Lin stepped across the threshold.
The interior of the vault was a vast, subterranean cavern illuminated by floating orbs of eternal lunar light. Arranged upon long shelves carved from ancient spirit-stone were materials that rarely saw the light of the outside world:
Bars of **Deep-Sea Star Iron** pulsing with faint astral energy; chunks of **Thousand-Year Dragon-Blood Obsidian** that radiated suffocating heat; clusters of **Void-Drifting Meteoric Ore** that warped the ambient gravitational field; and translucent crystals of **Spatial Sun-Glass** that flickered in and out of the physical plane like ethereal phantoms.
Fang Lin walked slowly between the towering shelves, his fingers lightly brushing against the cold, dense surfaces of the legendary ores.
Until now, his forging had always been restricted by what he could scavenge in the wastelands or purchase through roundabout black-market trades with the Star River Alliance.
Now, the entire ancestral treasury of a continental hegemon was laid bare before him.
*Kid...* the Dark Flame Spirit whispered in his soul sea, its voice trembling with razor-sharp, predatory focus. *Look at that shelf on the left. Third row.*
Fang Lin's gaze shifted.
Resting on a velvet-lined pedestal was a three-foot-long ingot of **Primordial Spatial Shadow-Iron**, flanked by two dense blocks of **Nine-Abyss Heavy-Gravity Stone** and a crystal vial of **Starlight Mercury Essence**.
These were not materials for forging a ship or refining a furnace.
These were the ultimate, sovereign components for a weapon of pure, unbridled penetration—materials capable of tearing through spatial barriers, crushing physical defenses with unyielding mass, and moving as silent as a phantom through the void.
*A spear,* Fang Lin thought, his dark pupils constricting with cold, thrilling clarity.
He had long mastered the heavy, crushing Dao of the hammer and the mace. But to complement his Core Formation cultivation, his Shadow Breath Technique, and his mastery over kinetic force, he needed a weapon that combined absolute piercing speed with devastating, gravitational mass.
He needed a divine spear.
A spear that could pierce the defensive arrays of Domain Forging elders before they could even detect his presence.
Fang Lin turned toward Head Treasury Elder Jin, pointing calmly at the ingot of Primordial Spatial Shadow-Iron, the Nine-Abyss Heavy-Gravity Stone, and several accompanying high-grade spatial ores.
"Elder Jin," Fang Lin spoke quietly, his voice polite and unhurried. "I will claim these materials for my upcoming seclusion."
Elder Jin did not even ask why a junior smith needed such terrifying, high-tier spatial ores. He simply bowed deeply, waving his sleeve to record the transaction on the golden ledger:
"As Master Mu desires. The materials are yours."
Sweeping the heavy spatial ores into his storage pouch, Fang Lin felt the cold, dense weight settle beside his Master Smith medallion.
He looked up toward the heavy stone ceiling of the vault, toward the distant, secluded heights of Caldera Peak 9.
The Annihilation Analysis Gathering was over. The game of masks was played.
And now, behind the sealed wards of his private mountain, the true forging was about to begin.
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