Chapter 146: Heavy Spear
The short swords snapped back into Azel’s hands before they could reach Feng.
The air cracked as the weapons answered his will, streaks of frost lingering in their wake before they settled neatly into his palms as though they had never left.
"These are nice," Azel muttered, testing their balance with a casual spin.
It was like holding Thor’s hammers in real life.
Really nice.
Alas he couldn’t brag about it since it was normal here.
Feng’s legs nearly gave way beneath him.
His heart still hammered in his chest, his vision trembling from the adrenaline.
He had seen his death in those blades, inevitable and absolute, the kind of death you couldn’t argue with.
For an instant, he thought he had been cut from the world.
When Azel turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in lazy question, Feng nearly fainted.
"Did you really think I would kill you?" Azel’s tone was even, but his gaze sharpened.
Feng’s throat bobbed as he gulped.
’OF COURSE I DID!’ he screamed inwardly.
Who wouldn’t?
What kind of person threw two dragon-bone short swords directly at someone’s chest, then asked that question with a straight face afterward?
"O-of course not," Feng stammered, forcing his voice steady as he puffed out his chest in pride. "You would never."
Azel stared at him for a bit then hummed.
"Oh? Who’s this runt?" Elyon’s voice cut through the tension as the blacksmith finally gave Feng more than a glance.
His sharp eyes narrowed, raking up and down Feng’s thin, underfed body. "Never seen him before. He looks pathetic."
Feng’s puffed-out chest instantly deflated like a punctured wineskin.
"I agree," Azel said without hesitation.
That was the final nail in Feng’s fragile pride.
His shoulders slumped, his head dipped, and a soft sigh slipped out of him.
"But," Azel continued smoothly, "he’s my new subordinate. You can call him Feng."
For a moment, silence reigned in the room.
Anya, who had been standing a little behind, let out a small sigh of relief.
Her fingers curled at her chest, and the faintest smile tugged at her lips.
’At least it’s not a woman,’ she thought, tension uncoiling from her shoulders.
She had worried about having another woman to compete with.
But this boy? He didn’t stir jealousy. He was a man after all and Azel was only interested in beautiful women.
But he had potential.
"Alright then," Elyon finally said, scratching his chin with a grin that was far too wolfish to be comforting. "Do you want a weapon for him?"
The way he said it — like he had been waiting for this question made it clear he already had something in mind.
"That was one of the reasons I came," Azel replied.
He dismissed the twin blades, sliding them into his storage ring.
The motion was smooth, but inwardly he grimaced.
’At this rate, this ring might be full.’
As much as he liked collecting weapons and materials, the system had refused to provide him with an inventory.
He was forced to manage his storage ring like some poor merchant.
’System,’ he muttered inwardly, ’why don’t I have an inventory?’
[Inventory will be unlocked when you meet the Heroines at the academy.]
Azel sighed aloud. ’Figures.’
Elyon, oblivious to the exchange, grinned wider. "Wait right there. I’ve got just the thing for this boy."
He hurried toward the cluttered tables of failed experiments, the very scraps Azel had noticed earlier.
Bone fragments fused awkwardly with iron, handles that hummed with unstable energy, shards that might explode if handled carelessly.
Azel had guessed they were byproducts of Elyon’s attempts to replicate the goddess’s blade which was brilliant.
The blacksmith rummaged like a man searching through a treasure chest only he understood, muttering under his breath as his hands brushed across each piece.
Finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, he tugged free a long shaft.
It came loose with a clatter of bone against wood, gleaming pale in the forge-light.
A spear.
It was beautifully carved, the shaft smooth yet firm, the blade tipped with monster bone sharpened to a wicked edge.
Even Feng could feel it radiating faint strength, as if the bone itself still remembered the beast it once belonged to.
"This," Elyon declared, thrusting it toward them, "is perfect for him."
Feng’s breath hitched.
His eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step forward, arms trembling as he reached out.
"It’s... beautiful," he whispered.
In his old sect, he hadn’t been allowed to touch weapons.
He had been mocked, ridiculed, cast aside as talentless trash.
His hands had only ever held brooms and scraps.
Yet here he was, a single day after meeting his Master, standing before a true weapon being offered to him freely.
He reached out both palms.
Elyon dropped the spear into his hands.
The weight landed with a thud.
Feng’s knees buckled instantly. His arms shook.
His lips parted in an involuntary moan of effort as he struggled and then the spear pulled him straight down, dragging him face-first toward the floor.
He hit the ground with a yelp, the weapon clattering beside him.
"It’s very heavy!" Feng gasped, trying and failing to lift it back up with one hand.
"Are you kidding me? It’s light," Elyon said, baffled.
He scratched his head furiously, muttering to himself.
Was there some defect in the forging?
He swore they were as heavy as the short swords.
Feng scrambled, both hands clutching the shaft as he strained to lift it again.
His muscles burned, sweat beading at his temples.
Slowly, shakily, he dragged it up off the floor.
His face reddened with the effort, his chest heaving, but he managed to get it upright.
Azel watched with a deadpan expression.
Beside him, Anya raised a hand to her lips, failing barely to stifle a laugh.
Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but it wasn’t the cruel kind Feng was used to.
There was no mocking glare with it.
For the first time, Feng realized that being laughed at could feel... light.
"Good," Azel finally said, breaking the moment.
He sighed, then turned to Elyon. "Uncle Elyon, I’ll take it."
"Good!" Elyon barked with satisfaction. "Let me know when it breaks. If it does, we’ll forge another."
"Right." Azel nodded.
He took a moment to browse the racks, selecting another bone-crafted weapon, this one intended for Medusa.
He had promised her after all.
With their choices made, the business concluded, Azel dismissed the new weapons into his ring and turned for the door.
...
The cold evening air greeted them as they stepped out of Elyon’s forge.
Feng carried his spear clumsily, wobbling with each step as though the weapon might crush him at any moment.
At least he allowed Azel to store the clothes but...
He looked ridiculous yet proud, beaming through his exhaustion.
The walk back to the mansion stretched beneath silver-lit snow.
Feng finally gathered his courage. "M-Master, are we going out tomorrow?"
"Yes," Azel answered without breaking stride.
"To... to hunt?" Feng asked carefully, his grip tightening on the spear shaft.
Azel had mentioned it before but he wanted to make sure.
Azel’s lips curved into a thin smile. "No. You will be hunting monsters."
Feng’s steps faltered. The spear wobbled dangerously in his hands.
He swallowed hard, his pulse spiking at the words.
Hunting monsters — not in stories, not in sect training manuals, but in reality.
With this weapon.
With his own two hands.
Terror gnawed at him.
But if his Master believed he could do it, then he could do it.