The heavy sound of hammering echoed through the cavern, sparks flying with every strike of the massive hammer and reflecting off the stone walls.
Sleeves were rolled up high, exposing tense, corded muscles on his upper arms.
Beads of sweat mixed with the glimmer of the forge fire on his bronze skin.
His thick beard and bushy eyebrows looked like burning steel in the orange glow.
*Clang — *
The massive hammer struck the glowing-hot metal once more with precision, letting out a dull, ringing sound.
The Great Artisan God’s gaze narrowed.
He was about to bring down the next strike when the heavy stone door of the forge was suddenly pushed open.
A figure walked in, bringing with him a scent of mixed ore dust and the damp chill of the underground.
Watching the silhouette behind the leather curtain, the visitor let out a long sigh, removed his felt hat, and placed it on a nearby rack.
He rubbed his hands together and was about to sit down when the Great Artisan God’s low, heavy voice drifted over.
“Morelon, speak plainly if you have something to say.”
The dwarf named Morelon paused.
He stroked his long beard and gave a hearty chuckle.
“Great Artisan God, I just came to check on you.”
Morelon’s words hung in the air for a long time without a response.
The only sound in the cavern was the rhythmic hammering from behind the leather curtain.
The silence made Morelon feel a bit awkward.
He pulled at his beard and grumbled, “After all this time, you’re still the same…”
The heavy hammering continued.
After several more strikes, a final *Clang — * echoed out, and the figure behind the curtain set the massive hammer aside.
The leather curtain was pulled back, and the Great Artisan God stepped out, a hint of helplessness on his face.
“I know what kind of person you are… Speak. What exactly is worth a personal trip?”
Upon hearing this, Morelon’s expression turned serious, his face clouding with gravity.
He twisted his beard and said in a low voice, “The Kostershka Mountains… there’s something strange happening there.”
The Great Artisan God’s hand paused as he wiped sweat from his brow, his calloused fingers stopping at his bronze temple.
He lifted his eyelids, his deep-set eyes beneath thick brows looking at Morelon with a steady, restrained gaze, signaling for him to continue.
He did not rush him, but in that moment of silence, even the crackle of the forge fire seemed to grow clearer.
“It’s in multiple locations across the mountains, in those deepest, most hidden caves dug by the Goblins.”
Morelon’s voice was very low, forced into a steady tone as if he were stating a common fact.
However, the way he leaned forward and the white-knuckled grip of his fists at his sides betrayed his internal shock.
“Just a few days ago… an incredibly intense light erupted.”
He paused, seemingly recalling the unbelievable sight, his tone remaining solemn.
“It wasn’t the dull red of lava or the cold glow of crystals. It was… an incredibly pure light.”
“From nine locations, pillars of light soared into the sky as if tearing through the thick Black Mist covering the mountains. It lasted for several seconds.”
“In the places where those lights broke out… I can feel it. Not only did the Goblins suffer heavy casualties, but the filthy auras that have occupied those areas for countless years were also largely purified.”
Morelon took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto the Great Artisan God’s face, trying to catch any tiny change in that rock-steady expression.
“That light… it was pure and holy. It was by no means a natural occurrence.”
“After the light slowly faded, I went to investigate one of the core areas of the eruption. There was a lingering… holy and majestic aura.”
He placed extra emphasis on the words “holy” and “majestic.”
Even though he tried to remain calm, an unmistakable light of disbelief flickered in the depths of his eyes.
The Great Artisan God remained silent and did not respond immediately.
Instead, he slowly turned around and walked back toward the forging anvil.
His heavy footsteps thudded against the stone floor.
He reached out with a broad palm, but instead of picking up the massive hammer, he grabbed the metal slug on the anvil that was still glowing a dark, scorching red.
*Sizzle — *
The piercing sound of searing metal meeting skin rang out.
A cloud of white smoke accompanied by the smell of burnt flesh immediately filled the air.
The Great Artisan God seemed not to notice.
His scarred, calloused palm firmly gripped the red-hot iron as if it were not a molten mass capable of melting gold, but merely an ordinary stone.
He lowered his head slightly, his gaze moving slowly between the glowing metal and the cooling trough.
The forge fire illuminated his tense profile as sweat slid down the contours of his corded muscles, dripping onto the hot anvil with a sharp *hiss* as it evaporated instantly.
The only sounds left in the forge were the roar of the fire and the faint sizzle of evaporating sweat.
Time seemed to freeze in the heat and silence.
Finally, the Great Artisan God moved.
He didn’t look at Morelon again, nor did he look at the scorching metal in his hand.
His arm muscles suddenly contracted as he slammed the dark red iron into the stone trough filled with quenching liquid!
*Boom — !*
The searing metal and the cold liquid clashed violently, erupting in a deafening roar.
A thick plume of white mist exploded, instantly filling the entire forge and obscuring all vision.
The scalding steam, carrying the pungent scent of iron, rushed toward them, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
“Understood.”
His voice was calm and flat, devoid of any emotion.
But as Morelon looked at the figure shimmering through the mist and the metal gradually taking shape in his hand, he already understood.
“Then I’ll be going.”
Since the Great Artisan God knew, the purpose of his visit had been fulfilled.
He didn’t need to know exactly what had happened; he only needed to follow instructions.
He brushed the dirt off his clothes, turned around, took his felt hat from the rack, and placed it back on his balding head.
With the heavy thud of the door closing, the only sound remaining in the forge was the hissing of steam.
The Great Artisan God’s gaze slowly moved to a Crimson Stone sitting on the table, his eyes flickering with a complex emotion.
That stone held the message sent back by Fagreim.
And now, Morelon had brought back another piece of news that touched his soul.
Fagreim’s message was true.
The light in the Kostershka Mountains was real.
The Light Church… was also real.
He pulled the cooled metal from the liquid and tossed it carelessly onto the anvil.
His hand, which had been as steady as a mountain while gripping white-hot metal, now trembled uncontrollably.
‘Now… just how long has it been…’
‘The Light Church has finally emerged again…’
‘But, without a Saintess, just how long can the Light Church endure?’
The Great Artisan God’s eyes were full of complexity as his palm slowly fell onto the handle of his hammer.
A decision had already been made in his heart.
Before a true Saintess appeared, he would not make contact with the Light Church.
A false light, once shattered, would only bring about even heavier suffering.
‘Lutherch… I hope you understand this…’