Chapter 171: Blacksmith, Hell-Iron Myre

The results came up instantly.

She read them twice. Then a third time.

Her voice came out quiet.

"Purity... ninety-nine point seven percent. Temper line perfect. Heat stability... it’s stable at over four thousand degrees. This is insane."

Isaac couldn’t help but grin. "So he’s a combatant with the ability to become a blacksmith?"

Professor Catherine shot him a look, but didn’t deny it.

"I’ve only seen this kind of material on weapons used by Champion rank or above awakeners. Some of the top SSS-Class awakeners of other races have it. It’s not even used in mass production because no one can get enough of it."

She handed him the crystal.

"You could make daggers out of twigs. And they’d pierce steel."

Isaac turned it in his fingers. It felt warm. Dense. Like it

wanted

to be a weapon.

He looked back at Tyr. "You’ve outdone yourself, big guy."

Tyr tilted his head again, another subtle smile forming beneath the layers of flame and bark.

"Well," Professor Catherine finally said. "We need to run more tests later. See how the metal reacts when forged with other materials. But for now..."

She looked at Isaac.

"You’ve got a decision to make. Are you going to keep this hidden? Or are you going to let him become a blacksmith?"

Isaac didn’t answer immediately.

The metal sat in his hand, dense with possibility.

Professor Catherine’s voice dropped just slightly.

"With blacksmithing, Tyr will be able to bring out the true potential of this metal. We’re talking weapons that could level the battlefield. Tools that amplify power in ways most people only dream of."

She stepped closer. "But this won’t go unnoticed. You’re already a target. Tyr’s ability will just... double that."

Isaac nodded slowly. "I’ve thought about that."

Because she wasn’t wrong.

Since arriving here, the weight on his back had only grown heavier.

People were already talking about him. Trying to guess how much potential he had. Wondering how to get close, or how to take them from him.

Hiding Tyr’s abilities might buy him time.

But a bit of time wouldn’t change anything.

Instead of hiding, he needed to make best use of the opportunities given to him and grow stronger, and make people who support him stronger.

"I don’t want him to live imprisoned," Isaac said. "He’s not just a Beast Bond. He’s family. If I hide his strength, I’m chaining him down for my own safety."

He met Catherine’s eyes.

"I want him to learn blacksmithing. I want him to grow."

A soft smile tugged at her lips. "Good choice."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small holographic tablet, scrolling through a list of names.

"There’s someone in Stronghold. Paul Walker. He runs a smithy. He is low profile, but has solid reputation. Let Tyr learn under him."

Isaac blinked. "Wait. Paul Walker? That guy from a few days ago? He came to thank me after I helped him make a decision to buy land here."

Professor Catherine nodded. "That’s him. His skills are good. And his father is even better, he is an exceptional blacksmith, one of the best in this city. But the family was quietly suppressed by a group of dominant weapon shops for years."

Isaac frowned. "Suppressed by shops? That sounds like faction politics. Governor’s Faction?"

"You catch on quick." She nodded again. "Most of the ambitious ones join them. They control a lot behind the scenes. And if a smith gets too popular without joining their network, they get pushed out."

"So they basically strangled Paul and Walker Smithy’s future."

"More or less," Professor Catherine said. "But if he joins your side, it changes the board. Tyr gets training. Paul gets another chance. You get an ally with real skill."

Isaac considered that. He didn’t trust people easily, but Paul didn’t seem like a bad bet. Especially now.

"Let’s go meet him," Isaac said.

They climbed into the jeep.

Professor Catherine sat beside him, arms crossed and legs casually stretched.

Later, Emily had left with ’Professor Catherine’ to finish her daily quest.

...

Tyr sat quietly on Isaac’s shoulder.

He had reduced his size to something no bigger than a palm-sized figurine.

His bark remained blackened like a deep obsidian, and his body was wreathed in flames that shimmered orange and red.

But the flames didn’t burn Isaac, or the seat.

According to Catherine, these were the Flames of Hell.

They were not just ordinary elemental fire, but something far more powerful, and violent.

They didn’t burn everything, only what Tyr chose.

And once they caught something, they wouldn’t easily extinguish.

As they entered Stronghold’s central district, the market buzzed with activity.

Stalls were lined shoulder to shoulder, hawking ores, weapon parts, enhancement crystals, and gear pieces looted from the ruins.

Walker Smithy stood at the end of a narrow side street. Its sign was hand-forged, not digital, and the building itself was a simple, rugged structure with an open-air forge and shelves full of unfinished blades.

The sound of hammering rang through the air, clean and sharp.

Paul Walker was at the front, shaping a broad-headed axe.

When he spotted Isaac, he froze mid-swing, then placed the weapon down and jogged over.

"Isaac!" he grinned, brushing soot from his arms. "Bro, it’s good to see you again."

"Same." Isaac stepped out of the jeep. "I’ve heard you’ve been busy these days?"

Paul laughed. "Well, it’s all thanks to you. Business is hard here, but still better than back at home. Well, that happens when you’re not backed by the big dogs.

"Anyhow, I heard about the Metavore thing. That was you, right? Whole stronghold has been talking about it! People say you held the defensive line against the escaping dozens of monsters and cyborgs alone!"

Isaac smiled. "It was only thanks to everyone’s help."

"Help?" Paul let out a loud laugh. "Don’t be modest. I heard from three different teams about how you handled everything yourself."

Isaac didn’t deny it. "Thanks, Paul. But actually, we’re here to talk about something else."

Paul’s grin faded slightly. He seemed to realize something serious was coming.

"Let’s talk in my office."

The office was behind the smithy, small and cramped but clean.

A metal fan spun lazily above, and the walls were lined with sketches of weapons and materials, notes pinned in layers.

Isaac stepped inside, Tyr still perched on his shoulder.