Rose gaped at me like I''d grown a second head. "Are you in debt to the Ironblood Syndicate?" When I shook my head, her eyes widened. "Netghoul addiction? Those neural-hijacking programs melt brains faster than—"


    "I''m not some cyber-junkie!" I cut her off. "This is armor repair debt!"


    "Repair?!" Her staff clattered to the forge floor. "Fifteen thousand crystal coins for one set? That''s newbie-town-siege money!"


    Blacksmith Clark chimed in while polishing a glowing rune blade. "Discounted rate for family. Normal clients pay triple." The NPC winked conspiratorially. "We saved 200,000 coins using his scavenged materials."


    Rose''s jaw might''ve dislocated. "What armor costs more than a floating citadel?!"


    "Showtime." Clark hauled the Dark Draconic Plate from his supernova-hot furnace using mythril tongs. The pieces glowed like captured starlight—a obsidian exoskeleton riddled with hairline fractures resembling lightning scars. "Been baking this beauty for seven days. Not a single molecular shift."


    "Gods..." Rose reached instinctively before I yanked her back. The armor''s ambient heat warped the air like desert mirages. "It''s... alive. Like the Metal Titans from the Codex Arcanum!"


    Clark nodded grimly. "Weapons-grade legendaries have wills. This one?" He tossed a mundane dagger at the breastplate. The blade vaporized on contact. "Hungry."


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I traced a fracture line. "Your crucible''s insufficient."


    "Brilliant deduction." The blacksmith kicked his fractured furnace. "Magmaforged Steel liquefies in two days here. Your armor?" He spat into the coals. Instant steam explosion. "Laughs at supernovas."


    Rose''s eyes lit up. "Dragonfire."


    Clark and I turned in unison. She flourished dramatically. "Nordic sagas! When dwarven forges fail, they bind elder wyrms as living torches. Your pet dragon''s breath could—"


    "Genius!" I snapped my fingers. "Lucky''s firebreath melted a frost giant fortress last week!"


    Clark grabbed my summoning hand. "Not in my shop! That overgrown matchstick''ll incinerate six city blocks!"


    <hr>


    Field Test: Dragonfire Forging


    (Abandoned Graveyard Sector)


    Lucky''s first test jetstreamed crimson flames across the Magmaforged Steel sample. When the molten crater cooled, Clark whistled. "Core temp: 8,000 Kelvin. Your lizard out-heats Archdemon Balrog''s forge."


    Rose danced around the smoldering pit. "Do the armor! Do it now!"


    "Patience." Clark positioned a crucible. "Azure Inferno test first."


    Lucky''s secondary blast shifted reality itself—a cobalt beam that turned the crucible into floating ionized particles. The backlash knocked him sideways, scales smoking. My psychic partner Phantom translated the dragon''s groans: "Primordial flame... drains energy... need nap..."


    Rose examined the glassified crater. "Well... it works?"


    "Too well." Clark mopped his brow. "We need spatial mages to suspend the armor mid-air during forging. Ground contact would liquefy the continent''s tectonic plates."


    As we debated, Rose leaned over the cursed lake''s railing. The eldritch horror that erupted made Cthulhu look cute—a barnacled maw large enough to swallow airships. The arcane barrier''s backlash electrocuted it into retreating with a gurgling shriek.


    "Rule one!" I dragged her away from the railing. "Never tempt Lovecraftian lake monsters before coffee!"