“This is your final warning. One more disturbance, and you will be disqualified from the exam and removed from this room immediately,” the proctor said, his voice a low, stern threat directed at Park Jin-Woo.
As the proctor walked away, the brief ripple of attention subsided. This exam was the gateway to the prestigious Olympus Academy; the other trainees had no time to waste on a competitor’s mistakes. They simply saw it as one less rival to worry about and returned to their forging.
Jin-Woo stared blankly at his own hand, his mind still reeling from the proctor’s warning.
I’m thirty-one years in the past? Why? How?
He’d thought it was just his life flashing before his eyes as he died, but everything felt too real, too vivid. He fiddled with the cheap hammer in his hand, trying to grasp the last moments before his death. A faint memory surfaced.
[Weapon ‘---’ synesthetic mindscape has been activated.]
[Activating skill ‘Echo of the First Moment’]
That was it. Synesthetic mindscape manifestation—a rare phenomenon where a powerful skill became imbued into an item forged with Nexus Crystals. He had witnessed it countless times in his long career, but something about this last time had been different.
It was the first time it ever happened with my own Nexus Crystal.
Despite having crafted millions of items with it, his personal Nexus Crystal had never once produced such a manifestation.
Then how did the synesthetic mindscape activate? And how did I end up back here?
The situation was bewildering, but he could only arrive at one conclusion.
Was it a coincidence?
Now that he thought about it, his very first skill manifestation had occurred under similar duress, when he’d been frantically fending off an attack in his workshop. Perhaps this, too, was just a fluke. A humorless laugh escaped him at the absurdity of it all.
Either he was insane or the world was. He couldn't make sense of any of it, but the reality was undeniable: he had returned to the past. And not just to any moment, but to the very day that marked the first great regret of his life.
What to do… Well, the answer is obvious, isn't it?
With his thoughts finally beginning to clear, he turned his head and checked the large clock on the wall. One hour remaining.
He glanced around the room. The other trainees were already well into the final stages of their work.
This was ridiculous. He looked down at the piece of ore on his anvil. It was a haphazardly pounded lump, poorly balanced and utterly shapeless. It wouldn’t even pass as a decoration.
I suppose I should just focus on refining it for now, he thought, stroking his chin. The score would be low, but as long as he passed, that was all that mattered. With a resigned sigh, he gripped the hammer.
“How atrocious,” Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Kim In-Cheol muttered, the middle-aged man’s face a mask of discontent as he observed the trainees. He hadn’t expected masters from this pool of reserve candidates, but their performance was far worse than he could have imagined.
Even accounting for the declining prestige of the Division of Soul-Forging… these candidates lacked the most basic knowledge. They didn’t know how to control the flames or even how to hold a hammer correctly. They just blindly struck the iron, pouring what little mana and skill they possessed into the metal without any regard for the fundamentals of forging. Could this clumsy banging even be called smithing?
Simply gathering more applicants had solved nothing. He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples in disappointment.
Suddenly, a single sound cut through the cacophony of the examination hall. It was a note so sharp, so pure, that he instantly picked it out from the clumsy din of the other trainees. His eyes widened, the sound reverberating in his ears.
The hammering was slow but perfectly rhythmic, clear and unwavering. Its profound clarity startled him, seizing his full attention.
Who is making that sound? he wondered, his gloomy mood evaporating as he frantically scanned the room for its source.
Eventually, his eyes landed on a young man swinging a hammer with fluid confidence, not a trace of hesitation in his movements. At first glance, the swings seemed aimless, but the iron on the anvil below was taking shape with a level of excellence no other piece in the room could match.
…It’s like he’s become a completely different person.
Though In-Cheol had been thoroughly disappointed, he had still noted each trainee’s basic posture for his evaluation. Among them, Jin-Woo had been far below average, well under the cut-off for admission into Olympus Academy.
Come to think of it, he was the one In-Sung just scolded for spacing out.
It was rare, but not unheard of, for individuals to awaken their skills without warning and exhibit a sudden, dramatic improvement. Perhaps Jin-Woo was one such case.
How interesting. This exam had seemed destined to end with every trainee failing. Now, things were taking an unexpected turn. In-Cheol straightened from his slouch, his gaze fixed intently on Jin-Woo.
At that same moment, the most exceptional piece of work in the room shattered.
When Jin-Woo had begun the refining process, he’d taken it lightly. Olympus Academy had a formidable reputation, but it was still just a training institution. Compared to the fame and skill he possessed before his regression, this exam should have been child’s play.
He had decided to treat this session as a simple diagnostic, a way to test the limits of his body from thirty-one years ago. He understood he couldn’t immediately return to the peak of his craft.
But he just couldn’t stand the sight of what he was forging. This elongated, pointed piece of scrap metal masquerading as a sword was being shaped by his own hands.
It couldn’t be helped. This was the best his untrained body could manage. His muscles couldn't wield the hammer properly, and his mana was too feeble for even basic smithing, let alone true forging. He understood all this rationally, but an artist’s revulsion made his skin crawl. Blood rushed to his head, and his face twisted into a scowl.
In his previous life, he was a true artisan who tolerated no flaws, not even imperfections on the nanometer scale. If he found a single mistake in a piece worth billions, he would smash it to pieces without a second thought. It was how he’d earned the moniker “Debtor Crafter.”
He brought the hammer down hard on the anvil, and the flawed knife broke into two clean pieces. A wave of shock rippled through the room. Even the proctor stared, stunned. It was common for trainees to grow discouraged, but never before had one destroyed their own creation mid-exam.
How dare he… Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Iron-Willed Proctor Han In-Sung, the proctor who had issued the warning, couldn't believe it. He could not accept a trainee showing such blatant disrespect, especially not in front of the head professor of the Division of Soul-Forging.
He stomped angrily toward Jin-Woo, fully intending to drag him out of the room.
“Proctor… sir.” Jin-Woo’s body was stiff, but his eyes held an ominous glimmer.
To In-Sung, this trainee was an insignificant welp, his skills laughably poor even among this sorry batch of candidates.
Yet, standing before him now, the proctor found himself at a loss for words. He felt an aura emanating from Jin-Woo, a suffocating pressure he hadn’t felt since his own days at Olympus—the domineering presence of an older student spoiling for a fight.
“I have something I would like to say…” Jin-Woo said, clenching his jaw as he fought the urge to drop the honorifics.
“What is the issue?” In-Sung asked, swallowing nervously.
“I would like to reforge the item. Could you provide me with the necessary materials… please?”
In-Sung’s eyes trembled. He couldn’t tell if it was a polite request or a thinly veiled command. Normally, he would have berated the candidate for such audacity, but the words wouldn’t come. He was torn between his duty to refuse and a primal instinct screaming at him not to provoke the young man.
Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Forgeheart Kim In-Cheol, who had approached without anyone noticing, bent down and picked up a fragment of the broken knife. The nearby trainees murmured as he examined the piece with genuine interest.
Unlike In-Sung, In-Cheol was a man who had earned his title as head professor of the Division of Soul-Forging at Olympus Academy. He was a colossal figure in the field, one of the world’s top one hundred blacksmiths.
“You,” In-Cheol said, his sharp gaze fixed on Jin-Woo as he placed the broken piece back on the anvil. “Do you believe that breaking this was the right thing to do?”
The question could be interpreted in many ways. Most trainees would have panicked, assuming they had made a grave mistake. But for Jin-Woo, only one answer came to mind.
“Yes. I refuse to submit something like that for this examination.”
“…I see.” Seeing the unwavering conviction in the young man’s eyes, In-Cheol thought for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the dumbstruck In-Sung. “Proctor Han, are there any leftover materials?”
“Huh? Ah, yes. There are some.”
“Then bring them here. It isn’t against the examination rules.”
“That’s true… but…” In-Sung began to protest, thinking the special treatment was excessive.
“Should I go get them myself?” In-Cheol’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“No, sir!” In-Sung scurried off to the materials room and returned moments later, heaving a large box.
“Huff… huff… I’ve brought all the iron ore and ignition stones.”
“Good work.” In-Cheol patted In-Sung’s shoulder, then checked the time before turning back to Jin-Woo. “You only have forty minutes left. Will that be enough?”
The conventional method wouldn’t work in so little time, but there were other ways. A grin touched In-Cheol’s lips as he saw a spark of inspiration flash in Jin-Woo’s eyes.
“I look forward to it.”
As the proctors returned to their positions, Jin-Woo surveyed the materials laid out before him. A single glance told him the iron ore was of uniform excellence and the ignition stones were of the highest quality. The academy provided such fine materials to ensure no applicant could blame their failure on the equipment.
This should be just enough, he thought, a flicker of satisfaction on his face. It might get a little rough, but that’s the nature of the craft. You can’t make anything worthwhile without a little suffering.
He selected a few pieces of iron ore and a handful of ignition stones, then stepped before the dying furnace. Focusing the pitiful amount of mana he possessed into his hands, he smashed the stones together.
A sharp clack echoed through the hall, followed by a shower of brilliant sparks. Flames flickered to life in his palms, dancing like ghostly lamps. Everyone in the room stared, transfixed by the eerie spectacle.
If you inject mana into ignition stones, they get extremely hot…
Where is that burning smell coming from?
A palpable tension filled the air. Everyone instinctively felt that something extraordinary was about to happen.
A distinct resonance, unlike the previous grating collisions, suddenly hummed from all the ignition stones at once. Startled by the sound, Jin-Woo swiftly tossed the glowing stones into the furnace.
A column of iridescent flame erupted from the forge.