In the union of human skill and mechanical ingenuity, the smithy churned out weapons of destruction, their sheer quantity a testament to the intentions of King Girsal.
The manufactured weapons were then immersed in an expansive basin, filled with an enigmatic, bluish-black liquid. Eva gracefully floated closer, her eyes inspecting the substance with a slightly grave expression. A furrow formed on her brow. "This is the blood of the Death Folk race. Yet, I sense no trace of Death Folk presence here, unless there exists a secret alliance between them and King Girsal. No wonder these weapons can inflict harm on a person's very soul," Eva uttered with a tinge of understanding, her gaze excited as she continued to tail King Girsal through the smithy.
Suddenly a man, towering at around ten feet tall, donning a mysterious blue mask, approached King Girsal with a respectful bow before locking eyes with him. "Your majesty, please where would you like to go?" the masked man inquired.
