Kalem returned to the inn after his conversation with the senior about the old system, his mind racing with possibilities. If this trial truly involved real weapons, he couldn't rely solely on his spear and axe. Both were reliable tools, crafted for survival and utility, but they weren't tailored for the intense, focused combat that seemed to await him.
The following morning, he set out on a mission to retrieve the rest of his confiscated equipment. It had been three months since the checkpoint guards had seized the majority of his arsenal, deeming it excessive for someone entering the city. At the time, Kalem hadn't protested—he was too overwhelmed by the new environment to put up much of a fight. But now, the prospect of the trial spurred him into action.
After several hours of navigating the city's bureaucratic maze, filling out paperwork, and enduring the suspicious glares of the guards, Kalem finally secured his permit. By the time he returned to the inn, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets.
He pushed open the door to the common area, lugging a large chest behind him. Lyra, who was seated at a nearby table with her usual assortment of alchemical tools, glanced up and raised an eyebrow.
"So," she said, watching as Kalem heaved the chest onto the floor, "you finally got your permit, huh?"
Kalem nodded, flipping open the chest to reveal its contents. Rows of meticulously packed weapons gleamed in the dim light—45 knives, 24 short swords, and 13 arming swords, all neatly arranged.
Lyra's eyes widened. "That's... a lot of weapons," she said, her tone caught somewhere between amazement and concern. "Are you planning to lead a rebellion or something?"
Kalem chuckled as he began unpacking the chest, laying the weapons out on the floor. "No rebellion," he said. "I'm going to make something out of this."
Lyra leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands as she watched him work. "You've been carrying this stash around since you got here?"
"Not exactly," Kalem replied. "They've been sitting in storage since I arrived. The guards weren't too happy when I came to claim them after three months."
"I can imagine," Lyra said with a smirk. "So, what's the plan? You're not going to walk into the trial with all of this, are you?"
"Of course not," Kalem said, picking up a short sword and examining its edge. "I need to refine these. Improve them. The trial isn't just about brute strength—it's about precision, skill, and ingenuity. These weapons are raw materials, nothing more."
Lyra tilted her head, intrigued. "You're going to reforge them?"
Kalem nodded. "That's the idea. If I'm going to face whatever this trial is, I want to do it with weapons that are up to my standards."
The next challenge was finding a forge. The city of Eryndale was vast, a sprawling maze of districts and alleys, but locating a forge that would rent to a student proved more difficult than Kalem had anticipated. Many of the established blacksmiths turned him away, unwilling to risk lending their facilities to someone unproven. Others demanded exorbitant fees that were well beyond Kalem's budget.
By the time he stumbled across an old forge tucked away in a quiet corner of the industrial district, his feet were sore, and his patience was wearing thin. The forge was a modest operation, its exterior marked by a faded sign that read "Brasken's Forge". Smoke drifted lazily from its chimney, and the rhythmic clang of a hammer on metal echoed from within.
Kalem pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into the warmth of the forge. The air was thick with the smell of molten metal and coal, and the glow of the furnace bathed the room in an orange light.
Behind the anvil stood an elderly man with a wiry frame, his hands calloused and stained from years of work. He looked up as Kalem entered, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
"What do you want?" the man asked, his voice gruff.
"I need to rent your forge," Kalem said, holding his ground. "Just for a few nights."
The man raised an eyebrow. "You a blacksmith?"
"Something like that," Kalem replied. "I've worked with metal before. I just need a space to rework some weapons."
The man's gaze shifted to the bundle of weapons Kalem carried. "Rework, huh? And who's paying for the materials you're about to waste?"
Kalem reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of coins. "I'll pay for what I use," he said. "And I'll clean up after myself."
The man studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Fine," he said. "But if you break anything, you're paying for it. And don't touch anything you don't understand."
"Understood," Kalem said, stepping forward to shake the man's hand.
Over the next few nights, Kalem threw himself into his work, spending hours at the forge shaping, sharpening, and enchanting the weapons he'd retrieved. He experimented with different alloys, tested various enchantments, and even incorporated a few techniques he'd learned in his classes.
By the end of the week, the weapons were no longer simple tools—they were extensions of Kalem's skill and creativity, each one uniquely crafted to suit a specific purpose.
When he finally returned to the inn, exhausted but satisfied, Lyra was waiting for him. She looked up from her alchemy notes as he entered, her eyes immediately landing on the bundle of newly forged weapons he carried.
"Wow," she said, standing to get a closer look. "These look... incredible. Did you do all of this yourself?"
Kalem nodded, setting the bundle down on the table. "It took a while, but yeah."
Lyra picked up one of the knives, admiring its craftsmanship. "You've outdone yourself," she said. "I mean, I knew you were good, but this... this is something else."
Kalem shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm just making sure I'm ready," he said. "If this trial is as intense as they're making it sound, I don't want to leave anything to chance."
Lyra nodded, setting the knife down carefully. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're going to do great. Just... don't get yourself killed, okay?"
Kalem chuckled. "I'll do my best."
As he settled into his chair, the faint hum of anticipation buzzed in the back of his mind. The trial was drawing closer, and with it, the promise of a challenge unlike anything he'd faced before.