Kalem guided his carriage through the streets of Gehenna, though calling them streets felt inaccurate. There was no proper city planning, no structured layout. The roads were uneven, a chaotic mess of packed dirt, cobblestone, and iron-plated walkways, hastily constructed where the ground had become too unstable from battle damage. Smoke hung thick in the air, pouring from countless forges, mixing with the ever-present scent of blood and burnt flesh.
He had expected this.
Gehenna wasn't a city. It was a war camp, a forge, and a graveyard all at once. It was built on blood and steel.
Some areas resembled proper settlements—rows of reinforced stone barracks, clusters of blacksmith shops, armories, and supply depots—but there were no parks, no places of leisure, no theaters or places of art. Everything here served a purpose.
"The question is... against what?" Kalem murmured to himself.
He knew Gehenna existed to hold back some great threat, but he had never found out the details. It wasn't common knowledge outside these fortress-cities. The academy's archives had plenty of references, but none had explicitly described the abyss or its horrors.
"I should have read the entire thing while I was at the academy," he muttered, slightly annoyed at himself for not prying deeper when he had the chance.
Onyx snorted, shaking his massive head as though judging his master's lack of preparation.
Kalem narrowed his eyes at his bull. "...You better not be sentient."
Onyx simply huffed, unimpressed, continuing his steady march forward.
Kalem exhaled, shifting his attention back to his surroundings. The people of Gehenna were unlike those from the outside world. Even the smiths and merchants carried weapons, their hands rough with callouses not just from work, but from battle. Some bore scars, missing fingers, or even replaced limbs. Every single one of them was hardened, wary, and accustomed to war.
The warriors were the most striking of all—mercenaries, soldiers, and battle mages, all marked by their own distinct armor, crests, or tattoos. Some wore heavy plate, others lighter gear suited for maneuverability. A few bore enchanted cloaks and robes, signifying their affinity for magic.
And then there were the abyssal hunters.
Kalem recognized them immediately. They carried weapons unlike the others—strange, brutal designs meant for butchering something far worse than men. Their armor bore scratches from claws, teeth, and things that should not exist in this world. They moved differently, like creatures who had already seen hell and survived it.
Gehenna wasn't just defending against an enemy.
It was at war with something far beyond human comprehension.
Kalem turned his attention to the forges lining the streets, watching as blacksmiths pounded metal into deadly instruments. Most of the weapons here were mass-produced, functional but lacking true craftsmanship. The demand was too high for anything else—soldiers needed blades, and they needed them fast.
However, as he guided Onyx further, a particular forge caught his eye.
It was smaller than the rest, tucked between two massive smithing halls, yet the weapons displayed outside were different.
They weren't the crude, hastily made swords of the standard armory. These had care put into them—intricate engravings, reinforced edges, and carefully balanced designs. The metal gleamed under the dim torchlight, a sign of proper tempering and refined technique.
Kalem pulled the reins, bringing Onyx to a stop before stepping down.
A woman stood behind the counter, arms crossed as she watched him appraise the weapons. She was broad-shouldered, with soot-stained skin and short, cropped hair. A smith's apron covered her tunic, the edges scorched from years of labor.
"You have an eye for good work," she noted, her voice rough yet carrying a hint of amusement.
Kalem picked up a dagger, running his fingers along the blade's edge. The weight was perfect, the curvature designed for quick, decisive strikes.
"I'm a weaponsmith myself," he replied.
Her eyes lit up with interest. "That so? You with the Forge-Keepers?"
"No," he admitted, setting the dagger back down. "I only just arrived."
The smith nodded in understanding. "Well, if you're planning to stay long, you should consider it. The Forge-Keepers always need skilled hands."
Kalem had heard of them—the elite crafters responsible for Gehenna's war machine. They forged weapons and armor not just for soldiers, but for the abyssal hunters and battle orders that fought the worst monstrosities lurking in the depths. Joining them would be a chance to work with the best.
"But if you want in, you'll need to show them something worthwhile," she continued. "They don't take just anyone. They'll want proof."
"I see."
Kalem mulled over her words. He had confidence in his work, but this wasn't just about skill. It was about making an impression.
Something to think about later.
"Where's the best place to stay?" he asked, shifting topics.
She gestured vaguely down the road. "Depends on what you're looking for. If you want comfort, forget it. Closest thing you'll get is one of the quartermaster barracks, but they fill up fast. Otherwise, there are independent bunkhouses—cheaper, but rougher."
Kalem figured as much. A proper inn didn't exist in a place like this.
"Thanks," he said.
"Name's Briar, by the way," the smith added, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Kalem."
"Well, Kalem, if you ever need a forge, you know where to find me."
With a nod, Kalem returned to his carriage, giving Onyx a pat before pulling himself onto the seat.
The city—or rather, the war camp—stretched ahead of him, a place that devoured the weak and forged the strong. He had three days before being sent to the field.
Three days to prepare.
He had work to do.