Chapter 30 – “Forging the Plan”

  The forge room wasn’t a forge yet—just the Lich’s cluttered research space, lined with bone racks, glass jars, and stacks of parchment so thick that even the air felt dusty with knowledge. The will-o-wisps floating above gave off a cold, bluish light, making the metallic glint in the corner of Nolan’s sword stand out even more.

  “So,” Nolan began, leaning on the table, “in my world, metals melt when they hit a certain temperature. I couldn’t tell you the exact number—never needed it—but it’s high enough that you can’t just toss it in a campfire and call it a day.”

  The Lich tilted his skull slightly. “You sound unsure.”

  “I was a data analyst, not a blacksmith,” Nolan replied flatly. “Metallurgy was more of a… ‘video game knowledge’ thing for me. But I know enough to get us started.”

  The Lich tapped a claw against the side of a crystal jar, thinking. “If high heat is the problem… then we need flames that don’t die.” He turned, shuffling to a shelf in the far corner, and pulled down a wooden case lined with black velvet. Inside lay a row of strange rocks, each faintly humming with stored mana.

  “These,” he said with a note of pride, “are magic heatstones. Collected them over two centuries. But even with these, we still need a constant activation. Which brings me to this—”

  He reached into his robes and pulled out something familiar: a smooth, rune-carved sleeve.

  “You remember the one on my phylactery?” the Lich asked. “This works the same way. It mimics human touch—tricking the enchantment into thinking it’s being activated. Useful, but not common. Needs to be wired directly into a mana source, which most people can’t afford.”

  Nolan rubbed his chin. “So basically… a really expensive ‘on’ button.”

  The Lich made a dry, clicking sound. “Your phrasing is primitive, but accurate.”

  From behind them, Vaelreth’s tail flicked against the stone floor. “So… all we need is constant flame and a heatstone base.”

  “Yeah,” Nolan said, glancing at her. “Which means we’re halfway there—if we don’t burn the place down in the process.”

  The will-o-wisps above flickered in quiet agreement.

  Vaelreth crouched down beside the Lich’s table, her eyes narrowing on the lineup of magic rocks like a predator picking its meal. “Continuous flame is easy,” she said casually, already fishing through her deck. “You’re lucky I still have this.”

  She held up a card between two clawed fingers—its surface swirling with molten patterns and faint dragon script.

  The Lich leaned closer, sockets glowing faintly. “…That’s not yours.”

  Vaelreth grinned. “Borrowed it. Permanently.”

  “That,” the Lich muttered, “is one of my licensed fire-channeling cards.”

  Nolan raised an eyebrow. “Licensed?”

  The Lich sighed as if the word alone pained him. “Officially recorded under my name in the Academy’s restricted vault. Meant for controlled use.”

  Vaelreth slid the card into her summoning slot with the ease of someone lighting a match. A ripple of mana surged, and a controlled stream of fire roared to life above the heatstones—steady, unyielding, and far hotter than the cold blue of the will-o-wisps.

  The Lich took an instinctive step back. “Impressive. Dangerous. But impressive.”

  Nolan shielded his face from the heat, smirking. “Well, there’s your answer. Heat problem solved. Just… don’t burn through the floor.”

  Vaelreth flicked her tail again, satisfied. “If the floor can’t handle it, it doesn’t deserve to exist.”

  The Lich gave her a long, unimpressed stare, then turned back to his notes. “Fine. We’ll use your stolen—borrowed—card. But when the Academy eventually hunts you for licensing violations, don’t involve me.”

  Vaelreth just smiled wider, feeding the flames a little higher.

  The forge’s heat licked at Nolan’s face as he stepped closer, wiping sweat from his brow. He watched Vaelreth’s flames rolling over the metallic rock like an unending tide, the glow deepening from dull gray to a molten orange.

  “Alright,” Nolan began, scratching his head, “so… in my world, when you heat metal, you don’t just leave it there. You have to cool it down fast—quenching, we call it. Makes it harder.”

  The Lich’s quill froze above his parchment. “Cool it… immediately after heating?”

  “Yeah. Usually in oil or water. Different stuff gives different results. Then there’s tempering—basically reheating it a little so it’s not too brittle.”

  The Lich slowly wrote quenching in large, deliberate script as if it were a sacred word. “And you know the exact temperature?”

  Nolan gave a half-smile. “Not a clue. I was a data analyst, not a blacksmith. I just know the steps from games and documentaries.”

  Vaelreth snorted from her corner, the flames flaring higher. “So basically, you’re teaching him fantasy blacksmithing based on fake worlds.”

  Nolan shrugged. “It’s either this or we guess until something breaks. And honestly, that’s ninety percent of how I live here anyway.”

  The Lich didn’t look up from his notes. “Guessing… is dangerous. But knowledge, even half-formed, is still knowledge.” His skeletal hand tapped the parchment. “If you have even vague practices, I will find the logic between them.”

  “Good,” Nolan said, stepping back. “Because even if we reach the right heat, we can’t exactly cast this stuff. No mold.”

  The Lich’s eyes dimmed. “So we forge it directly.”

  Vaelreth smirked. “At least one of you understands brute force.”

  The Lich ignored her, already jotting down forge layouts and possible quenching mediums, muttering calculations under his breath as if Nolan’s vague rambling had just handed him a decade’s worth of missing theory.

  The heat in the forge chamber wasn’t letting up, and Nolan was starting to think they were going to melt themselves before the metal. He glanced around, looking for anything that could serve as tongs, hammers, or even a decent anvil.

  “We’re going to need proper tools for this,” he said, stepping back from the heat. “Vaelreth, you’ve got something from your hoard that could work, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Had. Past tense. Someone went through it already.”

  Nolan gave her an unconvincing innocent look. “Yeah, that was for… research.”

  “You mean stealing,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Before Nolan could retort, the Lich piped up without looking away from the molten rock. “You already stole half my collection, dragon. Why are you upset when your own stash gets raided?”

  “That’s different,” Vaelreth shot back, tail flicking. “You collect dusty contracts. I collect treasures.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Exactly,” the Lich said flatly. “Mine are useful.”

  Nolan decided not to get involved in the brewing argument and instead rummaged through one of Vaelreth’s confiscated storage crates stacked against the wall. With a bit of digging, he pulled out a heavy blacksmith’s hammer, its head slightly pitted but still solid.

  “From your old hoard,” he said, grinning. “Guess that means I don’t have to steal it now.”

  Vaelreth’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move to take it back. “Fine. But if you break it, you’re replacing it.”

  “Sure,” Nolan said, placing it beside the forge. “And the replacement will also come from your hoard.”

  The Lich finally looked up from his notes, a flicker of something almost like amusement in his skeletal expression. “At least you two can arm-wrestle over ownership after the forging is done. For now, I need every tool that can survive that heat.”

  With that, Nolan and Vaelreth began laying out the salvaged items—a battered pair of tongs, a short anvil block that looked like it had been dragged out of a battlefield, and a strange clamp that seemed more suited for crushing skulls than holding metal.

  “Perfect,” the Lich said, surprisingly satisfied. “Dragon greed and human theft working together. This might actually work.”

  The forge pit was ready, but there was still one problem—the heat was strong now, but it wouldn’t last long enough to melt the metallic rock into something workable.

  The Lich tapped the side of his skull, muttering. “We need a flame that doesn’t flicker out. Something that stays… continuous.”

  Nolan glanced at the pile of magical odds and ends on the workbench. “What about using one of your magic rocks?”

  “That,” the Lich said, walking over to a small chest and opening it, “is exactly what I was thinking.”

  Inside were rows of smooth, rune-etched stones, each pulsing faintly. He picked one up with a kind of reverence and held it out for them to see. “Remember the sleeve on my phylactery?”

  Nolan nodded. “Yeah. The weird glowing case thing.”

  “It’s not weird. The sleeve mimics human touch. It’s why my phylactery can be activated like a card by me—or by anyone else I authorize. This rock works the same way. When placed inside a sleeve linked to a magic source, it will burn as long as the mana flows.”

  “That’s… actually impressive,” Nolan admitted. “Why don’t people use this for everything?”

  The Lich set the stone down carefully. “Because the sleeve has to be connected to a stable mana source. Unless you want to drain your own life away, you need something… inconveniently rare. And dangerous to maintain. That’s why it’s not widely used.”

  Before Nolan could ask more, Vaelreth stepped forward with a sly grin and pulled a card from her deck. The edges shimmered faintly with deep crimson runes.

  “You’ve got a flame problem?” she asked. “Here.” She flicked it toward the Lich.

  He caught it midair and squinted. “This… isn’t Academy-issue.”

  “Of course not,” Vaelreth said, almost smug. “It came from one of Nolan’s ancestors. Dead long before he showed up. I found a stash of their backup cards. If it had been in their deck, I couldn’t have taken it—deck bonds are soul-deep—but it was just in their hand pile. Unattended.”

  Nolan frowned. “Wait, you have my family’s cards?”

  Vaelreth shrugged. “Not like they were using them.”

  The Lich looked between the two of them. “Do I even want to know how many rules are being bent here?”

  “No,” Nolan replied instantly. “But this solves our heat problem, right?”

  The Lich studied the card again, then looked down at his magic stone. “It does. We’ll slot the stone into the sleeve, channel the card’s fire through it, and keep the forge hot without interruption.”

  Nolan smirked. “See? Teamwork. Human improvisation, dragon looting, and lich… whatever you are.”

  The Lich didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he slotted the stone into a fitted sleeve, runes sparking faintly as it locked in place. The card’s flames flared to life the moment it touched the mana stream, settling into a steady, hungry burn.

  “That,” the Lich said, stepping back to admire the heat, “will melt anything.”

  The forge pit glowed brighter as the stone-sleeve and Vaelreth’s card worked together, feeding the flames into a steady, molten-white heat. The metallic rock sat in the crucible, its surface beginning to sweat and crack.

  Nolan leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “So… in my world, metals usually melt at a certain temperature. Don’t ask me the exact number—wasn’t my field. But if you keep it hot long enough, you can shape it. Then you quench it—cool it down fast in water or oil—to harden it. Sometimes you heat it again just a little, that’s tempering. Helps make it strong but not brittle.”

  The Lich tilted his skull. “You sound like you’re guessing.”

  “I am guessing,” Nolan admitted without shame. “I’m a programmer. Well, data analyst. My metallurgy knowledge comes from video games and half-remembered documentaries.”

  Vaelreth rolled her eyes. “So you’re basically winging it.”

  “Hey, I’ve winged worse,” Nolan shot back. “And it worked.”

  The Lich reached into his bag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. When he opened it, several iron tongs, a small anvil, and a hammer clattered onto the table.

  Nolan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve… forged before?”

  “Tools from Vaelreth’s previous hoard,” the Lich said.

  “That’s from my hoard!” Vaelreth snapped.

  The Lich didn’t even look at her. “You’ve stolen half my research collection. You have no moral ground here.”

  Nolan smirked. “He’s got you there.”

  Vaelreth folded her arms with a huff. “Fine. But those tools were decorative.”

  “They’re about to be functional,” Nolan said, picking up the hammer. “We’re going to forge the material instead of casting it. No mold, and even if we had one, we probably couldn’t keep the metal liquid long enough to pour it right. Forging gives us more control.”

  The Lich watched the rock soften in the crucible, the surface beginning to slump inward. “Control I can work with. I’ve been chasing scraps of this knowledge for centuries. I didn’t even know the right words for half of it until now.”

  Vaelreth smirked. “Guess you owe Nolan, then.”

  The Lich ignored her, but his tone softened. “This… might be the start of something very useful.”

  The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal filled the chamber, each strike sending a hiss of steam where molten fragments met the damp stone floor. The Lich adjusted the crucible, while Vaelreth kept the will-o-wisp-fed flames steady.

  As Nolan lifted the half-shaped bar from the anvil, he spoke casually, “You know, there’s another metal worth mentioning—gold. Back home, it’s considered precious. Used in jewellery, coins, decoration. Basically, if you wanted to show off wealth, you used gold.”

  The Lich glanced up, curious. “Gold… what does it look like?”

  “Yellowish. Has a metallic shine. Feels heavy for its size.” Nolan set the hammer down, leaning on the anvil. “In this world, I guess jewellery’s mostly bone, wood, and dyed shell, right?”

  The Lich nodded. “Those are… easier to work with. But gold—if it’s as you say—might hold enchantments well.” He paused. “I may have some in my stash. I’ll check.”

  Before he could leave, Vaelreth shook her head. “Don’t bother.”

  The Lich frowned. “And why not?”

  “Because there’s no gold in your pile,” she said without hesitation.

  Nolan raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  Vaelreth gave a toothy grin. “You’re forgetting—I’m a dragon. We know when gold is near. It’s instinct. Bloodline memory.”

  The Lich froze mid-step, then muttered something under his breath and returned to the forge. “Hmph. Then I’ll save myself the trip.”

  Nolan smirked. “Guess that’s one less distraction. Still, if we do find gold, you might want to think about it for enchantments. It’s good for more than just looking pretty.”

  The Lich’s tone grew almost reverent. “This is all the knowledge I’ve been searching for centuries. Even without gold, we’re already ahead of anything my era could imagine.”

  Vaelreth smirked and tossed another bit of fuel into the forge. “Then let’s see if you can actually keep up with it.”

  The forge fire burned low, its glow reflecting off the half-finished tools and bars laid neatly on the stone table. The sharp smell of quenched metal still hung in the air. Skeletons shuffled in and out, carrying buckets of water and scrap stone back to storage.

  Nolan wiped his hands on a rag, then pulled a rolled fur pouch from his side. Inside were several sheets of parchment, quills, and ink. He unrolled one across the newly cleared section of the table.

  “Alright,” he said, tapping the blank parchment. “Before we get distracted again—let’s talk about the meeting.”

  The Lich folded his arms. “You mean the one where the Goddess and the Akashic Record both show up? Yes, I’m aware. I assume this is where you’re going to say something outrageous.”

  Nolan smirked. “Outrageous, sure. But also effective. We’re going to give the Glory Road to a Hero by crashing the party. Big entrance, big audience, zero subtlety.”

  Vaelreth tilted her head. “And why exactly would the Goddess allow that?”

  “She won’t like it,” Nolan admitted. “But according to the Akashic Record, she can’t interfere too much. Mess with the world directly, and she risks destabilizing it. The curse you got?” He pointed at the Lich. “That’s a side effect of her pushing too far before.”

  The Lich didn’t flinch at the gesture. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just hand the Hero the Glory Road quietly? Avoid the theatrics?”

  “Yeah,” Nolan said, “but then we wouldn’t get the chaos bonus. And chaos is part of the job description.”

  Vaelreth grinned. “So we’re doing this for fun?”

  “For style,” Nolan corrected. “If we just drop it in front of the Academy like a pot of gold falling from the sky, people will start asking the wrong questions. No one’s going to believe it’s curse-free. We need a story to sell it.”

  The Lich narrowed his eyes. “Gold again. You’re oddly obsessed with it today.”

  “It’s just an example,” Nolan shrugged. “Anyway, jewelry in this world’s mostly bone, wood, and dye, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly. Gold would stand out too much—just like what we’re planning.”

  The Lich gave a low hum of thought. “Fine. What about after the meeting?”

  “After the meeting,” Nolan said, leaning over the parchment, “we let the Goddess outline her ‘grand plan’ while we quietly adjust the real one. The Record already knows. The Goddess doesn’t get the details until two days later—at the next meeting. Gives us room to maneuver.”

  Vaelreth leaned forward, peering at the parchment. “And what’s this squiggly bit?”

  “That,” Nolan said, drawing a circle around the symbol, “is where we slot in our surprise. The Hero gets the Glory Road, but we make sure it’s tied into our conditions. No free wins.”

  The Lich chuckled darkly. “Sounds… black-hearted. I approve.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nolan muttered, ignoring the jab. “Let’s just get it ready. We’ve got work to do before the divine audience shows up.”