The chamber was quiet after the last words of planning faded, the golden glow of the Glory Road orb still pulsing faintly on the table. For a moment, the silence almost felt like relief.

  Then Akashic Record stood, dusting off her sleeves with a practiced motion. “That’s enough from me. I’ve got three hundred petitions, twelve collapsing circuits, and an entire archive backlog waiting. I can’t waste another breath babysitting this.”

  Before the Goddess could protest, the Record’s body unraveled into a spiral of glyphs, and she was gone.

  The Goddess pouted, folding her arms. “Hmph. Always running off. Honestly, she’s no fun.” Her eyes flicked around the chamber, landing on the trio. “Well then… I suppose I’ll just spend time with you.”

  Nolan exhaled through his nose, already weary. “We’re done talking plans.”

  “Exactly!” the Goddess replied brightly. “No plans. Just… a chat. Mortals love chatting, don’t they?”

  Vaelreth smirked, tail swishing lazily against the stone floor. “Depends on the company.”

  The Lich said nothing, merely gathering his tome and drifting toward the shadows, as though hoping silence alone would shield him from her gaze.

  Nolan ignored the back-and-forth entirely, already pulling scraps of metal closer. “Fine. You can talk all you want. I’ll be forging.”

  The Goddess leaned on her elbow, watching him with far too much interest. “Oh, wonderful. I get to see what my little villains do when they’re not plotting chaos.”

  Nolan muttered under his breath as he set the forge alight, “Exactly what I wanted… an audience.”

  Sparks snapped in the hearth, marking the true beginning of his work.

  The first clang of Nolan’s hammer rang sharp against the chamber walls, sparks scattering across stone. The Goddess leaned forward on the table, chin in her hands, watching him like he was some curious exhibit.

  “If I’m going to deal with your circus,” Nolan said without looking up, “I’ll need new weapons. Swords, daggers—tools that won’t snap halfway through a fight.” He glanced toward the Lich. “I’ll also need parchment. Fresh pages, strong enough to hold martial techniques. Can you get me that?”

  The Lich’s eye-lights flickered briefly. He closed his book with care, rose, and began to move toward the shadows of the corridor.

  The Goddess cocked her head. “Oh? Running away already?”

  He paused just long enough to answer, his voice flat. “I have no reason to linger near my curser.” Then he slipped into the dark, robe trailing like a shadow.

  Nolan shifted the glowing ingot on the anvil, the hammer falling again in steady rhythm. “Don’t take it personally. He just doesn’t like you.”

  “I’ve noticed,” the Goddess said brightly, though the glint in her eyes suggested she found it amusing rather than insulting.

  Vaelreth stretched lazily, wings rustling, then dropped herself near the forge with a smirk. “Then I’ll keep you company. Someone has to make conversation with the goddess.”

  Nolan exhaled, too focused on his work to argue. The hammer struck again, sending another burst of sparks upward. The Goddess leaned closer, fascinated by the glow.

  “Strange,” Nolan muttered, setting the hammer down. He eyed the scraps of ore he had gathered from dungeon remains. “For a world so obsessed with dungeons, you don’t have real metalcraft. Hardly any alloys, no proper forging traditions… Why is that?”

  The Goddess’s golden eyes lit with interest at the question. She straightened in her chair, smiling as if she’d been waiting to be asked.

  “Well,” she said sweetly, “since you’re curious…”

  The answer hung just out of reach, leading them directly into her explanation.

  The forge hissed as Nolan turned the ingot in the fire, the orange glow licking at its edges. He kept his eyes on the metal, but his words lingered in the air.

  “For a world so built on dungeons, you don’t have real metalcraft. No alloys, no traditions. Why?”

  The Goddess smiled as if the question delighted her. “Because I didn’t want it. Simple as that. My world is meant to be pure. No clutter from other influences. No tinkering mortals pulling apart the seams. Just my creation, untainted.”

  Nolan lifted the hammer and brought it down hard, sparks flashing. “Pure?” He set the blade flat and struck again. “Then what are the dungeons? You didn’t pull those out of thin air.”

  “They’re mine,” she said quickly, almost defensively. “I took the fragments and wove them in. Once they’re part of my world, they belong to me.”

  Vaelreth gave a low laugh from her corner. “Claiming scraps doesn’t make them yours. You’re a crow painting its feathers white.”

  The Goddess shot her a look, but didn’t take the bait. Instead, she leaned closer to Nolan, her tone softening into something almost conspiratorial. “Besides, mortals don’t need metals. I gave them cards. Magic is cleaner, more elegant. Why burden the world with ugly hammers and anvils when a spell can do the work instead?”

  Nolan’s hammer struck again, louder this time. “Because spells break. Metal lasts.”

  The Goddess tilted her head, unconcerned. “And yet, my world still stands.”

  He glanced up at her then, sweat glistening on his brow from the heat of the forge. “How many of your worlds have fallen?”

  The smile slipped just slightly. Her eyes narrowed.

  After a long pause, she leaned back and crossed her arms. “More than I care to count. But this one won’t. This is my final project. My last chance to graduate God Academy. If I fail again, I lose everything—my title, my standing… even my allowance.”

  The words hung absurdly in the air, the casual confession of divine failure.

  Nolan said nothing. He just set the hammer down and adjusted the ingot, the firelight catching the grim set of his face. Then, with a steady breath, he struck again.

  The clang filled the silence, sharper than any reply.

  Nolan pulled the glowing bar of dungeon ore from the fire and pressed it against the crude block he was shaping into an anvil. Sparks leapt as the hammer rang down, steady and unyielding.

  The Goddess’s voice broke the rhythm, sharper now. “You’d better succeed. If you fail…” Her golden eyes narrowed with cruel amusement. “I’ll make sure you learn what a fate worse than death feels like.”

  Vaelreth’s tail flicked once, the smirk fading from her lips.

  Nolan set the hammer down, jaw tightening. “Threats don’t forge steel.”

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  “Oh, but fear sharpens it,” the Goddess countered sweetly. “Remember, you’re only here because I allow it. Break, and I’ll erase even the memory of you.”

  The forge hissed, the heat pressing close around him. Nolan’s answer came not in argument, but in motion. He reached for another half-shaped block of ore and set it on the growing anvil. His voice cut through the hiss of fire and ring of iron:

  “Then I won’t fail. I’ll forge something that will outlast your threats.” His gaze flicked briefly to the orb of the Glory Road on the table. “A blade the world cannot ignore. Excalibur.”

  The Goddess blinked. “Excalibur? What’s that supposed to be?”

  Nolan kept hammering, sparks jumping with each strike. “A sword from my world’s legends. They said it was unbreakable, sharp enough to cut through anything. Its scabbard made the one who carried it nearly impossible to wound. More than that—it wasn’t just a weapon. It was a symbol of victory, the kind of sword people would rally behind, even long after its wielder was gone.”

  Her golden eyes widened, her earlier cruelty giving way to fascination. “A sword like that… born here, with the Glory Road woven into it…” She grinned, leaning closer. “Yes. That’s exactly what this world needs. Let me design it!”

  Nolan exhaled slowly and slid a sheet of parchment across the table. “You can sketch while I work. But understand—before there’s a sword, I need the tools to make it. The anvil, the tongs, the hammers. A blade like that won’t come from scraps.”

  She barely listened, already scribbling wild designs with flourishes of gold and crystal.

  Nolan lifted the hammer again, striking down with a crack that filled the chamber. “Excalibur will come later. For now, I build the foundation.”

  The forge spat sparks into the dim air, the rough outline of tools forming beneath his hand—preparations for a legend not yet born.

  The scratching of quill on parchment filled the chamber as the Goddess finished another gaudy flourish for Excalibur’s hilt. “There. Crystals here, golden trim here, and maybe a gem that shines like the sun embedded in the crossguard—”

  A sharp clang of Nolan’s hammer cut her off. “Excalibur’s not jewelry. It’s a weapon. Weapons have to last.”

  The Goddess pouted, then suddenly clapped her hands. “Then I’ll make it last. Here!”

  With a careless wave, bricks of solid gold clattered onto the stone floor, the chamber ringing with their weight.

  Vaelreth whistled softly. “Generous.”

  Nolan lowered his hammer, staring at the gleaming pile. “…You just drop gold like firewood?”

  “Of course.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “If you’re going to forge the world’s greatest sword, you might as well make it shine.”

  He bent, picked up a brick, and tested its heft in his palm. The weight was solid but unconvincing. “…Gold’s too soft. A blade made of this would bend after the first strike.” He looked back at the Goddess. “I’ll use it—for alloying, for inlays, and for enchantments. But the core has to be harder. Otherwise it’s decoration, not survival.”

  The Goddess tilted her head, then shrugged. “Fine. Use it however you like. Just promise me the sword gleams when it’s finished.”

  At that moment, the Lich returned, his arms stacked with old parchment and bone fragments for crafting. He stopped dead at the sight of the bricks scattered across the floor. Slowly, he picked one up, holding it between skeletal fingers. The faint glow from his sockets flickered in disbelief.

  “…This is gold.” His voice was low, measured, as if confirming it for himself. “Raw, pure… gold.”

  Nolan tossed him another brick. “Work it with something stronger. It’s too malleable alone. Blend it, reinforce it—make it something that won’t collapse under weight.”

  The Lich turned the bar over slowly, his grip almost reverent. “Gold is a conduit. It drinks mana like water.” He looked at Nolan intently. “If you want enchantments, this is no common gift. It’s—”

  The Goddess cut him off, throwing her arms up. “Why are you wasting my gold on him? I said sword! Sword!”

  Nolan didn’t look up from the anvil as he adjusted the newly forged tongs in the fire. “A sword isn’t made in one piece. It’s forged in parts. Same as us. The gold will be used. But I need tools before there’s Excalibur. And he needs materials for his work too.”

  The Goddess groaned, throwing herself dramatically across the table, but didn’t withdraw her gift. The forge flared brighter as Nolan worked the tongs against the glowing ore, sparks flying.

  Excalibur remained only a word for now—but the first foundations for its birth had begun.

  The forge roared as Nolan tested his new tongs, gripping a glowing ingot and setting it onto the crude anvil he was shaping. He tapped one of the gold bricks with the flat of his hammer, sparks scattering across stone.

  “This much gold won’t all go into a sword. I’ll use it for enchantments. And for the Dalhan Project.”

  The Goddess perked up, eyes wide. “Dalhan? What’s that supposed to be?”

  “An old tale from my world,” Nolan said evenly. He slid the ingot back into the coals. “A horseman without a head. Cursed but unstoppable. I’ll build something like it — a construct of bone and armor, held together by mana, reinforced with gold channels.”

  The Goddess clapped her hands, her smile bright. “How marvelous! Headless horsemen, living armor — cursed legends parading across the stage! I should write their stories, give them tragic backstories, make them my actors for eternity—”

  The chamber chilled.

  The Lich’s parchment crumpled in his grip, skeletal fingers digging in. His sockets glowed brighter, his jaw tight with fury. To her, the undead weren’t comrades or craft — just props for entertainment.

  Nolan noticed immediately. He set his hammer down, leaned slightly, and whispered so only the Lich could hear: “Not now. She’s still a goddess. Don’t make trouble.”

  The Lich didn’t answer. His aura wavered like a storm barely contained. He turned his face away, silent, but his resentment hung heavy in the air.

  The Goddess, oblivious to the tension, leaned closer to Nolan, practically glowing with delight. “Imagine it! A stage full of cursed knights — and at the center, Excalibur gleaming like the sun!”

  Nolan’s jaw tightened. In another life, this was every quarterly meeting he’d ever suffered through. The boss’s boss spouting nonsense, and you nodded, smiled, and redirected before someone exploded.

  So he forced his voice calm. “If you want stories, Excalibur is the story. That’s the sword worth remembering.”

  The Goddess’s attention snapped back to him at once, irritation vanishing. “Excalibur! Yes, yes, let’s talk about that again! I still say it needs more gold trim—”

  She prattled on, golden hair swaying as she scribbled more embellishments.

  The Lich sat in silence, parchment trembling faintly in his hands. Vaelreth smirked to herself, flicking her tail in amusement at the whole scene.

  Nolan raised the hammer once more. Sparks leapt into the smoky air, the ringing of steel cutting through tension like a shield.

  Excalibur wasn’t here yet — but even its name was enough to keep the Goddess entertained, and that was survival.

  The forge’s glow painted the chamber in orange light. Sparks crackled with each of Nolan’s steady strikes, the sound filling the uneasy silence left after the Lich’s anger.

  Vaelreth, lounging near the wall, finally broke it. Her tail flicked once, sharp against the stone. “So. Tell me something, Goddess.”

  The Goddess looked up from the parchment she was happily scribbling golden flourishes on. “Yes?”

  “Why was my world destroyed?”

  Her tone wasn’t bitter, but the weight beneath it carried centuries of smoke and ash.

  The Goddess blinked, then leaned back with a careless shrug. “I don’t really know. Probably because I borrowed too many favors from other candidates to make it. The Academy said it wasn’t mine anymore. So they discarded it. Put a failing grade on my work.” She pouted, tapping her chin. “Unfair, wasn’t it? It was one of my most complete worlds.”

  Vaelreth’s eyes narrowed, the faint glow of fire flickering in her pupils. “You didn’t build it, did you?”

  Nolan’s hammer paused mid-strike.

  The Goddess smiled, tilting her head coyly. “Well, maybe not all of it. A natural god did most of the heavy lifting. But I made it better. I gave it flavor.”

  Vaelreth gave a short laugh, sharp and humorless. “Flavor. You burned my home into a garnish.”

  The Lich said nothing, but the faint hum of resentment around him deepened again.

  Nolan set the hammer down with a clang, shaking his head. He didn’t look up, but his voice was steady. “Figures. Don’t bother fact-checking her, Vaelreth. Half of what she says is credit-taking anyway.”

  The Goddess waved her hand dismissively, unbothered. “You mortals always take these things too seriously. It’s not like worlds matter once they fail.”

  For a moment, no one answered. The forge fire snapped and hissed in the silence.

  Nolan tightened his grip on the hammer and struck the anvil hard, sparks leaping high. “This one had better not fail, then.”

  Vaelreth’s gaze lingered on the Goddess a moment longer, her smile sharp but cold. Then she leaned back against the wall again, arms crossed, tail curling in thought.

  The conversation ended there — but the fire in her eyes hadn’t cooled.

  The chamber settled into the rhythm of work. Nolan hammered out a new pair of tongs, the glow of the forge casting long shadows. He shifted next to the crude block he had been shaping, slowly pressing it into the form of a proper anvil. Each strike was deliberate, methodical, sparks bursting into the smoky air like fleeting stars.

  The Goddess leaned forward, her golden hair catching the firelight. For once, she was silent, simply watching the steady rise and fall of hammer and steel. Then, with sudden delight, she clapped her hands.

  “Wonderful! I’ve decided. After you attack the city, forging will be my new divine theme. Jewelry, swords, artifacts — beautiful things everywhere! I’ll make my world shine with treasures.”

  Vaelreth snorted softly, her tail flicking against the wall. The Lich glanced up briefly from his parchment, sockets dim, then returned to his work in silence.

  Nolan didn’t answer. He only struck the anvil again, harder this time, the sound echoing through the stone chamber. Inside, he thought of office politics — when the highest boss declared a new initiative out of nowhere, you didn’t argue. You just kept your head down and worked.

  The Goddess hummed to herself, already scribbling ideas for “divine jewelry lines” onto parchment.

  Nolan lifted the glowing ingot, sweat running down his temple, and whispered under his breath — words lost to the roar of the fire. “Excalibur.”

  The hammer fell once more, sparks scattering high, as if the forge itself knew a promise had been made.