Absolute Craft

Chapter 18: One Horned Demon (1)

Two events occurred at the same time: Beatrix began her transformation, and the majestic doors swung open. Those doors undoubtedly guarded the first fragment of the previous Lost King's crown. Blake wouldn't have been surprised if that very piece radiated the regal brilliance flooding the space. The glow felt so warm and inviting that even Sol, the Sun Elemental, closed his tiny eyes to bask in it.

Behind Blake, his newly bonded familiar trembled under the suffocating black light. Beatrix moved stiffly, like a mechanical doll long overdue for oil and maintenance. Parts of her armor darkened as if ink had seeped into them. The metal popped and shrank, conforming to her evolving figure.

By the end of her transformation, Beatrix had shifted from a heavenly white soldier into a demonic servant. Every trace of white had vanished. She now wore a full suit of armor that, much like Blake's own, clung to her body as though it were a second skin. Her helmet had transformed as well, looking more like a featureless mask than practical headgear. Instead of being tied in a neat ponytail, her blonde hair now fell loosely, drifting like golden threads down her back. Her skirt had disappeared, further accentuating her hourglass figure.

With this new title, Blake officially became Beatrix's master—and the first player to acquire a familiar. He could now view her stats, equipment, and even her inventory. A quick look at her profile revealed her extraordinary nature. Her system mirrored that of a player's, allowing her to evolve alongside Blake and match his boundless growth.

This realization hinted at why the Lost Kingdom had once been so revered, yet it also raised a question: how had such a mighty kingdom fallen? There was no point dwelling on that now. Blake focused on her stats:

'Her dexterity is naturally high,' Blake thought. 'She gains far more from her equipment than I do from mine, and her stats might improve further once she equips her bow.' He regarded her thoughtfully.

Standing poised, she saluted by pressing her joined fingers to her left breast. Initially, the gesture struck him as odd for a soldier, but recalling her immense strength and refined movements, it soon felt fitting. He was relieved to have her at his side, especially since he still intended to progress through the game without relying much on other players.

'Her equipment set is like mine but better by far—no doubt the previous Lost King's handiwork,' Blake mused, inspecting her armor, The Pride's Back. Not only did it boost her mana by 215% and raise her dexterity past his own, but it also granted two skills, surpassing his gear in that regard. Because the set didn't directly add attack speed, Blake figured her bow would fill that gap—and likely add even more dexterity.

Still, he clicked his tongue, feeling overshadowed by the previous Lost King's craftsmanship. Regardless of the circumstances, he couldn't help taking it personally.

The equipment's skills were equally astounding:

Both legendary skills bent the game's rules in ways Blake found almost unfair. Next to them, his Perfect Steel felt lackluster. He imagined Vargar's voice reminding him not to worry, that Perfect Steel might someday shine at legendary rank. Still, he couldn't fully shrug off his disappointment. His competitive spirit urged him back to the smithy to forge something superior—how else could he perfect his craft?

Just then, Vargar's voice cut through his thoughts. "Ye alright? What's that look for? Even she's tiltin' her head at ye."

"…her equipment has two skills," Blake muttered.

"Haha! Ye really thought ye could match the Lost King?" Vargar grinned like a kindly grandfather, pointing out that the previous monarch had trained in blacksmithing and enchanting from childhood. There was no way a fledgling king in a modest smithy—where they'd only worked for a week—could produce something like Beatrix.

"Enchanting seems better," Blake said, sounding irritated.

Vargar harrumphed. "Ye're right. Ye need scrolls to make 'em permanent—scrolls ye can't get yer hands on yet." His expression softened. "Don't be a child. Notice how different yet similar these arts are, especially after today's battles."

Blake cast him a sidelong glance. He'd used enchantments and his forged gear throughout this entire hall. In his final clash with the Supreme Archer, he'd combined Prideful Step with the Weight Enchantment to unleash a lethal strike. Though the concepts were distinct, they meshed perfectly.

"That balance is what ye must master," Vargar said upon hearing Blake's thoughts. "Ye're a real beast in battle… I doubt many could do what ye did."

"It wasn't anything special," Blake insisted. "Plenty of people could pull it off."

Vargar narrowed his eyes. "Ye jokin'?"

"No," Blake replied, entirely sincere.

The dwarf let out a weary sigh. "Yer battle experience is somethin' else. It'll serve ye well on yer path to the throne… but ye've got a long road ahead with craftin' and enchantin'."

Blake's lips curved into a sneer, as though he'd just been issued a fresh challenge. "Actually, that makes it sound even more fun now that I think about it."