Overwhelming Firepower

Right after Cael's sword ceremony, he, like Lucen, was taught the family's sword technique, but unlike Lucen, he was able to comprehend the moves rather quickly.

A few days after that, the men sent by the king to train with Thornefang in the use of the arquebus arrived. The second they stepped foot near Ironhold, Lucen was already aware of it.

He then proceeded to hide the Thunderspears, as well as the other new inventions, as he planned to only show them the arquebuses.

The fewer people who knew about the full extent of their current strength, the better. The men and women the King sent were ones without any mana or aura, but they were the best of the regular soldiers.

The soldiers who came from the Capital had come to Ironhold with a bit of pride in their hearts.

Of course, like every other person in Norvaegard, they heard the stories of the North where the Iron Duke lives.

A place where monsters roam every corner, where the cold air bites into your skin, where the barbarian tribes attack when you're asleep. It is where true warriors fight in battle until Velmira takes them.

Most of them thought that most of the stories should be an exaggeration. As they travelled towards Ironhold, they did find a few monsters, and the cold did indeed bite into their skin, but it wasn't as bad as the stories made it out to be.

But the second they saw the walls of Ironhold, their thoughts changed a little. The high walls of Ironhold were unlike anything they had ever seen before.

The walls of Caelhart, the capital, were like a child before a giant if you compare the walls of the two cities.

It was then that they heard the sound of thunder erupting from beyond the walls. Some of the soldiers flinched a little at the sound, as it repeated a few more times.

They had heard that the weapon they were supposed to learn to use made that sound. As they were stunned by the sound, a voice sounded right behind them.

"Are you guys the soldiers sent by the King?"

The leader of the group of soldiers turned around and saw a towering man, who was wearing light clothing in this cold weather, his body full of muscles.

This was someone many knew of, among the strongest knights in Stellhart, not just Stellhart, but in the entire Kingdom of Norvaegard, Sir Thalos Stonemaul.

The soldiers stiffened as recognition dawned. They had heard the name countless times in taverns and barracks, always whispered with a mix of reverence and disbelief.

Sir Thalos Stonemaul, the man who split a troll's skull with his bare hands, who had once fought for three days without food or sleep against a barbarian horde.

His very presence was overwhelming, like a mountain that had chosen to walk among men.

"Yes," the commander of the capital soldiers said quickly, bowing his head. "We are the men sent by His Majesty to learn how to use the new weapon."

Sir Thalos looked at the men and women before him, assessing them. "... Some of you have potential that's for sure, but most seem to lack enough training. Don't worry, before this ends, I will make sure to send you back to His Majesty as true soldiers."

Some of the soldiers gulped dryly as the smile Sir Thalos was showing them was rather unnerving.

"Now follow me, I will guide you to where you will stay for the duration of your training." As Sir Thalos was about to walk forward, the commander spoke to him.

"Sir Thalos, is the heir of the Iron Duke not going to meet with us?"

"The young lord is a bit busy right now. He has given me full authority over your training. Why do you have a problem with that?"

It was a simple question, but due to Sir Thalos's overwhelming presence, the commander could not say what he truly wanted to say, and instead said something else.

"No, there's no problem. I'm glad to be training under a renowned knight such as yourself, Sir Thalos."

"Glad to hear that."

Sir Thalos turned on his heel and strode forward, his steps heavy and unhurried. The soldiers fell into line behind him, boots crunching against the frosted earth as their eyes roamed over the fortress-city.

Ironhold's gates loomed above them, and the guards stationed there snapped to attention. They wore the Duke's colors, steel-grey and blue, with the silver thorn crest emblazoned on their cloaks.

Their armor was scuffed, not polished for show, and the way they held their spears spoke of countless hours on the walls.

The soldiers from the capital exchanged glances. Their own uniforms were crisp, their boots oiled, their helms polished. Here, everything seemed scarred, dented, and weathered, yet the men looked sharper for it.

As they passed deeper into Ironhold, a rolling thunder cracked through the air. The soldiers jolted, hands instinctively tightening around sword hilts.

"That," Thalos said without turning his head, "is the sound you've been sent here to master."

When they reached the training grounds, the sight awaiting them froze their steps.

A line of Thornefang soldiers in black trench coats with crimson lining stood at the ready, arquebuses shouldered. At the shouted order of an officer, they moved as one.

Bang!

A thunderous volley erupted, smoke billowing. The line advanced three steps, reloaded in unison, then fired again.

The capital soldiers stared. They had drilled countless times in spear formations and bow lines, but this... The discipline, the rhythm, the sheer unity of sound and motion, it was unlike anything they'd seen outside of knights or aura-led elites.

It would seem that what they thought would be an easy time turns out to be something more rigorous than their own training.

The stories about the North that they had dismissed as exaggeration seem like they will learn firsthand how wrong they were.

***

Unaware of the awestricken soldiers from the Capital, Lucen was now hammering a sword in the forge. He had been doing this for a bit now, and Oswin was teaching him.

Once he was done with the sword he made, it was the best he could muster with his current ability, but the point of this exercise was what came after.

The sound of a system notification rang in his ears as the transparent display appeared before him.

[Blacksmithing Proficiency + 5%]

[Unlock skill Blacksmithing (passive) (novice)]

The second he unlocked the blacksmithing skill, a torrent of information came rushing into his mind. Now he had acquired more knowledge and skill in the art of blacksmithing. He could now create a few weapons of decent quality.

Upon unlocking the skill, Lucen did the first thing any gamer would do, of course, it would be to test out the new skill.

Lucen immediately grabbed another billet of steel, his hands moving with more certainty than before. The weight of the hammer no longer felt like a burden but an extension of his arm. His strikes rang sharper, cleaner, the rhythm steady instead of clumsy.

Sparks sprayed across the forge like a miniature starburst. Each swing seemed to fall in exactly the right place, guided not by thought but by instinct, the system's knowledge weaving seamlessly with his own focus.

Oswin, who was at the side guiding Lucen before, was quite surprised by the sudden improvement.

It wasn't just a normal improvement either. It was like he suddenly gained a few years of experience as a blacksmith.

When Lucen quenched the blade, steam hissed up in a sharp exhale. He pulled it from the oil, water beading and rolling off the steel. This time, the blade gleamed with a uniform sheen, its edge true and straight.

He turned it in his hands, surprised at how naturally it balanced. Not a masterpiece, but no longer the uneven, fragile attempts of a beginner.

[Blacksmithing Proficiency + 1%]

Oswin finally broke the silence, gruff voice tinged with something dangerously close to respect. "...That's not work a novice should've hammered out."

Lucen shrugged, setting the sword on the rack. "Guess I just learn quickly. Thanks for teaching me, Master Oswin."

"Please don't say that. I didn't teach you much; this is because of your own talent, young lord." Oswing sighed as he shook his head. "So are you going to continue making more things?"

"No, that's enough for now. I'm going to head back to Robert's lab. That man might blow it up, if I'm not present."

***

When Lucen stepped into Robert's lab, the first thing that greeted him was smoke, acrid, metallic, and laced with a hint of a gassy smell.

"Robert?"

A muffled bang! answered from the back of the room, followed by a string of curses that blended alchemical jargon with language foul enough to make a warrior blush.

Lucen hurried forward, already half-expecting to see part of the wall blown open. Instead, he found Robert hunched over a workbench, wearing his favorite bird beak mask, his hair sticking up at angles that defied gravity.

On the table was the charred remains of whatever it was he was trying to create.

"You're back sooner than I expected," Robert said without looking up, voice oddly cheerful for someone surrounded by shattered glassware. "Good, now let us continue pursuing the path towards the future."

Lucen exhaled, eyeing the charred mess on Robert's table. "You call that the future?"

Robert adjusted his bird mask with a huff. "Every failure is one step closer to revolution."

Lucen gave a wry smile, placing the sword he forged earlier next to Robert's smoldering scraps. "I don't know if future historians will curse at us for making these weapons, but it's what we need. So let's make sure this future is a bit more explosive, shall we?"

The two locked eyes, one smudged in soot, the other still reeking of forge smoke. The two smile at one another, getting excited to make something new.

Beyond the walls, arquebuses fired, cracked like thunder. Within, forge and flame birthed new steel.

The people of Ironhold carried on unaware, but in the sparks of the forge and the echoes of thunder, Lucen was already preparing for war