Selene slowly walked into the cabin, stepping onto the charred floor, her gaze sweeping over every corner of the room.
She pondered for a long time before finally bending down and picking up a crystal shard from the wreckage.
The shard was only the size of a fingernail, its edges jagged, but a faint mana fluctuation still lingered at its center.
Selene held it up to her eye, observing carefully through the crystal's light, its facets reflected in her pupils.
"This crystal was what caused the explosion," she concluded.
"I never expected it to be so sensitive, activated by the mana permeating the swamp, lighting up the still-unsealed magic formation circuits, triggering a chain reaction explosion."
She lowered her gaze. "Overall, this was our operational error. We didn't consider the environmental influence and didn't set up more sensitive anti-magic formations in advance."
Anvil stood behind her, clutching his messy, big beard, and sighed.
"This is also our first time building such a colossal thing. Who could have thought of this detail?"
"How many days will it take to repair this power cabin?"
Anvil also swept a glance and immediately judged that repairing it would require demolishing the wreckage, cleaning the site, relaying the guide rails, reinstalling the crystals, re-engraving the magic formations, and recalibrating...
"At least three days. It's already too late."
Samuel fell silent.
He had been in the Slime Kingdom for less than a week, but in these few short days, he had seen too many incredible things.
The design of the Floating Fortress, the organizational capability of the Slime Kingdom... and these craftsmen.
From the moment he stepped into the shipyard construction site, he had never seen a single craftsman slacking off.
Slimes, Dwarves, humans—craftsmen of different races collaborated under a single goal, working over eighteen hours a day, with less than two hours of sleep.
Some were so tired they could fall asleep standing up, but after being woken by their comrades, they would rub their eyes and continue working.
They were fighting with their lives.
Using their lives to fight for a miracle that might not be achieved in time.
Samuel raised his head, looking upward through the cabin.
Through the breach, he could see the massive skeleton of the fortress, like the ribs of a giant beast, casting crisscrossing shadows under the light of the Gray Gravel Crystals.
"Is a Deity also trying to stop us?" he murmured.
As if asking himself, or as if asking Fate.
"Or perhaps... this miracle was never meant to be born?"
"No."
Anvil's firm voice gave him the answer.
"The Forging God will favor us."
He paused, took a deep breath, his chest heaving.
"If not tempered by trials, how can a miracle be born? Just do your utmost, leave the rest... to the Deities."
After speaking, he turned, stepped over the wreckage, and walked out, throwing himself back into work, leaving the two with a short, stout figure.
Yet, in Samuel's eyes, this figure concealed boundless, endless strength.
To be honest, he felt this fit the Dwarf's character perfectly—stubborn, competitive.
But he was surprised to find that he rather liked this Dwarf.
...
Anvil did not return to the platform, nor did he go to give commands.
He climbed into the cabin above the power cabin. This was the core control room for the magic formations. Although not yet finished, the basic framework was already in place.
He crouched before the control console, holding blueprints in his hand, his eyes fixed on those complex patterns.
His thoughts returned to construction and engineering, quickly forgetting the earlier troubles.
The sounds around him gradually faded away.
The chatter of the craftsmen, the clanging of hammers, the whirring of the golems, even his own breathing... all disappeared.
The world became quiet, so quiet that only the lines on the blueprints and the outline of the fortress in his mind remained.
He entered a peculiar state of focus.
He had experienced this state before, when forging particularly complex weapons.
But this time was different.
This time was more complete, as if his Soul had left his body, merging into every rivet, every beam, every pattern of this fortress.
He raised the copper hammer in his hand.
The first hammer fell.
"Clink."
The sound was light, but Anvil felt a difference, like some kind of resonance.
The fortress was responding to him, like a slumbering giant beast beginning to awaken from its dreams.
He continued striking.
One hammer, two hammers, three hammers... the movements were mechanical and repetitive, yet each hammer carried a certain rhythm.
The hammer fell, rivets were fixed, patterns extended, the magic formation took shape bit by bit.
...
On the shipyard railing, Samuel stood there, watching the busy scene below.
The dozen or so mage apprentices he brought had already integrated into the work rhythm here.
They were scattered in various corners of the construction site—some engraving Runes, some calibrating instruments, some commanding golems.
Efficiency had clearly improved, but time was still insufficient.
Samuel's gaze fell in the direction of the power cabin.
Although he had only interacted with this Dwarf master for less than a few days, he distinctly felt that Anvil had undergone some change.
It was something that, in a desperate situation, had instead settled and solidified, like steel after quenching, becoming more resilient.
The more desperate the situation, the calmer and more focused he became instead.
Samuel suddenly thought that perhaps a Dwarf like this should become an Extraordinary Craftsman.
Not through talent, not through inheritance, but through this kind of focus that refuses to give up even in the most desperate straits.
It's just a pity.
They were not favored by the Deities. This time, they might truly not make it in time.
Soon, night gradually fell. Shift change time arrived.
Selene, the workaholic, unusually used rest as an excuse to walk out of the shipyard, standing by the railing to catch the evening breeze.
She raised her head, looking at the massive silhouette of the fortress.
In the twilight, it resembled a black mountain, silent yet filled with a sense of oppression.
And below, the craftsmen were still busy.
Golems and Slimes hopping to transport materials, Dwarves hammering rivets, humans calibrating instruments.
No one spoke; only the sounds of tools colliding, like a silent symphony.
Selene watched these desperately struggling figures for a long time, as if reaching some kind of resolution.
Then, she turned to an Elf Sage beside her and said, "Go back and tell Grand Sage Ferendil that I admit defeat."
"Ah?"
That Sage was stunned.
"I only hope to beg him to lend a hand and help us."
The Sage was even more astonished.
After all, the reason Grand Sage Selene had come to the Slime Kingdom was because her philosophy differed from Grand Sage Ferendil's.
Coming here was to prove that the philosophy of the Forest Nation was correct.
Yet now, this proud, stubborn Grand Sage was actually lowering her head.
Incredible.
The Sage opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately just nodded and turned to leave.
Right at that moment, an aged voice came from not far away.
"No need."
"We have already come."
Selene sharply turned her head.
On the streets of Mushroom Town, Ferendil, that ancient Forest Grand Sage, walked over leaning on his Staff, his face wrinkled like old tree bark.
Behind him followed over a dozen Elf Sages.
Selene's expression became complicated.
"Teacher, why are you here?"
Ferendil sighed.
"With such a major event happening in the White Horse Kingdom, even the southern kingdoms are alarmed. How could I not come?"
"But you were opposed to..."
"Opposed to intervening?"
Ferendil shook his head, a kindly smile curling at the corner of his mouth, a smile filled with tolerance.
"Silly child, your teacher is just old in years, not as stubborn as you think."
He walked up to Selene, his Oak Staff gently tapping the ground.
"The way of nature lies in balance. Now that chaos and evil have greatly increased, natural order should also grow to maintain balance. I will not sit by and watch a legendary Demon gain recognition from the plane."
"Helping the Slime Kingdom does not violate my philosophy."
"Fortunately, that Slime Majesty has graciously chosen to trust us."
Selene fell silent.
She looked at her teacher, at those familiar colleagues, and finally nodded.
"Welcome," she said, her voice soft.
She was too proud to say "thank you," but Ferendil understood her character well, just smiled, and patted her shoulder.
The arrival of another Grand Sage stirred the entire shipyard construction site.
Samuel, standing on the railing, was even more astonished.
Ferendil Root-speaker.
The eldest Forest Grand Sage of the south had actually come in person, and brought so many helpers.
This further solidified Samuel's inner belief: behind the Slime Kingdom must stand a legendary mage; otherwise, how could they possibly invite so many Sages?
But strangely, Anvil did not come out to greet them for a long time.
A craftsman intended to call him, but Ferendil stopped them.
"Don't disturb him," the old Sage said, his gaze looking deep into the fortress. "That child is currently bathed in the light of a Deity."
"The true trial has arrived."
Inside the fortress, Anvil was unaware of the situation outside. All his attention was focused on the fortress before him.
Vaguely, he seemed to hear the breathing of metal, the whispers of timber, the flow of mana, and... the heartbeat of the fortress itself.
Under the strikes of the copper hammer, he felt his Soul trembling in sync with the fortress.
Like a resonance.
Allowing him to understand the emotions of this colossal entity.
Yes, emotions.
It was a naive, curious emotion, like that of a newborn infant.
But not just that.
That emotion was also mixed with something else—the craftsmen's painstaking efforts, the Dwarves' persistence, the Elves' wisdom, the humans' sweat... the efforts, hopes, and beliefs of everyone who participated in the construction had all merged into this fortress, becoming a part of it.
Anvil continued to raise the copper hammer, but his movements paused at this moment.
He seemed to sense something, slowly raising his head.
Before him, the fortress disappeared.
He saw a familiar scene—the obsidian fortress, the homeland of the Copperfire Clan.
The flames of the forge danced in the darkness, the clashing sounds of copper hammers and anvils echoed in the cavern, Dwarves singing and dancing, laughter intertwining with the sounds of forging.
That was a memory from long ago.
Before the Goblin invasion, before the destruction of their homeland, before the death of their clansmen.
Anvil stood there, looking at those familiar faces—the old chieftain forging a Battle Axe, young apprentices carrying ore, Dwarf women preparing dinner, a large pot stewing meat, its aroma filling the air...
Suddenly, someone patted his shoulder.
The Illusion vanished.
Anvil turned his head and saw a familiar face.
"Chieftain..." Anvil murmured, his voice trembling. He didn't know when he had started, but tears were already streaming down his face.
The old Dwarf gave him a hearty, cheerful smile.
Then, more Dwarves walked over.
Men, women, elders, children...
Every face was so familiar, every pair of eyes looking at him. They smiled, their mouths moving as if saying something, but Anvil couldn't hear anything clearly.
Then, the Chieftain spoke.
The voice was very clear, as if right by his ear.
"Anvil, after we are gone, you will be the chieftain of the Copperfire Clan from now on."
Anvil wanted to say something, but the Chieftain raised his hand, signaling him to listen.
"Keep moving forward. Strive to have two children next year, continue the Copperfire Bloodline."
"But..."
"Don't worry," the Chieftain smiled, a smile with relief and also anticipation. "We will always be here."
He patted Anvil's shoulder again, this time with the weight of inheritance.
Then his Spiritual Form began to dissipate, turning into points of light, fluttering like fireflies, finally merging into the copper hammer in Anvil's hand.
The other Dwarves also began to dissipate.
They waved to Anvil, both a farewell and a representation of new life.
The Copperfire Clan had not perished. Their beliefs, their skills, their spirit would continue through Anvil, through this hammer.
The Spiritual Forms dissipated one after another, the light converging into the copper hammer.
Anvil felt the transformation of the copper hammer in his hand.
Its weight had changed, as if holding a piece of metal with a Soul.
This was the union of the Copperfire Clan's strength and belief.
Now, it was born in his hands.
Anvil took a deep breath.
He felt the souls of those who loved forging, felt their persistence, their passion, their pride.
Those emotions infected him, like flames igniting dry tinder, burning within his chest.
He raised the copper hammer high.
The hammerhead reflected a dark golden luster under the light of the Gray Gravel Crystals. The patterns on the hammer handle now lit up, like blood vessels, flowing with light.
The first hammer, struck down.
"BONG!!!"
The sound was as loud as a tolling bell.
As if countless hammer strikes were superimposed, countless Dwarf souls striking simultaneously, the sound echoing over the shipyard construction site, vibrating the Gray Gravel Crystals.
Everyone stopped their work, raised their heads, looking in the direction the sound came from.
Samuel stood on the railing, his face filled with astonishment.
"An Extraordinary Craftsman... I never thought I would witness the birth of an Extraordinary Craftsman with my own eyes."
Inside the fortress, Anvil raised the copper hammer again.
This time, the copper hammer became even heavier.
What he raised was not just a hammer, but the inheritance of a race, the weight of a history, a mission that must be completed.
He clenched his teeth, the muscles on his arms bulging, veins popping out.
The second hammer, struck down.
"BONG!!"
The sound was deeper than the first hammer. The entire fortress hummed, as if resonating with the copper hammer in his hand.
The fortress's skeleton trembled, its outer shell resonated, the patterns of the magic formations lit up, like awakened nerves.
The fortress changed.
It was no longer a pile of parts and materials; it had become a unified whole.
Anvil was already drenched in sweat.
His arms trembled, his breathing was heavy like bellows, his heart pounded wildly in his chest as if about to burst.
Two hammers had already exhausted all his physical strength, but... he had something else.
Belief and will.
And those souls behind him, watching him, supporting him.
He took a deep breath, mustering his last bit of strength, and raised the copper hammer once more.
This time, the copper hammer ignited with flames.
Flames as scorching hot as molten iron from a furnace.
The flames started burning from the hammerhead, spreading to the hammer handle, spreading to his arm, finally enveloping his entire body.
In the night, these flames were exceptionally conspicuous, like a falling sun.
"Ah—!!!"
Anvil roared, his voice hoarse but filled with power.
It was the Battle Cry of a Dwarf, the declaration of a craftsman, the final shout of the Copperfire Clan.
The third hammer, swung down.
"BONG!!!"
The final hammer.
The sound was still loud, but this time, there was something else within the sound—hope, new life, and miracle.
The flames spread from the copper hammer, like a tide rapidly sweeping across the entire fortress.
A miraculous thing happened.
A metallic humming sound arose, like the first cry of a newborn infant.
The fortress came alive.
The fortress was repairing itself.
Wherever the flames passed, charred marks faded, twisted metal straightened, broken timber regrew, damaged magic formations relit.
Heavens.
Miracle.
All the craftsmen stared unblinkingly at this scene. They had actually witnessed the birth of a miracle with their own eyes, and the birth of the miracle's creator.