The Incomplete Ethereal Blacksmith

The autumn wind blew once more, carrying the scent of hot metal and burning wood. The city of Eilendarr was a feast for the eyes as the horse-drawn carriage rolled along the cobbled streets toward the heart of the empire.

Inside, a thirteen-year-old boy sat quietly, his eyes gazing out the window. The deep crimson in his irises had long lost the innocence of childhood, replaced by the sharpness of someone who had lost everything. Lucien Ashthorn was no longer the boy who had failed to forge a Sigil Hammer in front of his family—he was someone with a future, or so Aldric had told him when suggesting he enroll in the academy.

Beside him sat an old man with a silver beard, his sharp green eyes shining under the hood of a long robe adorned with the emblem of the Sanctum of Blacksmiths. This was Professor Aldric Valtor, the man who had saved Lucien from destruction five years ago.

"Are you nervous?" Aldric asked, his voice deep and calm.

"Not really," Lucien replied, equally calm—or perhaps cold.

After the incident five years ago, Lucien had lived under Aldric Valtor's care. The man had even become his legal guardian during his academy enrollment. He had raised him almost like a son.

The city of Aldenridge had become ruins—no, more accurately, a barren land devoid of memories. Nearly every resident present during the tragedy had been wiped out, leaving Lucien as the sole survivor.

Much about the tragedy remained unclear. Even as a Grandmaster, Aldric had yet to uncover how it had all begun. Where had that mad scientist found the Core of a Monarch-tier Spirit?

The investigation had led to nothing. To the public, the case was closed, recorded in history as one of the great disasters.

For the past five years, Lucien had lived in one of Aldric's estates. Their relationship wasn't exactly close—at least, that was how Lucien felt. On the other hand, Aldric often showed concern for him.

"Come on, even the most talented person would be nervous on their first day at the academy," Aldric teased, his tone lighthearted yet steady.

Lucien propped his face against his palm, watching the bustling streets outside the carriage. A group of young men flaunted their Sigil Hammers with pride.

"I'm not talented, so why should I be nervous?" He turned to look at the old man beside him.

The Aldric he had met five years ago was different from the one sitting next to him now—especially in expression. Back then, when Lucien had first woken up in the hospital, Aldric had a habit of tilting his chin up as if flaunting something. Now, he smiled more often—especially when it came to Lucien.

"Besides, why did you go out of your way to pick me up? Aren't you busy? Don't tell me you abandoned your work again…"

Still dressed in his signature Eastern-style robes, Aldric scratched the back of his head. "I had some free time," he said, avoiding Lucien's gaze.

"..." Lucien studied him for a moment, recognizing the lie.

"Huff…" He exhaled, leaning his head against the carriage wall and looking out the window again.

A long silence stretched between them. Then, out of nowhere, Aldric brought up a topic.

"Lucien, do you still remember what happened back then?" His voice turned cold—more like the Aldric from five years ago.

Lucien was slightly taken aback. He understood what Aldric meant. The tragedy. It wasn't that he didn't want people to bring it up, but he had tried to forget. His life had never escaped the shadow of the past. He knew it wouldn't vanish completely, but still, he wished he could let it go.

"Yes," he replied briefly, his indifferent tone prompting a soft sigh from Aldric.

Immediately, Aldric dropped the topic. It seemed he had gotten the answer he wanted. He then brought up a different subject, one more relevant to the current situation.

"Despite its great reputation, the academy is not a good environment," Aldric stated.

The Sanctum of Blacksmiths was a prestigious institution, known for producing some of the greatest figures in the empire. It was said that even those from the lowest classes could elevate their family's status simply by enrolling their children there.

Such was the academy's influence. Students were highly respected by commoners.

"Though I hate to admit it, the academy has become a playground for nobles—a place where they expand their influence through their children."

Lucien cut in, "And yet, you want me to enter that place." He didn't turn to look at Aldric, letting his words reach the man on their own.

Conversations like this were nothing new. Though Aldric wasn't always by his side, it was clear they now shared a bond, even if Lucien hadn't realized it yet.

"What I mean is, you need to be careful. Even though you're entering under my name, the students and professors will eventually learn about your background. There's a saying among the aristocracy: A fallen noble is no noble at all."

Another change in Lucien's life was that, while he still bore the Ashthorn name, its weight had vanished. With most of his family gone, he should have inherited his father's title of Baron—but that title had faded with time. Now, he was simply Lucien Ashthorn, the lone survivor.

"It doesn't matter. I never planned to assert my status in the first place. I have no interest in playing noble. I just want to find my reason…" Lucien trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Aldric let the cool breeze wash over his face, a mixture of concern and acceptance reflecting in his eyes. He understood what Lucien meant.

Then, he sighed in relief.

"Well then, it seems you're far from ready for your own story." He smiled.

Time passed, and soon the carriage arrived at the heart of the empire.

The gates of the Sanctum of Blacksmiths opened before them.

The carriage came to a halt.

The two of them stepped out—one clad in gray Eastern-style robes, the other in a white shirt and long black trousers.

"Well then, we'll meet again inside," Aldric said.

Lucien nodded.

At that moment, a sudden gust of wind blew, lifting the fallen autumn leaves into the air. In the same instant, Aldric disappeared—riding his Wind Blade away at a speed too fast for the eye to follow.

Lucien turned to face the massive gates, momentarily mesmerized. Despite everything he had been through, he couldn't help but admire the academy's grandeur.

After a moment, he followed the other new students inside.

Up close, the academy was even more imposing than he had imagined. The black stone that formed its walls was not only sturdy but also etched with ancient sigils that faintly glowed.

Behind him, the gates slowly shut, cutting off the academy from the outside world. Lucien stepped forward, blending into the stream of new students who chattered excitedly about the Qualification Exam.

But Lucien wasn't interested.

His eyes scanned the surroundings.

This Sanctum was far larger than he had expected. It wasn't just an academy—it was a fortress towering over a high plateau. On one side, he saw a cliff overlooking a misty valley, possibly one of the paths leading to the Abyssal Labyrinth.

On the other, towering stone spires released thin trails of smoke from their peaks—the Forge Towers, where Sigil Blacksmiths crafted weapons and equipment.

But what caught his attention the most was the Sigil Monolith at the center of the academy square. The massive bronze-black stone was engraved with shifting sigils, as if they were alive.

The heart of the academy.

"This place is too vast to be called just an academy… This is a city," Lucien murmured.

Within these high walls was a world of its own—dormitories, markets, training grounds, and countless other unseen areas.

Lucien also noticed the diversity among the new students. Some exuded noble confidence, some were anxious, some looked lost, and some—like Lucien—were keenly observing, searching for any clue in the smallest details.

Above them, a transparent dome stretched beyond the clouds, shielding the academy from external forces.

At the center of the square, in front of the Sigil Monolith, stood a middle-aged man in a crimson robe decorated with sigil patterns—Elemental, Bestial, Ethereal, and Temporal. A curled mustache added to his charismatic presence, and a monocle rested over his right eye.

Lucien recognized him. In fact, all the new students did.

He was one of the twelve Grandmaster Blacksmiths of the empire—Vulcan Draegor, the Headmaster of this period, and one of the strongest blacksmiths of the era.

Aldric had told Lucien about him, though not in much detail, leaving gaps Lucien would have to fill in himself.

Vulcan Draegor waited until the gates fully closed, sealing the academy.

Then, his voice echoed across the entire Sanctum.

"Welcome to the Sanctum of Blacksmiths!"