Chapter 77: Search for a Summoner forger

Chapter 77: Search for a Summoner forger It was another quiet day at the academy, and just as expected, there were no classes scheduled. The students were left to their own devices, free to roam or rest as they pleased. While Darnell and Carlos chose to spend their free time training and honing their skills, Kairos had an entirely different plan in mind. He had already informed them of his intentions—today, he was going to find a forger to help him craft a custom set of gauntlets. Neither Carlos nor Darnell had any clue where in the academy a weapon could be forged, but Kairos was confident he’d find a suitable place in the bustling marketplace. Unexpectedly, Darnell handed over his Minotaur core to Kairos. "I’ve got no use for it," he had said, nonchalantly. Kairos was slightly taken aback by the gesture, but he quickly reasoned it out. Darnell must have come from a powerful and influential background—he probably had access to higher-grade core weapons. The same likely applied to Carlos. With that confirmation, Kairos tucked the two Apex-ranked cores and the Abyssal core into his crossbody bag and set off toward the marketplace, the thrill of anticipation quickening his pace. As he walked through the academy gates and descended into the vast open-air market, memories started to surface. Unpleasant ones. He remembered the fight with Mike—the brutal confrontation that ended in blood and silence. A cold, hollow feeling crept into his chest as he recalled the aftermath. Instead of anger or grief, Mike’s sister had approached him with unexpected gratitude, thanking him rather than cursing him. That memory alone made his steps falter. ’Awkward,’ he thought grimly. But he quickly shook the feeling off, forcing his focus back to the mission. He moved deeper into the heart of the marketplace. His first destination was the selling department—he figured if anyone sold core weapons here, they’d also know a good forger. He wandered from stall to stall, occasionally stopping to ask for directions. Some shrugged, completely unaware of where one might find core weapons in the marketplace. Others gave him vague instructions, pointing him toward winding alleyways or far corners of the trading zone. ’Why do they not have a definite idea about the marketplace?’ Kairos wondered, frustrated. [It might be a moving shop.] The voice came from within—deep, raspy, familiar. The Shadow Wolf. Kairos gave a slight nod, accepting the possibility. A moving shop would explain the confusion. It was not uncommon in the underground trading world for vendors to set up shop briefly and then vanish, avoiding regulations or enemies. But soon, the answer became glaringly obvious. At the end of one dimly lit path, just past a crooked line of merchant tents, he spotted a strange structure. A large wooden shop, almost rotting, seemingly constructed from thermite-infested wood. Its design was crude, and it was lodged so deeply into the crevice between two buildings that it was nearly invisible from afar. Kairos narrowed his eyes. There it was. He stepped closer and inspected the weapons on display—there weren’t many. Only three, to be exact, and they were poorly arranged on a crooked stand. Worse, they looked like low-tier, basic weapons—rough edges, unbalanced designs, lackluster polish. They didn’t radiate power or promise. If anything, they looked like junk. [Don’t judge a book by its cover.] The Shadow Wolf’s voice echoed again, this time tinged with amusement. Still, Kairos hesitated. His instincts screamed that the place was unreliable, maybe even a scam. But eventually, curiosity overtook doubt, and he stepped forward. Behind the wooden stall sat a scruffy, overweight man. He wore what was once a white singlet, though it was now heavily stained and practically brown from grime and oil burns. His posture slouched like someone who had lost interest in everything around him. "Uhm... Sir, are these core weapons?" Kairos asked, trying to maintain a respectful tone. The man looked up slowly, fixing Kairos with a disbelieving glare as if offended by the very question. "What else do they look like, regular armour?" he snapped. Kairos blinked. The rudeness of the reply caught him completely off guard. ’No wonder this dump has no customers.’ He took a cautious breath. "Oh... Do you forge them yourself, sir?" The man scoffed and rolled his eyes. "If I could finish after core weapons, would I really be here selling crap to snot-nosed students? No, I don’t make them, dumbass!" Kairos clenched his fists. ’If I let my emotions boil... the Shadow Dragon might emerge. I can’t let that happen.’ [I like this man. He’s funny. Really is.] The Shadow Wolf laughed from within. Kairos wasn’t amused. "So... who crafts the weapons? I mean, who is the forger you get the weapons from?" he asked, carefully rephrasing the question to avoid sparking another insult. This time, the man’s expression relaxed slightly, and for once, he answered without venom. "A student. Second-year building. Name’s Melvin. Now that I’ve given you that information, why don’t you buy a core weapon? It’s Apex rank." Kairos’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. ’Who is this old fart trying to fool?’ he thought, amused now. He took two steps back and gave a mocking grin. "Sorry, I don’t buy crap from crap." He turned on his heel and began walking away. From behind, the man’s voice echoed, raining curses in loud, creative bursts. Kairos didn’t turn around. [Master, let’s stay a bit longer.] Kairos shook his head. ’Not with that kind of man. Besides, I have more important things to do—finding Melvin and getting these gauntlets made. And not to forget, I’ve still got Feral Arts to master.’ With his new goal clear, Kairos shifted direction, heading toward the second-year building. --- Meanwhile... In a massive, shadow-drenched room, lit faintly by thin rays of light that slipped through cracks in the arched ceiling, Agent Tom stood silent. The floor was tiled with uneven stones, and at the center of the room stood a long, imposing table. Across from him sat a man. The Assistant Head General. He was second only to the supreme commander in the hierarchy of the entire human military force. And for the first time in his career, Agent Tom was face to face with the legend. Tom had delivered his full report. Every detail of the incident that occurred on planet Pascoloid. From the very first signal, to the final recorded breath. Now, the room was still. Tom’s heart pounded as he studied the man before him. He was huge—almost too massive for a human-sized chair. His bare chest was thick with muscle, sculpted from war and suffering. But what drew the eye most was the necklace that hung around his neck. Strung together on the cord were dried, shriveled skulls, each one whispering of horror and slaughter. The silence stretched. Then finally, the Assistant Head General spoke. "So... another war is coming? Or—" His hand slowly reached for one of the skulls. "Is it like that time?"