The name Infinite Forge alone screamed overpowered, like something ripped straight out of a cosmic cheat code manual. Standing behind the Arch-Mage, Edwyn couldn't help but grin, his sharp blue eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and bravado. Alright, you mysterious soul gadget, time to spill the beans. What's your deal?
With the other kids shuffling nervously around him, Edwyn closed his eyes and reached inward, his spirit brushing against the smoldering ember of the Forge deep within his soul. The moment he made contact, it flared to life, and a torrent of knowledge flooded his mind like a high-speed download from the universe itself. He staggered slightly, steadying himself with a hand on the cold stone wall of the Baron's hall.
"Interesting," he muttered under his breath.
The Infinite Forge wasn't just some shiny trinket, it was a game-changer. It could extract anything usable from a given "material," be it a physical substance or a juicy bit of information embedded in an object. To make it work, Edwyn had to feed it "fuel," and the type depended on what he was after. Want to pull knowledge or skills? That'd cost him Spiritforce, his mental juice. Want raw materials? That required raw energy, whatever that meant in this crazy world.
Sounds like a party I can get behind, he thought, already imagining the possibilities. Let's see what kind of chaos I can cook up with this baby.
The Spiritforce test wrapped up faster than a bar brawl. Over a hundred kids had been herded through the hall in under an hour, their fates decided by the Arch-Mage's glowing orb. Only seven made the cut, including Edwyn, and the rest were shuffled out like rejected auditionees. The cavernous hall, with its flickering torches and smoky hearth, felt emptier now, the air heavy with the lingering tension of dashed hopes. The seven who remained, a ragtag mix of a farmer's son, a baker's daughter, a blacksmith's foster kid, a merchant's spoiled brat, and a few others, stood in a loose huddle, exchanging wary glances. They were a motley crew, spanning every rung of Black Forest's social ladder, but now they were bound by something bigger: the Arch-Mage's approval.
The Arch-Mage, his black robe swirling like liquid shadow, turned to face them, his monocle glinting in the firelight. "Well, well, children," he said, his raspy voice carrying a note of genuine satisfaction. "You seven are a cut above the rabble. Congratulations, you're now the 432nd class of apprentice sorcerers at the Black Tower Magus Academy. Within its walls, you'll walk the path to truth, power, and maybe a few secrets the universe doesn't want you to know."
Edwyn let out a low whistle, leaning back with his hands in his pockets. "Black Tower, huh? Sounds like a place that knows how to throw a party. So, when do we get our spellbooks and pointy hats, old man?"
The Arch-Mage's head snapped toward him, one eyebrow arching so high it nearly vanished under his tricorn hat. The other kids froze, their eyes wide with horror, but Edwyn just grinned wider, unfazed. "What? Gotta look the part if I'm gonna be slinging fireballs, right?"
A murmur of shock rippled through the group, but the Arch-Mage's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Bold, boy," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Hold onto that fire. You'll need it where you're going."
He turned to Baron Drelis, who was sweating buckets despite the chill. "Take these children to bathe and change their clothes. And-" His gaze locked onto Edwyn, his eyes narrowing at the boy's filthy, wound-riddled state. "Tend to this one's injuries. If he drops dead on the journey because you let those wounds fester, I'll turn you into something even the rats won't touch."
Drelis paled, his jowls quivering like jelly. "Y-yes, my lord! At once!" he stammered, snapping his fingers at a gaggle of servants who scurried forward like startled mice.
Edwyn chuckled, giving the Baron a mock salute. "Don't worry, big guy. I'm too pretty to die just yet. Lead the way."
The servants hustled the seven kids down a winding staircase to the castle's lower levels, where the air grew warmer and carried the faint, sulfurous tang of geothermal springs. The bathhouse was a marvel, polished stone pools fed by steaming hot springs, their surfaces shimmering in the dim glow of oil lamps. For a peasant like Edwyn, who'd spent his life washing in icy streams, this was like stepping into a noble's fever dream. He stripped off his ragged clothes and slid into the water, hissing as the heat seeped into his wounds, reigniting the pain with a vengeance.
"Ow, damn, that stings," he growled, but he leaned back, letting the warmth soak into his aching bones. "Still, beats freezing my ass off in that shack. Gotta say, this isekai's starting to look up."
The other kids kept their distance, some shooting him nervous glances, others whispering about the "crazy peasant" who talked back to the Arch-Mage. Edwyn just smirked, splashing water with a flourish. "What's the matter, folks? Never seen a guy enjoy a bath before? Live a little!"
After scrubbing off weeks of grime, Edwyn climbed out, his skin pink from the heat. A maid handed him a stack of fresh cotton clothes, simple but soft, a far cry from the rags he'd been wearing. They were a bit loose, hanging off his malnourished frame, but they were warm and clean, and that was enough to make him feel like a king. He caught his reflection in a polished bronze mirror and paused, tilting his head with a roguish grin.
"Well, hello, handsome," he said, running a hand through his damp, shoulder-length red hair. Deep blue eyes stared back, sharp and defiant, set above a pointed nose and thin, pale lips. His face was gaunt from hunger, but there was a spark in his expression, a noble edge that didn't scream "peasant."
Not bad, kid. You clean up nice. Almost look like you belong in a castle.
"My lord," the maid said, her voice tinged with admiration, "you must have noble blood in you. You've got the look of a highborn who's just… fallen on hard times."
Edwyn raised an eyebrow, flashing her a devilish grin. "Is that so, sweetheart? Guess I'm the black sheep of some fancy family, then. Care to dig up my royal pedigree? I could use a castle or two."
The maid blushed, stammering, and Edwyn chuckled, following her out of the bathhouse and up a narrow corridor on the castle's second floor. The hallway was lined with stern portraits of Black Forest's Barons, their painted eyes glaring down as if judging every step. At the end of the corridor, Edwyn's gaze landed on a striking portrait, a warrior in gleaming armor, gripping a massive greatsword with both hands, his stance radiating power. Next to it, mounted on the wall, was the blade itself, its edge chipped and broken but still exuding a faint, almost palpable aura.
Edwyn's grin faded, replaced by a flicker of intrigue. The Infinite Forge stirred in his soul, a low hum that sent a shiver down his spine. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he murmured, stepping closer. "That the sword of the first Baron of Black Forest?" he asked the maid.
"Yes, my lord," she replied, her voice soft with reverence. "It's been here for centuries, a relic of the Black Forest's glory days."
Edwyn reached out, his fingers brushing the cold, pitted steel. The Forge roared to life, and a message flashed in his mind:
[Material: Broken Sword of The First Baron of Black Forest]
[Extractable Skill: Wind Crow Sword Style]
[Extraction Cost: 5 Spiritforce]
[Proceed with Extraction?]
Wind Crow Sword Style! Edwyn's heart kicked into overdrive. Even a dirt-poor peasant like him had heard the bards' tales of the first Baron, a battlefield legend who carved through armies with a blade that danced like a storm. The technique was said to be lost, a ghost of the Black Forest's faded glory.
Lost, huh? Not anymore. Edwyn thought, his grin returning full force. This is my kind of score.
"No time like the present," he muttered, mentally confirming the extraction. A wave of exhaustion slammed into him, like he'd just sprinted through a marathon of college finals. His knees wobbled, and he braced himself against the wall, his vision swimming.
Whoa, easy there, brain. Don't crash on me now.
Then it happened. The sword vanished, poof, gone, like a magician's trick. The maid gasped, her eyes wide. "W-what?"
Before Edwyn could panic, the blade reappeared, exactly where it had been, its broken edge glinting in the torchlight. He let out a shaky laugh, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well, that was a hell of a ride," he said, glancing at the maid, who was rubbing her eyes in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked, playing it cool, though his heart was still pounding.
"N-nothing, my lord," she stammered, clearly unsure if she'd imagined the whole thing. "Let's… let's go see the Apothecary."
"Lead on." Edwyn said, his grin masking the relief flooding through him.
Note to self: Forge works fast, but it's got a flair for the dramatic. Gotta keep an eye on that.
As they walked, Edwyn's mind turned back to the Forge. A sphere of white light now pulsed above it, and when he reached out mentally, a flood of fragmented memories hit him like a cinematic montage. He was on a blood-soaked battlefield, the greatsword in his hands moving with deadly grace, slicing through enemies like a whirlwind. Each swing carried the weight of the Wind Crow Sword Style, a technique that blended speed, precision, and raw power. The memories were so vivid, so real, that Edwyn nearly stumbled, his head spinning from the strain.
"My lord? My lord?" The maid's voice snapped him back to reality. "We've arrived at the Apothecary's office."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Edwyn said, shaking off the daze. "Just got lost in my own awesomeness for a sec."
The Apothecary's office was a cramped room cluttered with shelves of jars, herbs, and dubious-looking potions. The Apothecary, a wiry old man with a face like a dried apple, didn't waste time. "Sit," he barked, pointing to a wooden table. "This'll hurt."
"No anesthetic, huh? Figures," Edwyn quipped, hopping onto the table with a grimace. "Just pour some of that cheap booze on it and let's get this show on the road."
The Apothecary grunted, splashing liquor over Edwyn's wounds before setting to work. The pain was brutal, sharp and searing as the old man cleaned out the festering cuts, scraped away dead flesh, and stitched them up with practiced efficiency. Edwyn gritted his teeth, hissing through the pain but refusing to cry out.
Thirty minutes later, he staggered out, pale and shaky but patched up. The Apothecary had done his job well, and the wounds were clean, stitched, and slathered with some foul-smelling ointment. Edwyn leaned against the wall, catching his breath.
"Well, that was a party I didn't need an invite to," he muttered.
Baron Drelis appeared, his silks rustling as he waddled down the corridor. "Young Mage Edwyn," he said, his voice dripping with forced deference. "The Arch-Mage is ready to depart. Move it."
The cold hit him like a slap, but his new clothes, clean cotton tunic and trousers, kept the worst of it at bay. He still looked like a half-starved peasant, but with his wounds treated and his hair tamed, he carried himself with the swagger of a man who knew he was destined for bigger things.
Outside, the Arch-Mage stood waiting, his black robe billowing in the wind. The other six kids were already there, shivering but wide-eyed with anticipation. The Arch-Mage gave Edwyn an appraising look, his monocle glinting. "Hmm. Not bad," he said, his voice grudgingly approving. "You might just survive the trip, boy."
"Survive? Pfft, I'm here to steal the show," Edwyn shot back, winking. The other kids stared at him like he'd lost his mind, but he didn't care.
Let 'em stare. I'm the guy with the Forge and a sword style that's gonna make heads roll.
The Arch-Mage raised a hand, and a strange force enveloped the seven children, lifting them off the ground like bubbles caught in a breeze. Edwyn's stomach lurched, but he laughed, spreading his arms wide. "Well, damn, this is new! Levitation Magic? Sign me up for the advanced class!"
"This is just the beginning," the Arch-Mage said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You'll learn it at the Academy, if you don't crash and burn first."
With a flick of his sleeve, the Arch-Mage fired a fireball into the sky. It streaked upward, exploding in a burst of crimson light that tore through the gray clouds. Edwyn's jaw dropped as a massive shape began to emerge, a colossal airship, hundreds of meters long, shaped like a whale carved from storm clouds. A beam of light shot from its "eye," piercing the heavens and bathing the castle in an eerie glow.
"Holy shit," Edwyn breathed, his grin widening. "That's no airship, that's a freakin' sky beast!"
He remembered the legend now, a tale he'd heard while fishing for scraps of magical lore. Every ten years, a creature the size of a mountain descended from the Northwild Mountains, its gaze like lightning. He'd thought it was just a story to spook kids. But here it was, real as the cold biting his face.
The Arch-Mage spread his arms, rising into the air with the children in tow, their bodies floating toward the beam of light like moths drawn to a flame. His voice echoed in their minds, warm and electrifying, laced with a promise of wonders to come:
"Welcome aboard the Zeppelin-Class Arcane Airship, my young apprentices."
Edwyn laughed, a wild, reckless sound that cut through the wind. "Oh, this is gonna be one hell of a ride," he said, his eyes blazing with excitement.
As the airship loomed closer, its massive form swallowing the sky, the Black Forest was behind him, and the Black Tower Magus Academy awaited.