The week crawled by like a wounded beast.

  Ramon kept his head low, shoulders lower. He moved through the city like a shadow that didn’t want to be noticed—quick, quiet, and barely real. The innkeeper barely glanced at him after the first few days, and the other guests seemed just as uninterested in making conversation. Fine by him. Less talking meant fewer lies to keep track of.

  And still, the days felt long. Too long.

  He tried meditating once. Lasted ten minutes before a rat scurried across the room and ruined his concentration. Little bastard. Maybe he’d eat it next time.

  It was during one of those uneventful, soup-slurping mornings that he heard it.

  Two rough-looking youths hovered near the hearth, faces half-hidden under ragged hoods. They didn’t notice him—or maybe they did and figured he wasn’t worth the trouble. Either way, they spoke freely.

  “Recruitment day’s close,” one muttered between mouthfuls of flatbread. “A month, tops.”

  The other let out a whistle. “Shit. That soon?”

  “Yeah. If I don’t get my merit points done, I’m screwed.”

  “Get in, and your family’s set for life.”

  That made Ramon stop mid-bite.

  A month?

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He blinked, chewing slowly. The broth tasted a little better all of a sudden.

  A month was nothing. A breath. A blink. But it was also something. It was time. Time to prepare. Time to sharpen. Time to bleed and break and crawl his way forward.

  He lowered his chopsticks and smiled. Just a little.

  A month would do.

  Three days later, at the ass-crack of dawn, Ramon stood outside the forge.

  The city was still asleep. A few stalls creaked open in the distance, and the smell of wet stone and burning coals hung in the air. Inside, the forge blazed like a furnace from hell.

  Old Shen didn’t look up when Ramon entered. Just kept hammering at a glowing strip of metal, his arm moving with the rhythm of someone who’d done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.

  “You’re early,” Shen said, voice gravelly. “Good. It’s done.”

  Ramon didn’t reply. He just stepped closer, watching as the old man walked to the back wall and unrolled a long bundle of thick cloth.

  Steel caught the light.

  Ramon exhaled slowly.

  The spear was beautiful. Elegant in a deadly sort of way.

  The blade shimmered faintly blue, like moonlight over deep water. It was forged from a refined spirit beast fang, paired with cold-forged steel. The shaft was sleek and dark, reinforced with bone, with a faint rune etched near the base.

  Ramon reached out and gripped it.

  Oh.

  It was perfect.

  It felt like an extension of his body. Like it had always been his.

  “Balanced the way you asked,” Shen said, folding his arms and watching. “Light, but with enough bite to punch through bone. The rune won’t do much unless you’ve got decent Qi flow, but it’ll help. Stabilizes swings.”

  Ramon twirled the spear once. It spun smooth, clean. No wobble. No weight imbalance. Just precision.

  “It’s perfect,” he said.

  Shen grunted. “Don’t get cocky. A spear’s just a stick until the hands behind it mean something.”

  Ramon nodded. “I know. But this… this’ll help it mean something.”

  The blacksmith studied him for a second longer, then gave a small smirk.

  “You’re not like the others. Most kids come in here thinking a weapon’ll make them powerful. You—” He squinted. “You look like you’re carrying something heavy.”

  “I am.”

  “Hmm.” Shen scratched his beard. “Just don’t let it crush you.”

  Ramon gave a low bow, more out of instinct than politeness. “Thanks, Shen. I’ll make it count.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” the old man muttered as he turned back to the forge.

  The city was waking up when Ramon stepped outside.

  The sun rose above the crooked rooftops, washing the streets in a pale, golden light. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. A kid was crying. Someone coughed violently in a nearby alley.

  Ramon didn’t notice any of it.

  The spear on his back felt like clarity. Like direction. Like an answer.

  Today, he would return to the black castle.

  But not as the broken soul who’d stumbled in before.

  Today, he was different.

  He had a weapon. A goal. A hunger in his chest that burned deeper than fear.

  Let the world come. Let the secrets speak. Let the forgotten path open before him.

  He was ready.

  Or at least—he would be.