Chapter 126 - 43: [Crawling Mechanical Undead]

Chapter 126: Chapter 43: [Crawling Mechanical Undead]

Albert swayed, barely holding onto the coin pouch, and dropped flat onto his rear, weighed down by its sheer mass.

Amidst the audience’s laughter and cheers, he felt dizzy.

"Oh, by the Emperor of the Founding Country... Good heavens, someone quickly help our champion up!" the military officer shouted. From the open doors of the Holy Hall behind him, the monks guarding the forging Holy Fire on both sides hurried forward, lifting the Steel Fire champion who had collapsed from overexcitement and the heavy coin pouch.

The moment the monks stepped away from the forging Holy Fire, a RUSTLE echoed from the chimney directly above the flames.

CRACK, CRACK... RUSTLING soot fell bit by bit from the chimney.

CLATTER. A fist-sized, rusted copper miniature Bell-shaped Helmet fell into the fire along with the chimney dust. It tumbled out, rolling a couple of times before coming to a stop on the floor, leaving a dusty imprint in its wake.

The Bell-shaped Helmet was stuffed with strange Gold and rusted copper components. A gyroscope-like Gold part spun wildly. Utilizing the angular momentum of its flywheel, it flipped the miniature Bell-shaped Helmet from its side back into an upright position, like a roly-poly toy.

CLICK. With a soft sound, six small Nether Copper limbs popped out from under the miniature Bell-shaped Helmet. The Gold power wheel inside spun rapidly, driving the six tiny Nether Copper limbs to crawl at top speed. Looking like some bizarre, oversized beetle, it scrambled out of the Holy Fire’s hearth and slipped into the shadows at the side of the Holy Hall.

The Priests guarding the Holy Fire helped the champion up. Holding the winning Demon Tempering Weapon on a soft red cloth cushion, they carefully walked back into the main hall of the Holy Hall, step by step.

The judging and prize-awarding ceremonies for the runners-up and third-place winners were still ongoing, but the heavy iron-bound mahogany doors had already closed, instantly shutting out the festive noise of the ceremony outside.

Works dedicated to the gods had to be the absolute best. Only first place was wanted; only first place mattered. Second, third, fourth, and fifth places were all completely irrelevant.

Only the faint glow of the forging Holy Fire and the oil lamps on the surrounding walls remained in the dim Caster’s Hall. CRACKLE. The occasional bursting of firewood echoed through the quiet Holy Hall, its reverberations exceptionally loud.

In the shadows at the base of the wall, a fist-sized copper spider-like contraption didn’t dare to move, lying completely still and trying to blend in with the inconspicuous forging reliefs carved along the wall’s bottom.

"What is this?" Priest One asked, pointing to a small pile of dust on the floor in front of the ever-burning Holy Fire. "That wasn’t there a moment ago." A fist-sized dust mark was clearly visible on the white stone floor.

"Wipe it up quickly! If Priest Lier sees it, we’ll be scolded again!" Priest Two hastily grabbed a nearby rag and swiped at the white stone floor, wiping the dust mark away.

"Afraid I’ll see what?" TAP, TAP. A middle-aged Steel Fire Priest stepped out from the shadows of the side archway in the Holy Hall’s main room. His face was stern, his red robes plain and neat, the hem dragging across the floor with a faint RUSTLE.

"N-nothing," Priest Two explained. "It’s just that the Holy Fire is being mischievous again, bursting and spitting out a bit of ash."

"Did you fail to dry the firewood again?" Priest Lier raised an eyebrow. "Feeding damp wood to the Holy Fire naturally leads to popping and smoking."

"We already dried the wood..." Priest One tried to explain, but Priest Lier waved his hand dismissively.

"I expect you to treat these duties with greater piety and a more serious attitude." He looked sternly at the Priests guarding the flame. "Craftsmanship will never betray you, but it won’t arbitrarily grant you anything either. If you act perfunctorily toward these forging techniques, the resulting forged items will also be perfunctory.

"Adding fuel, controlling the state of the flames, and estimating the proper heat and condition—these are fundamental skills. You must pay attention to them at all times and never slack off. Having you guard the Holy Fire here is to let you understand the temper of the flames and ensure they remain stable and controllable. If you can’t even add fuel steadily, when will you ever master the arts of steel and fire?"

The Priests lowered their heads, acknowledging their mistake.

"Is this this year’s winning piece?" Priest Lier asked, looking at the soft red cloth cushion in one Priest’s hands.

On the cushion rested an exquisitely beautiful short sword, its steel grain mixed with frantic pale blue patterns.

He carefully picked up the short sword, shielding it from the ambient dim light with his hand to closely examine the magical patterns.

"An excellent work, worthy of being offered to the gods." He nodded and pulled out a clean, soft cloth, wiping the short sword from top to bottom until the fingerprints left by the Priests and the military officer were completely gone. Only the piece itself remained, a crystallization of ingenuity and exquisite craftsmanship, before he gently placed it back onto the cushion.

He reached out and took the cushion from the Priest guarding the flame, tenderly supporting the Demon Quenching Short Sword with his own arm. His actions were as affectionate as if he were cradling a newborn baby.

Such a loving gesture, yet he was embracing a sharp blade hammered from steel. Such a benevolent gaze, yet he was staring intently at a weapon forged in blazing flames.

"It is nearly evening. The final light of the sun’s forge is about to extinguish. We shall offer this child of the forge to the original, ancient Caster. Through the companionship of the forge’s son, we will soothe His heart—as cold and lonely as a dust-sealed hearth—during the long night," he said gently. Cradling the short sword in his arms like a Holy Father holding the Holy Infant, he turned and stepped into the corridor of the Holy Hall’s side door.

TAP, TAP. As his footsteps echoed, a small contraption making soft CLICKING and CLACKING noises used the sound for cover, tailing closely behind him. Moving bit by bit along the base of the wall, it slipped into the corridor of the Holy Hall’s side door as well.