Monica heard some chatter and smiled as she walked into the courtyard of the military barracks of the first floor.

  Dotty was dodging with impressive speed around Sir Tristan blows, with the Knight not even sparing the girl from his Skills.

  "Enemy Magnet!" Sir Tristan shouted, and an invisible force suddenly pulled on the young girl.

  However, Dotty remained calm and, when Sir Tristan tried to batter her with his shield, she somersaulted in mid-air, dodging the giant shield, but still getting hit by the flat of the man's sword.

  "That was good," Monica commented, looking at Dotty on the ground, dusting herself off.

  Both Sir Tristan and Dotty widened their eyes as they turned toward Monica who, with Dworsul in tow, announced:

  "Guess who's back."

  * * *

  Monica had gathered everyone but Ted, who was nowhere to be found.

  "So," she said, taking out every single piece of equipment that Dworsul had her forge before they left the second floor to get the others. "You guys will need to learn Fire Breathing to resist the temperature down there, but in the meanwhile, I got you some gifts."

  A short while later, Monica gathered everyone in the courtyard—everyone, that was, except Ted, who seemed mysteriously absent. Despite that, she laid out her newly forged gifts on a broad wooden table for Dotty, Heidi, and Sir Tristan.

  She pointed at the small mountain of gear with a flourish. “You guys are going to need Fire Breathing if you want to survive Viscera’s second floor,” she began. “But until then, I’ve got presents. Dworsul helped me with some special forging techniques.”

  Sir Tristan carefully braced the new shield against his forearm, comparing it to his old one. This new piece was larger and crafted with a midnight-steel sheen. Lines of gold filigree traced dwarven geometric patterns along the rim, each line meticulously hammered to catch the light in brilliant arcs. As he lifted it, the weight felt perfectly balanced—far more stable than any standard-issue shield he had ever used. A quick test with Enemy Magnet—his crowd-control Skill—revealed that the runes flared in response, amplifying the aura that drew opponents toward him.

  Even the chestplate, forged from the same dwarven alloy, gleamed under the courtyard’s dusty sunlight. Sir Tristan ran a gauntleted hand over the front plate and felt a gentle pulse of Mana sync with his heartbeat.

  He turned toward Monica, his voice hushed with admiration. “Where did you find this? It feels… unbelievably solid. Not even the Duke’s Blacksmiths can do work like this. Is it all Dwarven craftsmanship?”

  "Dwarven?" Monica smirked. "It's all Monica-crafted."

  "You did it?" Heidi said, stunned.

  Monica pointed at a staff that, without a doubt, had been the hardest piece of equipment to make since she had to work with metals she had never used before.

  "That's for a caster like you," Monica said. "It's a Rare staff that will increase the potency of your spells further. It's made of an alloy that has extreme Mana conductivity. Since your Class is about discharging as much firepower as you can at once, this was the best option I—well, we could come up with."

  Heidi lifted the staff gingerly, as though she feared snapping it in half—even though it was sturdy enough to withstand a troll’s club. The moment her fingertips brushed the orb, a warm pulse of power coursed through her arms. Her Mana flared of its own accord, then settled into a steady rhythm inside the staff.

  Her eyes grew huge. “Oh… oh, wow. I’ve never felt anything like this,” she murmured. “It’s like my Mana’s being cradled and stretched at the same time. "I can feel my Mana being pulled in it," Heidi said, stunned.

  "The blueprint of this staff was originally a Legendary Item. This is a reduced, simplified version so that Monica could craft it," Dworsul took over the explanation, making every head in the room turn toward him. "The staff has a natural Mana vacuum that leads into amplification."

  Everyone had some piece of equipment tailored to their style. Sir Tristan's shield, for example, was now not just much more resilient because of the Duranium in it, but it also had a very small amount of Spatium. Monica had almost gone insane trying to master smelt that metal; together with Duranium, it was the same metal that had gone into her hammer. It facilitated the transmission of Mana and, more specifically, the way Dworsul had arranged the blueprint for the shield, it would increase the potency of Enemy Magnet and taunting Skills.

  "Young lady," Dworsul cleared his throat and spoke to Dotty. "May I examine your sword?"

  Dotty nodded and handed over Twilight's Edge.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Antimagic," Dworsul nodded, balancing the blade on two fingers. "This is too thin."

  "She's a hunter," Monica said.

  "That's a Class," Dworsul sighed. "Classes evolve and change. You have two people in your group who are meant to deliver devastating damage: a caster and a melee fighter. You, Avatar, are a rounded madwoman. You also have a Knight and a Bard. The girl is not a real rogue. She's an opportunistic fighter. Rogues use shorter blades and empower them with poison. This girl?"

  Dworsul gave Twilight's Edge back to Dotty and shook his head.

  "You need a longer blade to channel more of your Skills' power, slightly curved, about half an inch wider in its blade to truly get all the power out at once. Right now, this is a subpar sword for you. This belongs in the hands of a swordsman fighting with a small shield."

  Monica frowned.

  Twilight's Edge had belonged to the head Cultist back in the temple where she had appeared and met Ted and Heidi.

  "So, what kind of sword should Dotty use?" The redhead asked.

  "A katana."

  "Oh, and—"

  "We'll take care of the forging once we're back in the second floor," Dworsul dismissed everyone's thoughts at once, interrupting Monica. "Now, if you excuse me, I think I know where your friend is."

  * * *

  Dworsul could not only sense the presence of the Bard thanks to his connection to Viscera, but he could also feel something else in the young man.

  His quarry was sitting, meditating.

  "Young man," Dworsul said, making him jump.

  Dworsul found the young man named Ted meditating in front of one of the masterpieces of Viscera, the Bleeding Bard.

  "Dude," Ted said, clutching his chest. "Oh my—wait, you're a Dwarf. Monica's back?!"

  "Stay put," Dworsul said, narrowing his eyes and walking closer to Ted, still feeling the same sense of unease creeping in his back.

  This boy...

  "Oh, dude, I'm so happy she's back! I was losing my mind, I swear. I couldn't wait another moment. I felt so useless all this time. Like, sure, I can meditate and stuff, but that's not really super-productive, right? I mean, yeah, maybe? But—"

  Dworsul stepped in front of the young man and placed two fingers on his forehead.

  "Huh... dude?" Ted asked quizzically.

  How is this possible? Dworsul removed his fingers a few seconds later. How can he have it?

  "Dude, you're freaking me out."

  "Bard," Dworsul exhaled, turning toward the live painting where blood was pouring out of the Bleeding Bard and empowering the warriors around him.

  "So, are you, like, a Blacksmith?"

  Dworsul looked wistfully at the painting and then turned with a smile.

  "You could say so," the legendary Blacksmith replied. "I am known for my Blacksmithing, young man. Can I ask if you have already gleaned the Skill?"

  Ted suddenly went stiff.

  "Not just anyone would know what the Bleeding Bard is," Dworsul smiled. "And I've asked the Avatar—Gromorlig himself didn't know. Bardic traditions are mysterious and full of puzzles like this one. I was lucky enough to know some of the strongest Bards of my people, though. That's how I know what this painting is."

  "I—I didn't mean to steal anything. I swear. I'm very sorry. I just liked using Meditation here and then—"

  What kind of absolutely insane talent does one need to accomplish this? Not even some Bards who knew what this painting was could have learned the Skill.

  Dworsul laid his eyes on the mandolin by Ted's side and raised his eyebrows.

  "May I?" He asked, pointing toward the musical instrument.

  "Sure," Ted said, puzzled.

  Dworsul squinted and saw the strong protective spell over the instrument, having to strain his magic reserves to bypass the Draconic glamour that covered its true properties.

  *Ding*

  You have successfully inspected Dragon's Thunder (???)!

  Dragon's Thunder (???)

  Durability: 13/500

  Enhancement Slots Available: 2/7

  Dragon's Thunder Enchantments are not active due to the state of disrepair of your instrument.

  Forged by the Blacksmith God, Dworznel, this instrument was damaged during an ill-fated battle of the four races against the Old Gods in the Elven King's court.

  I knew I had recognized this, Dworsul breathed out. This is my father's work.

  He also knew who this Mandolin belonged to, even though the description didn't state it outright.

  This was meant for the Bard God.

  "You think it can be fixed?" Ted asked hesitantly. "It says it needs a high-level Blacksmith."

  A high-level Blacksmith? Dworsul thought inwardly, almost laughing out loud.

  His father had always had a sense of humor and must have asked the Dragons to lay down one of their spells, having fun with it.

  I would have needed to be at full power to work on this—

  Monica had no chance whatsoever of fully repairing Dragon's Thunder.

  More importantly, how did this end in this boy's hands? Dworsul couldn't believe it. How did the System give this to him? A—

  "We might be able to patch it up a bit," Dworsul said. "The Avatar will be able to work on some Mithril soon. She should be able to fix it enough for the first enchantment to work again.

  "Oh, thank you. I would love to hear how it sounds when it's fixed up."

  "Now, come. The others are all up there, and you all will need to learn Fire Breathing in record time, young Bard."