Under Zorath the Silent's elaboration, Kael pieced together the deepening rift between the Sacred Convocation and the Sanctum.
For centuries, the two titans had clashed in shadows, their supreme leaders—the continent's most formidable beings—avoiding direct confrontation. Proxy wars now raged among younger generations.
"The Sanctum unearthed a trove of prodigies," Zorath growled, "led by their so-called Saint Candidate Einar. Our youths falter against their onslaught. Should this persist, the Convocation risks losing its primacy within decades."
Hence the Convocation's desperate scramble to recruit talents like Kael.
"But how does this relate to the Grand Tournament's top three?" Kael pressed.
Zorath explained methodically: "The Tournament serves as a crucible. Convocation elders scrutinize contenders from elite academies like Yanhua. Your ranking determines whether you're deemed worthy of... special cultivation."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "To counter the Sanctum's rising stars?"
"Precisely. Secure your podium finish, and the Convocation will hone you into a blade against Einar's cohort."
Zorath's earlier praise for Ethan—Yanhua's three-time champion—now made sense. "He remains a prime candidate, but your emergence offers alternatives. The Convocation hedges its bets."
A cold clarity settled over Kael. The Tournament wasn't merely a competition—it was a recruitment gauntlet for a clandestine war.
Zorath omitted one detail: his own standing within the Convocation would soar should Kael excel. The better Kael performed, the greater the rewards for both.
Fueled by renewed purpose, Kael broached his request: "Do you know any skilled forgers on Yanhua Island? My Earthflame Staff needs upgrading, and I've a ninth-tier fire-attribute core plundered from Yuri."
Zorath tossed him an engraved token. "East District. Seek the One-Eyed Dragon. He'll honor this."
Post-concert, Kael navigated the weapon merchants' quarter. Past Violet Horizon Armory and lesser smithies, he found a grime-coated shack in a derelict alley.
Peering inside, he discovered a snoring figure curled atop an anvil — a middle-aged man drooling onto his soot-stained tunic.
"Wake up." Kael nudged the sleeper.
The man snorted, flailing blindly. "Who dares—? Oh." Bleary eyes focused on Zorath's token. "Convocation brat, eh? Let's see your trinkets."
Kael produced the staff and radiant core.
The smith's lone eye gleamed. "Ninth-tier fire core fused with earthflame matrix? Tricky… but interesting."
"Uncle! Uncle!" Kael rapped on the door panel.
"Who the hell's disturbing my sleep?" The sleeping man jerked upright with alarming speed, his single visible eye snapping open—Kael only now noticed the man's missing eye, previously hidden by his sleeping angle. So this is the One-Eyed Dragon, he realized, suppressing a frown at the man's crude language.
"Are you... Mr. One-Eyed Dragon?"
"Can't you see I'm sleeping, brat? Scram! No smithing or weapon-selling today!" The gruff man waved impatiently, already dismissing him.
Kael had never encountered such a hostile merchant. He swiftly produced the medallion Zorath the Silent had given him, flashing it before the blacksmith.
"Hmm? You've got that?" The One-Eyed Dragon's expression softened marginally. "Who gave it to you?"
"Zorath the Silent."
"Tch. That tight-lipped bastard." Though his scowl remained, the blacksmith leaned forward to scrutinize Kael properly. "Out with it—what gear do you need forged?"
Kael retrieved the glowing crimson crystal from his pouch. The ninth-level fire-attribute magic crystal pulsed with volcanic intensity, its surface swirling like molten glass.
"A flame fox's core. Passable, I suppose." The blacksmith sniffed, though his single eye lingered on the rare material. "Nine-tailed vermin are slippery prey."
Kael blinked. The man had not only identified the crystal's origin but casually dismissed a ninth-tier magical component coveted by archmages. Steadying himself, he stated, "I require a staff."
"Fifty thousand gold coins."
The price would bankrupt lesser nobles, but Kael nodded without hesitation. "Agreed."
The One-Eyed Dragon arched his eyebrow at the boy's promptness. "Leave the core. Return at dawn tomorrow." He snatched the crystal with calloused fingers already glowing faintly with suppressed mana. "And kid? Tell Zorath he owes me another barrel of Dragon's Breath ale."
As Kael turned to leave, the blacksmith's raspy chuckle followed him into the smog-filled street. The real work, he suspected, had only just begun.
Yet Kael didn't budge. It wasn't reluctance to leave—he simply couldn't tear his gaze from the forging process. The Book of Immortality contained esoteric smithing techniques he yearned to witness applied to his staff.
The One-Eyed Dragon ignored his lingering presence, wholly focused on rotating the fire crystal with ritualistic precision. After muttering incantations that made the air hum, he retrieved a golden-hued log from his spatial ring—a meter-long timber shimmering with opalescent ripples.
"Golden Silk Phoebe Wood!" Kael's eyes lit up.
Rarer than dragon scales, this legendary material surpassed even earth-forged mithril in durability while radiating peerless mana conductivity. A staff-core of this quality could channel spells with near-zero energy loss. This single log's worth a duchy's treasury, he realized, all doubts about the blacksmith's expertise dissolving.
"Longstaff or baton?" The One-Eyed Dragon barked without looking up, his lone eye gauging the wood's grain.
"Baton." Most mages prioritized the enhanced element-binding of longstaves, but Kael's ice-tempered physique and freakish innate affinity rendered such concerns trivial. Speed and precision mattered more.
The blacksmith grunted approval. With a flick of his wrist, the crystal fused to the wood's end in a shower of crimson sparks. His hammer descended—not upon an anvil, but midair, each strike etching glowing runic circuits into reality that sank into the staff like molten gold.
Kael barely breathed, recognizing arcane patterns from the Book's most encrypted chapters. This wasn't mere craftsmanship—it was spellforging, a lost art.