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Chapter 7 – Shadows Over the Anvil
The sound of hammer striking steel echoed like a war drum.
Each blow was deliberate. Calculated. Reverent.
In the heart of a secluded forge tucked away in the outskirts of the starter city, a fire burned hotter than any natural flame. The furnace was enchanted—ancient, almost alive—its mana-infused heat responding to the intent of its master. Sparks danced like spirits of metal, and above them stood a figure cast in shadows, sweat gleaming on his brow.
Klaus—no, One—tightened his grip on the blackened hammer and brought it down with an almost surgical precision. The ingot on the anvil flared with white light. Threads of mana weaved into the glowing steel, not just shaping it—but binding something into it.
'A blade is not forged from metal alone… but from vision, from memory… from resolve.'
His thoughts were quiet, but not idle. They were fragments of a war long lost, of a life lived once before, now repeating under new rules.
This was not just a weapon he was forging. It was a signal. A message wrapped in steel, hidden in utility.
"Master One," a soft, clear voice broke through the rhythmic noise.
He didn't flinch. Only the faintest narrowing of his eyes betrayed that he had heard.
From the doorway, the vice-director of the Ouroboros Commerce Chamber stood poised, dressed in a long coat embroidered with golden runes that marked her position. Though her frame was slender, her posture carried the weight of someone who had learned how to tame dragons without ever lifting a sword.
"We've received word from the Shadowblack Market," she said, tone professional but tinged with curiosity. "They've noticed a sharp drop in demand for lower-tier potions. Someone's manipulating supply—and the usual suspect isn't moving."
Klaus smirked. "The Silverhands Guild hasn't moved yet?"
"They're stagnant. Which means…?"
"Someone new is testing the waters." He set the hammer down gently, as if the weapon beneath was a sleeping beast. "It's not the Silverhands' style to hesitate. That means either they've grown overconfident… or they've been warned."
Her eyes glinted with understanding.
He washed his hands in a basin of magical water, then approached the blade—now cooled, but still subtly radiating an aura of hidden power. It resembled a standard broadsword on the surface, but faint etchings lined the fuller of the blade, forming a sigil readable only by those who knew the forgotten runes of the Old Forge Guild.
To others, it was a sword. To the right person, it was a summons.
"Put it in the chamber's auction list," Klaus instructed. "But leak the details to that ruins explorer… the one who claims to have deciphered an ancient map."
"Valen?"
"He's the type who talks too much when excited. If he bites, someone else will follow."
The vice-director nodded and turned to leave, but paused. "You really think this sword will lure him out?"
Klaus didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the blade, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes reflected not fire—but war. Not here, not now, but somewhere in the far reaches of memory.
"It's not him I want," Klaus said quietly. "It's the one watching him."
---
The town square bustled with life.
Hawkers yelled over one another. New players formed parties. Streamers posed near statues with flashy gear for screenshots. The virtual world had always been a lively one—but now, with the game's reputation growing as the most immersive and high-stakes experience in the genre, competition was fierce.
In this crowd, the figure known as Saint Sword moved like a ghost.
He wore a hooded cloak, simple leather armor, and a mask that glimmered faintly—crafted from orichalcum alloy, designed to suppress name and equipment inspection. Most thought it was just a vanity item. No one realized its true function was the key to his dual identity.
He watched the auction board update in real time. As expected, his blade had been listed, and within moments, the bids began.
But the names he wanted to see weren't bidding. Not yet.
'Come on… take the bait.'
Then, like a snake through grass, a name slithered into the log.
[Bidder: Forgotten_Eyes]
He exhaled slowly.
'So you're still alive.'
Forgotten_Eyes.
In his past life, the name belonged to a player who had never once appeared in the rankings, never once made a public splash. Yet behind the scenes, they were a broker of deadly secrets. A collector of blackmail, and a puppeteer of wars.
He hadn't expected them to resurface so soon.
Or maybe… they had never left.
---
Later that evening, Klaus sat alone atop the mountain pass east of the city. It was a quiet place, far from player traffic, used mostly by NPC shepherds herding magically enhanced sheep. The wind was sharp, the stars clearer here.
He wasn't resting. He was remembering.
A single line of system text blinked in the corner of his vision:
[You have entered a Low-Exposure Zone – Memory Drift Active]
This was one of the hidden mechanics he had discovered too late in his previous life. In these zones, the game recorded more than movement—it listened to intention, to emotion. Words spoken here could trigger hidden quests, awaken dormant storylines… or set the stage for something far more dangerous.
He drew a circle in the dirt. Eight symbols—one for each of the old Guilds that ruled the underground network.
All long gone.
Except one.
He tapped the seventh rune.
"Still too early for you," he muttered.
Then, his fingers hovered over the eighth. He didn't draw it.
Instead, he stood, turned his back, and left the circle unfinished.
---
Back in the Ouroboros chamber, the vice-director studied a list of new guild formations.
One stood out.
[Guild Registration: Celestial Fang]
A recently formed guild led by a mysterious player known only as V. Very few details. But the emblem—a twin-bladed sigil over a shattered crown—was oddly familiar.
She highlighted it, then forwarded it to Klaus.
No message.
She knew he'd understand.
And far away, in a dungeon still hidden from 99.9% of the players, a woman with blonde hair and mismatched eyes stood over the corpse of a boss monster, her blade still glowing.
Her party cheered.
She didn't.
Instead, she narrowed her eyes, glancing at a message that had just reached her inbox.
[New Auction: Sword of the Silent Anvil – Blacksmith: One]
She smiled.
But there was no warmth in it.
Only recognition.
---
And in the depths of a ruined library, buried beneath a collapsed cathedral, a sealed terminal blinked for the first time in centuries.
Lines of text scrolled across the dusty screen.
[Trigger Phrase Detected: "Sword is not forged from metal alone…"]
[Initiating Protocol: LUX-17]
[Awakening Soul Echo #002]
---
'Everything must unfold in silence, or it loses its weight. Plans hidden in plain sight. Enemies who do not know they're pieces. And blades that do not cut… until it's too late.'
Klaus's thoughts echoed like prophecy, woven into the narrative like invisible threads.
And none would notice… not yet.
But the seeds had been sown.
And the storm would come.
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Word Count: ~2,100