heir of the cursed blood

Two days after their strange meeting in the forest, the towering trees of the Great Forest gave way to steep mountains, smoke stacks, and the sound of hammering steel. Nestled within the jagged peaks stood the capital of the Dwarven Kingdom — Kazramel, city of stone and fire.

Kael leaned over the side of the King Griffin as it descended onto a cliffside landing pad outside the city gates. Pillars of steam and smoke rose from the streets like geysers, while rivers of molten metal snaked through the veins of the city, glowing red against the gray stone.

"It's like a human capital," Kael murmured, "but every street smells like burning iron."

Eorun stepped down and showed his Adventurer ID to the guards at the gate. The soldiers squinted, then bowed slightly. "You may enter."

Inside, the city buzzed with life. Short, muscular dwarves bustled between stalls, most wearing aprons and belts filled with tools. While there were food vendors, potion stalls, and crystal shops, 80% of the stores they passed were dedicated to weapons, armor, or rare metalwork.

Kael looked around in awe. "So which shop are we visiting?"

Eorun smirked. "Not a shop. An old friend."

 Three Days Later — The Castle of Steelspire

They took a carriage beyond the marketplace, riding through lava-lit tunnels and over fortified bridges. Eventually, they arrived at the center of the capital — Steelspire Castle, where the ruling forge-king resided.

Standing before its towering iron gates, Kael glanced up at the fortress carved into the mountain. Two guards stepped forward and crossed their halberds.

"State your business."

Eorun didn't flinch. "Tell King Brogar that the blue rat has returned."

The guards blinked. Then one of them turned pale. "Y-you're… Eorun?" He signaled to the other. "Let them in. Now."

As the gates opened, Kael turned to Eorun. "You really do have a lot of connections."

Eorun scoffed. "I wasn't always a quiet old man, brat."

 Meeting the King

Inside the throne room, the heat was intense — flames danced along the walls in enchanted lanterns, and the king's throne was made of fused warhammers.

Upon it sat King Brogar Stoneveil, a broad-shouldered dwarf with a thick white beard braided with golden rings. His eyes, however, were sharp. Too sharp for his age.

"Well, well," the king said, voice like gravel. "Long time no see, Eorun. Still alive?"

"Barely," Eorun replied with a grin. "You've gotten older."

"And you've gotten uglier."

The two men laughed, then clasped forearms in a warrior's greeting.

"So who's this brat with you?" Brogar asked, eyeing Kael.

Kael stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Kael. I'm… his disciple."

Brogar raised an eyebrow. "Disciple? Of you?"

Eorun chuckled. "I know, I'm surprised too."

Kael continued, "I was born without magic or ability. But now I'm learning to fight with aura."

Eorun nodded. "Go on. Show him."

Kael inhaled, focused, and summoned the energy deep within. His fists glowed faintly — a deep, rare magenta, pulsing like a heartbeat.

The moment Brogar saw it, his smile vanished.

He stood up from the throne, fury creeping across his face.

"You brought that color… here?"

The atmosphere shifted.

Kael flinched. "Is… something wrong?"

"Leave us," Brogar growled. The guards and maids obeyed instantly.

Once the hall emptied, Brogar's voice turned low and grave.

"That aura… It's the same as that bastard's. The cursed one."

Eorun folded his arms. "So you remember him."

"How could I forget?" Brogar spat. "That monster came from the lost kingdom of Vel'Thal, in the far eastern continent. A place so cursed it was wiped off the map. He wielded the blade of death itself — the Sword of Galar. They called him… the devil in flesh."

Kael stiffened.

"You think this brat is like him?" Eorun asked.

Brogar's voice was cold. "The same aura color. The same emptiness in his mana trail. It's either fate or a nightmare returning."

"So…" the king said slowly. "You're here to forge him that sword? The devil's sword?"

Eorun chuckled. "You think I'm dumb enough to ask for that thing? That sword's sealed away by the Demon King himself. Probably buried under a hundred barriers in some chamber of damnation."

Brogar scowled. "Then what the hell do you want?"

"A sword," Eorun said. "A custom one. Fused with aura stone, light but unbreakable. It has to grow with him."

Brogar crossed his arms. "Why should I waste my forge on this?"

Eorun smirked. "Because you owe me. Remember the Narthal War? You'd have been molten stew without me."

Brogar groaned. "You just had to bring that up…"

"You owe me a favor, old man."

"Damn it."

Kael watched, stunned, as the king of the dwarves slumped back into his throne and waved a hand.

"Fine. I'll do it. For our friendship. Not for him."

Eorun winked at Kael. "Told you I was good."

Brogar grumbled, "A free sword, huh? Damn blue rat always taking advantage…"

The two old warriors laughed, and for a moment, the forge halls of Steelspire felt a little warmer.

"In the heart of stone and fire, where ancient kings forged weapons that changed history, Kael would soon receive the blade that might one day carve his own legend."