Chapter 56: The Quartermaster King
His B-Rank Alchemy skill wasn’t just a stat on a screen; it was a torrent of instinct and knowledge that flowed through his hands.
He could feel the stress points in the metal, sense the perfect temperature for quenching, and see the faint lines of power waiting to be etched into a blade.
He hammered, folded, and shaped the ingots he’d smelted from Gorgon’s leftover arsenal, turning crude iron clubs and ogre armor into gleaming, high-grade steel.
He was a demonic blacksmith, forging the tools of his coming empire.
On the fourth day, he was finished.
He stood back from the anvil, wiping a sheen of sweat from his pale brow, and admired his handiwork.
Five masterpieces lay cooling on a stone slab.
He called his core Bloodkin to the Throne Room.
Isabelle, Chloe, Reina, Fenris, and Grunt assembled before him, their monstrous and elegant forms a bizarre but formidable tableau.
"My Wrecking Crew. My Shadow Strikers," Ragnar began, his voice echoing with a satisfaction he rarely allowed himself to show.
"You have fought for me. You have bled for me. Some of you have even died for me, which, while inconvenient, is very much appreciated. Loyalty and success must be rewarded."