Chapter 82: VOLCAN!
Chapter 82: VOLCAN!
On the first day, Nathan sat in the guild’s research hall, a stack of old mission reports and Tower analyses spread across the table. The hall was quiet—most Climbers preferred the training yards or the common room—and the only sound was the soft hum of the holoscreen as he scrolled through decades of fragmented data.
Helena had provided everything the guild had on the Fallen Piece of Drak’thar. It wasn’t much.
"Elite Class Tower," Nathan murmured, reading aloud. "Designated approximately one hundred and eighty years ago. Estimated ten to sixteen floors. Boss classified as true dragon-type. Species: unknown. Capabilities: unknown. Last attempted climb: twenty-two years ago. Result: extraction on Floor 9. One fatality. Party retired."
He leaned back. Twenty-two years since anyone had even tried. The Tower had been sitting there for nearly two centuries, its mana building, its monsters breeding, its dragon waiting. No wonder the Nemesis Court hadn’t targeted it for collapse. There was nothing around Drak’thar to destroy. The Tower was in the deep outer regions, far from any village.
’This is sparse information,’ Kuro observed. She was in bunny form on the table beside him.
"It’s practically nothing. We know the Tower exists. We know there’s a dragon inside. We know no one’s cleared it. Everything else is guesswork."
’Then we will learn through experience. As we did with the Tower of Ash.’
"The Tower of Ash nearly killed us."
’And yet we cleared it. Your point is invalid, Summoner.’
Nathan almost smiled. "You’ve been spending too much time with Mirko."
’I have been spending precisely the correct amount of time. She is educational.’
---
On the fourth day, The training yard was cool under the morning sky. Garrett swung his mace in steady, rhythmic arcs, each strike landing against a reinforced practice dummy. The impacts echoed across the yard—thud, thud, thud.
"You’re going to wear out the dummy," Nathan said, approaching.
"Can’t. I’ve been trying." Garrett lowered his mace and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Any word from Vex?"
Here’s a more natural, conversational version:
"That’s the fourth time you’ve asked me today."
Garrett let out a sheepish laugh.
"Yeah... well, it’s the fourth time I’ve caught myself thinking about it. This one just happened to come out loud."
His gaze dropped to the mace resting across his lap. Plain steel. No enchantments. No special craftsmanship. Just a weapon that had been with him through every climb.
"I’ve carried this thing for four years," he said, running a thumb over the worn handle. "Bought it from some smith in the outer regions who probably had no business calling himself a blacksmith. Cost me three weeks’ pay."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Best money I ever spent."
He set the mace down gently.
"And now I’m about to replace it... with something forged from a boss we brought down together."
Nathan studied him for a moment.
"Does that bother you?"
"No. It feels right. Like I’ve been carrying a placeholder all this time, and I didn’t even know it." He met Nathan’s eyes. "When we first met, I was ready to quit. No prospects. I would’ve gone back to the outer regions and found some other way to survive. But you saved me. And now you’re giving me a Legendary weapon." He shook his head. "I don’t know how to repay that."
"Clear Drak’thar with us. That’s repayment enough."
Garrett nodded slowly. "Yeah. I can do that."
---
On the eight Day, Elise arrived at the guild hall with a crate of equipment. Fire-resistant underlayers, heat-dispersing cloaks, insulated canteens, cooling charms woven into silver chains. The Winterhart crest was stamped on the side—the snowflake in its diamond, the symbol of a family she no longer belonged to.
"I called in the last of my personal favors," she said, distributing the gear. "The Winterhart quartermaster was reluctant. But the order was placed in my name before the family disowned me. It would have been more trouble to cancel it than to fulfill it."
"Your aunt would be furious," Dillon observed.
"Probably. That’s a secondary benefit."
Dillon held up his new cloak. It was lighter than the ones they’d worn in the Tower of Ash, the fabric shimmering with a deeper enchantment. "This is Elite-level gear. This stuff costs more than I made in my first year of climbing."
"The Elite Class Tower will make the Tower of Ash feel temperate," Elise said. "If the records are accurate, the ambient temperature on Drak’thar’s lower floors exceeds anything we faced in Ashwick. The Pyre Wyrm’s breath attack was concentrated. Drak’thar’s heat will be constant. Every piece of gear we bring is an investment in survival."
Nathan pulled on his new underlayer. The fabric was cool against his skin. "Thank you, Elise."
She didn’t respond immediately. She was adjusting the clasp on her own cloak. "The Winterhart name still carries weight, even for an exile. I may as well use it while it lasts."
---
On the Eleventh day, Nathan visited Vex for an update. She threw a wrench at his head.
"The forge is closed!" she shouted from somewhere behind her workbench. "No visitors! No questions! No standing there looking anxious while I’m trying to work!"
"I wasn’t looking anxious!"
"You have an anxious face! It’s your default expression! Come back when it’s done!"
The wrench clattered against the doorframe. Ember chirped apologetically.
Nathan left.
---
Finally, on the fourteenth day, The message arrived at dawn.
"It’s ready. Bring the sheep guy."
---
The TCA forge wing smelled of metal as usual. But when Nathan pushed open the door, he could feel the difference immediately. The air was warmer, just a few degrees above ambient.
Vex stood beside her workbench, Ember circling her shoulders in slow, lazy spirals. The sprite looked exhausted—its usual vibrant orange had dimmed to a softer gold. Vex had dark circles under her eyes, but there was a fierce, satisfied light in them.
On the anvil, covered by a simple grey cloth, rested the mace.
The party gathered behind Nathan. Garrett was at the front, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Dillon leaned against the doorframe. Elise stood with her staff planted, her expression composed, but her eyes kept drifting to the cloth.
"You took your time," Vex said. "I’ve been staring at this thing for three hours. Do you know how hard it is to not show off a Legendary weapon?"
"You love showing off."
"I love being appreciated. There’s a difference. Now shut up and let me have my moment."
She pulled back the cloth.
The mace was dark and gleaming, radiating contained power. The head was forged from obsidian-black metal, shot through with veins of molten orange that pulsed with the same slow rhythm as the Pyre Wyrm’s Heart Core. The handle was wrapped in heat-resistant leather, dark grey with crimson stitching. The pommel was a polished sphere of volcanic glass, and within it, a tiny fragment of the Heart Core still glowed.
"Heads up, sheep guy," Vex said. "It’s yours to name. The head retains the Wyrm’s volcanic properties—every strike releases a pulse of thermal energy. On impact, it erupts. Not enough to exhaust you, but enough to crack armor, shatter stone, and make anything you hit very sorry it got in your way."
She picked up the mace and handed it to Garrett. "It’s balanced for your grip."
Garrett took the weapon. It fit his hand perfectly—the weight right, the balance intuitive. The veins of molten orange pulsed brighter at his touch, responding to his mana signature.
He lifted it. Tested the weight. Swung once—a short, controlled arc. The air around the head shimmered with heat.
"Vex, I..." Garrett’s voice was rough. "I’ve been climbing for years. I’ve never held anything like this."
"You’ve never earned anything like this before." Vex crossed her arms, but her gruffness was softer now. "Take care of it. It’s one of a kind. And if you break it, I’ll forge your bones into the replacement."
"She’s joking," Nathan said.
"I’m not joking." Vex pointed at Garrett. "That’s a Legendary mace. Do you know how many smiths get to forge a Legendary weapon in their lifetime? I’ve done it for a select few!. The first was thirty years ago, for a Climber who’s been in the Top 100 for the past decade. This is my second. You treat that mace like it’s your child. You name it. You talk to it. You never let it touch the ground unless you’re using it to crush something."
Garrett nodded solemnly. He raised the mace, holding it up to the forge-light, watching the molten veins pulse beneath the obsidian surface. "I will....I shall call it... Volcan! "
Vex’s face went through a series of expressions—surprise, disbelief, a brief struggle against laughter—before settling into a neutral mask. "Wow. What a great naming sense."
Dillon was less diplomatic. "Volcan? You’ve got a Legendary mace forged from the heart of a Pyre Wyrm, and you name it Volcan?"
"It’s a volcano mace! It erupts! Volcan is a perfect name!"
"It sounds like a brand of cheap energy drink."
"Your sword skill is named Thunder Edge! You don’t get to criticize!"
"Thunder Edge is elegant. Thunder Edge is poetic. Volcan sounds like a—"
"Enough." Elise’s voice cut through. "The name is fine. It’s his mace. He can name it what he wants."
Garrett lowered Volcan, cradling it protectively. "Thank you. At least someone respects my creative vision."
"I didn’t say I respected it. I said it was fine. There’s a difference."
Vex shook her head, still fighting a smile. "Good. Now get out. All of you. I need to clean up, and Ember’s been awake for eighteen hours straight. She gets cranky when she’s tired."
Ember chirped—half agreement, half protest, entirely exhausted.
---
The party gathered outside the TCA. The afternoon sun was warm on the cobblestones. Climbers passed on their way to and from the TCA headquarters. Some glanced at the mace in Garrett’s hands, their eyes widening at the molten veins pulsing beneath the obsidian surface.
Garrett still couldn’t stop looking at Volcan. He turned it over and over, watching the light play across the dark metal. Red, materialized beside him, sniffed the mace with evident curiosity.
"Red approves," Garrett said. "He thinks it smells like victory."
"Red thinks everything smells like either food or danger," Dillon said. "Those are his only two categories."
"This is category three. Victory. It’s a new category."
Dillon clapped him on the shoulder. "You know, when I got Thunder Edge, I was pretty proud of myself. New skill. Lightning katana. Very dramatic. And then you go and get a Legendary mace forged from the heart of a boss we killed together. You’re making the rest of us look bad."
"You make yourself look bad," Elise murmured.
"I walked into that one."
Nathan looked at his party. Garrett with Volcan still glowing faintly in his grip. Dillon with his crackling katana and his irreverent grin. Elise with her staff and her reforged resolve. Mirko in humanoid form beside him. Kuro a silent black shape on his shoulder.
"The road to Drak’thar is long," Nathan said. "Elite Class. True dragon. The hardest climb we’ve ever attempted. But we’re ready. We’ve got the gear. We’ve got the training. We’ve got each other."
"And we’ve got Volcan," Garrett added.
"And we’ve got Volcan."
"We leave at dawn," Elise said. "The journey east will take several days. We should rest while we can."
Nathan nodded. "Then let’s not waste the night."
The party dispersed. Garrett walked toward the guild hall, still cradling Volcan. Dillon headed for the training yard. Elise lingered for a moment.
"You’re thinking about the Nemesis Court," she said. It wasn’t a question.
"I’m always thinking about the Nemesis Court. That operative is still out there. And whoever he reports to—the Shepherd. We haven’t heard the last of them."
"No. We haven’t." Elise was quiet for a moment. "But that’s a problem for another day. Tomorrow, we begin the journey. Tonight, we rest."