SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 948 - 948: For the Weapon!

Deep beneath the surface world of empires and tournaments, where sunlight had long been forgotten, Kent was playing with forge fire.

It had been over two weeks since the Eternal Furnace roared awake.

The hidden forge of the Ancestral Naga Clan, long buried in silence, now breathed again — not just fire, but purpose. Its heart glowed like molten gold, and at its edge, drenched in sweat and soot, stood a young man shaping his destiny piece by piece.

The old Naga sat unmoving in his crafting chamber, surrounded by jade slates, glowing spirit markers, and delicate silver threads that hovered mid-air — suspended by spell-formation arrays.

He hadn’t spoken much in days. His thoughts were absorbed in the ancient calculations needed to complete the design for the Immortal Quivers — artifacts that could generate and store spell arrows, each infused with elemental domains.

Kent didn’t disturb him.

He didn’t need to.

Muni Naga had already entrusted Kent with daily responsibilities that no mortal disciple had ever been trusted with in this sacred place. And Kent fulfilled them without hesitation.

–

Each day began the same.

Kent rose from his meditation circle at the edge of the forge, cleaned the spell lines of the furnace, and fed Sky-Iron Coals and Molten Sun Crystals into the lower furnace belly. The heat was unbearable even to most Supreme Mages — but Kent had made peace with pain.

He had learned how to kneel over the flame and whisper control spells, letting Storm Qi flow through his fingers to keep the flames from burning wild or dying out.

He treated the furnace like a living beast — one that responded to rhythm, care, and command.

The Naga clan’s sacred flame wasn’t just fire — it responded to will.

–

Lower Abyss…

Once the furnace settled into a steady breath, Kent shouldered his spirit hunting pack, picked up his curved blade, and descended deeper into the Lower Abyss — a region even Muni Naga hadn’t stepped into in centuries.

Here, ancient beasts roamed in tunnels lit by glowing fungi, and rivers of acidic venom cut through the stone. Spirit herbs with roots like arms, and monsters with invisible eyes, hunted without sound.

Kent didn’t merely fight.

He learned.

He tracked Bone-Scaled Lizards for their hard teeth — perfect for carving arrowheads. He baited and killed Cloud-Eyed Manticores, using their ethereal tail hairs to weave spirit-binding string for fletching. And he negotiated with Poison Ant Colonies, offering rare meat for access to their Nest Resin, which he needed as an adhesive base for crafting.

“You can’t craft legendary arrows with normal materials,” he once murmured, placing a handful of Stone Lotus Petals into his satchel.

“Every arrow I fire must be a spell… and a story.”

—

Back at the forge, when the flames had stabilized again and Muni Naga continued his silent work, Kent retreated to a corner table lined with raw materials he had gathered.

Here, the real art began.

He sat for hours with only a chisel, a spirit brush, and his breath.

He carved bone shafts and fitted them with layered spiritual seals — using runes passed down by the Storm God’s Tome. Every arrowhead was not just shaped — it was engraved with a spell.

Every arrow is different. And some were silent. No glow. No hum. No warning. Just death in silence.

Kent called those the Whisper Arrows — and he engraved them with spells while exhaling barely audible phrases.

“Cut through shield. Break the soul. Leave no scream behind…”

As his spiritual sense grew stronger, he stopped depending on brushes. He began etching using his fingertips, channeling his will directly into the arrows.

Each batch took hours.

Each arrow required meditation, engraving, polishing, and finally — a whisper. A final imprint. His spell signature. Like a call to the arrow’s soul.

–

Evening…

On the fourteenth evening, the flames danced brighter than usual. Muni Naga stirred.

He turned and saw Kent standing before the furnace, holding a quiver of freshly made arrows, the arrowheads glowing faintly with a lightning core.

“You’ve made sixty-seven,” the old Naga said, voice like distant thunder. “And not a single one failed to carry your spell mark.”

Kent bowed.

“Sixty-four succeeded. Three shattered from within. The spell imprint was too strong for the arrow’s soul.”

Muni Naga’s reptilian eyes gleamed with approval.

“You’re not a boy anymore. You’re walking the edge of a craftsman’s madness… and holding your balance.”

He looked away and gestured at the glowing formation circle he had been working on.

“The design for the Immortal Quivers is nearly done. Once your bow is complete, we’ll begin their formation… and you’ll need arrows worthy of endless battle.”

Kent nodded but didn’t smile. His face was focused, weathered, eyes glowing with quiet power.

“Then I’ll keep crafting. I don’t need sleep… only purpose.”

Muni Naga chuckled, shaking his head.

“Purpose can kill a man just as easily as any beast.”

—

Later that night…

As the furnace hummed into the night, Kent returned to his corner, picked up another bone shaft, and began again — engraving, whispering, breathing lightning into wood and steel.

Above, in the world of kings and immortals, armies assembled and mages trained in marble halls.

But beneath the world…

Kent was preparing a storm.

One arrow at a time.

—

Next Day…

Kent awoke before the faint violet glow of the abyssal moss could flicker through the stone chamber. His breath was steady, his body covered in light dew — not from sweat, but from the chilling humidity that clung to the underground winds. He stretched slowly, rising from his meditation circle and tightening the bands around his sleeves, ready to descend once more into the deeper wilds of the abyss.

The twin blades he used for hunting were already strapped to his back, and his spatial pouch was freshly inscribed with storage seals. He turned toward the cave mouth—

“Stop,” came a dry, ancient voice behind him.

Kent paused.

It was the first time in days that Muni Naga had spoken before him.

The old forgemaster, who had been utterly silent for nearly a week, now sat at the edge of the Eternal Furnace’s dome, his massive Naga form coiled in an elegant arc, long human arms resting on a forge table laced with thin jade runes.

“No more hunting. Today…” he said, opening his slit eyes, which burned with golden heat, “…we begin. We’ve already wasted a month on drawings and waiting. If we don’t start now, your bow will remain a sketch in my memory.”

Kent’s eyes gleamed with recognition.

Finally.

The forging would begin.

“Heat the furnace,” Muni Naga ordered. “I want its belly awake and screaming by the time I measure the shaft core.”

Kent tossed aside his hunting gear and strode toward the heart of the chamber.

–

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