SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 950 - 950: Rhythm of a Forging War

Hours passed. Then days.

And the world narrowed.

The clang of hammer to metal.

The roar of the furnace.

The crackle of lightning essence fusing into the bow’s bones.

Kent’s body was covered in sweat, soot, and burn scars from wild sparks. His hands blistered beneath the grips. Still, he continued, shoulders rolling with exhaustion but not slowing down.

He turned the shaft, hammering both sides to shape the perfect inward curve. Every fifth strike, he paused and let the shaft rest under runes of spiritual cooling before returning to the fire.

There were no shortcuts. No spells to help.

Only sweat. Steel. And will.

On the far side of the forge, Muni Naga sat with his upper body coiled in a meditative trance, but his arms moved like water over a jade slab. He was not idle — far from it.

Using a brush made from sacred Beast hair, he inked rows of ancient divine runes in suspended midair. Each rune glowed with a color beyond natural sight — deep gold, blood silver, void blue.

“The bow must bear three divine gifts,” he murmured to himself.

“First — the Eye of god, so the arrow may find its way through target.

Second — the Mark of Thousand Tongues, bow must listen to it’s master.

Third — the Breath of the Wild Sky, to bind it with lightning and will.”

He dipped his brush into Spirit Ink, refined from soulstones Kent had risked his life to harvest from the lower abyss.

The runes floated above a circular formation ring. Slowly, they began to spin.

Each matched the rhythm of the hammer — as if Muni Naga and Kent shared a silent bond of work, art, and intensity.

By the seventh day, Kent’s hands trembled.

Not from fatigue — but from resonance.

The bow shaft now glowed with a living gleam, its body fully formed and curved like the third phase moon. Kent leaned on the hammer, breathing heavily, watching the shaft pulse with storm qi he’d beaten into it with every strike.

Muni Naga floated across the forge, examining the shaft. He tapped the surface lightly.

A gentle thrum of thunder echoed back.

“You taught it to listen,” he said, voice low. “Good.”

Then he raised his hand, and one by one, the floating divine runes drifted toward the shaft.

They didn’t burn into the bow — they merged into it, like water into soil, disappearing but not lost. The shaft trembled, then glowed — not brightly, but with restraint. As if hiding its hunger until called upon.

“Tomorrow,” Muni Naga said, lowering his hand, “we’ll begin shaping the core grip and embedding the spirit string slots. But for now—”

He looked at Kent, whose face was pale, shoulders cut from hours of strain, eyes still glowing with lightning light.

“You rest. A weapon of war must not be forged by a dead man.”

Kent, still holding the hammer, nodded. He walked to the edge of the forge, sat down beside the cooling pool, and exhaled.

In his heart, he felt it.

The bow was not ready.

But it had heard his name.

And soon, it would answer his call.

Later…

The bow shaft had cooled.

Not in fire. But in silence.

It lay on the sacred anvil like a coiled dragon, its curves perfect, its weight silent but undeniable — a weapon no longer just shaped, but waiting. Its body had been hammered by will, bent by storm, fed by sweat.

But now it needed something more.

It needed spirit.

Essence.

Soul.

Kent stood before the shaft, bare-chested, eyes closed.

His body still bore the burns and bruises of the forging week, but his breath was calm — like a lake just before the sky broke.

He raised a dagger made of dragon bone, a rare black shard given by Muni Naga for one purpose only: sacrifice.

He sliced his palm slowly.

The blood did not fall in drops.

It shimmered — gold and violet — charged with Storm Qi and refined spirit essence from his countless nights of cultivation, hunts, and the poison trials he had endured.

Muni Naga stood in silence, nodding.

“The soul of a bow comes not from its metal… but from the blood of the one who dares to wield it.”

Kent dipped his fingers in his own blood and began engraving his soul marks into the shaft.

Not runes — symbols.

Lines that represented his path, his rage, his desire, and above all… his choice to carry power without letting it consume him.

Each stroke glowed. Each groove in the shaft accepted the blood like thirsty roots drinking from rain.

Once finished, Kent stepped back, vision blurring.

Muni Naga moved forward.

And the runes began.

Floating around Muni Naga were dozens of glowing spiritual sigils — each drawn from ancient elemental temples, each refined over centuries of Naga clan tradition.

With a flick of his long finger, the first rune flew toward the shaft.

“Lei Xin — Heart of Lightning,” he intoned.

“The essence of thunder that waits — then strikes.”

The rune was shaped like a forked river, its ends crackling with sparks. As it touched the shaft, the entire bow trembled, a thunderclap sounding deep underground. The rune sank into the body like molten-metal into waiting grooves.

The second followed.

“Huo Lin — Fire Vein,” he whispered.

“Heat that binds spirit and soul. The fire that burns but does not destroy.”

A red-orange rune like two spiraling flames danced into the bow, embedding into the upper limb. The bow glowed for a second — and steam hissed from its edges.

Then came the third.

“Mu Shen — Wood Soul-Root,” he said, voice more distant.

“The power of life. Of flexibility and growth.”

This rune was green and alive, its edges shaped like leaves in the wind. It entered the shaft’s midsection, weaving between the blood channels Kent had carved.

Then the fourth —

“Shui Zhen — Water Calm Seal.”

A blue rune like a teardrop. Cool, still, serene. It embedded beneath the grip slot — to stabilize the weapon’s spiritual breath.

The fifth made the room grow cold.

“Feng Jue — Wind Break Rune,” he declared.

“For speed beyond perception. For arrows that slip between fate and time.”

It twisted through the air like a feather in a hurricane before sealing itself to the bow’s lower arc.

And finally, the most sacred — drawn only once every century.

Muni Naga inhaled deeply.

“Long Hun — Dragon Soul Crest.”

This rune was massive, glowing white-gold, carved with flowing-curves like dragon-scales and stars. It spun in the air, slower than the rest. It did not burn or crackle.

Even Kent felt a shiver as the rune hovered over the bow.

“This binds the weapon to the heavens,” Muni Naga whispered. “It is the blessing — and the chain. Use it wisely.”

The Dragon Soul rune descended.

The moment it touched the bow shaft—

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