"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

Chapter 265: The Legends of the Forged Gods

The forge hummed with a warm glow, and the rhythmic sound of metal against metal echoed in the air. The sweat-drenched heat was something Seraphis had become accustomed to, but today, her mind was on something else. The desire for knowledge had always been strong within her, but recently it had taken a new form—she wanted to understand the deeper history of the craft, the myths and legends that had been whispered about since time immemorial. And the Bladesmith—an old man whose workshop she had been visiting—was rumored to possess the knowledge she sought.

Seraphis had learned a great deal about forging from him in the few weeks since they first crossed paths, but now she hungered for something more: the old stories, the powerful artifacts, and the legendary blacksmiths who had shaped the history of the world.

"Excuse me," Seraphis said, interrupting the rhythmic clang of the Bladesmith’s hammer as she approached him. He had been working on a new blade for days now, the shape slowly emerging from the molten metal. "Do you know any legends? Stories of legendary blacksmiths who crafted weapons with the power to change the world?"

The Bladesmith paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag. He looked up at Seraphis, his eyes narrowing as if he were sizing her up. It was clear from the way he worked that he was not someone who was easily swayed by idle curiosity.

"Aren't you the inquisitive one," he muttered under his breath, but there was a trace of amusement in his voice. He placed the hammer down and leaned against the forge, staring into the glowing coals. "You've asked a lot of questions, girl, but that one? It's a heavy one."

Seraphis tilted her head. "I want to know the stories, the ones that go beyond the craftsman's techniques. I want to know about the ones who shaped the history of blacksmithing—if such legends exist."

The Bladesmith chuckled softly, the sound carrying a weight of years lived in solitude. "Oh, they exist all right. Many tales, many legends. Some true, some exaggerated, and some... well, they’re more myth than fact. But it’s always the myths that people remember, even if they don’t know the whole story."

Seraphis’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "I don’t mind the myths. Please, tell me."

The Bladesmith sighed, scratching his beard as he shifted his stance. "Very well, let me think. There is one tale that comes to mind, one that all smiths whisper about in hushed tones—the tale of the Blacksmith God, Durak the Forged."

Seraphis leaned forward, hanging on to every word. "Durak the Forged?" she repeated.

"That's right," the Bladesmith said, his voice dropping lower, as if the very name held some kind of sacred weight. "Durak wasn’t just a blacksmith—he was a divine being, born from the flames themselves. You see, there was a time when the gods walked among mortals, and one of them was Durak. He was born from a mountain of molten rock, his body sculpted by the very fire that gave life to the earth. Some say he forged himself before he even knew what it was to forge anything at all."

Seraphis’s eyes widened. "A god?" she whispered. "He forged himself?"

The Bladesmith nodded slowly, clearly lost in the tale now. "Yes, and once he realized the art of creation, there was no limit to his power. They say he crafted weapons that could slay gods themselves—blades that could rend the fabric of the universe. His most famous creation was a sword called ‘Fury’s Edge,’ forged from the heart of a dormant volcano, tempered with the blood of a dragon, and quenched in the tears of a titan."

Seraphis gasped. "A sword that could slay gods?" she echoed. "What happened to it?"

"That’s the mystery," the Bladesmith said with a wistful tone. "Some say the sword was so powerful that it was hidden away by the gods themselves to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. Others say that Durak, realizing the potential for chaos, destroyed the sword himself, scattering its pieces across the realms so no one could ever wield it again. But the legends are unclear. All we know is that the sword, and Durak himself, vanished from history."

Seraphis fell silent for a moment, her mind racing. "Is there anything left of Durak's work?" she asked, her voice filled with awe. "Any remnants of the god's creations?"

The Bladesmith stroked his beard thoughtfully, his gaze faraway. "There are rumors, yes. Some believe that the ‘Heart of Durak,’ a fragment of the god's essence, still exists in the world. It is said that whoever finds it will gain the god's power—his knowledge, his skill, his divine craftsmanship. But finding it, if it even exists, is no easy task. The legends say it’s hidden in a place where neither fire nor metal can survive, a place untouched by time or man. But that’s all they are—rumors."

Seraphis felt a chill run down her spine. "That sounds... impossible," she murmured.

The Bladesmith chuckled again. "Oh, many things are impossible in this world. But that doesn’t stop the legends from growing. That’s the allure of blacksmithing—crafting something from nothing, imbuing it with meaning, with purpose. That’s what made Durak a god, and that’s what every blacksmith aspires to. To create something that transcends the mundane, something that leaves a mark on history."

Seraphis stood still for a moment, contemplating the legend of Durak. A god who could forge anything, even the impossible. A weapon capable of changing the world. It was a myth, yes, but one that felt tangible. Could such power truly exist?

"You mentioned rumors," Seraphis said after a long pause. "Are there other legendary blacksmiths with stories like Durak’s?"

The Bladesmith nodded slowly. "Oh, there are many. Another legend tells of a blacksmith named Alindra the Eternal, who could forge weapons that would never break. She was said to have crafted a shield that could withstand the wrath of a thousand storms, a sword that could pierce any armor, and a bow that could shoot arrows that never missed their mark. But like all legends, her story is clouded by time."

Seraphis absorbed every word, her thoughts swirling with possibilities. Each name, each legend, held a power that seemed beyond human comprehension. But there was something inside her, something that told her that the world was more than what she had known, and that maybe, just maybe, she could uncover these secrets herself.

"Is there a way to learn more about these legends?" she asked, determination creeping into her voice.

The Bladesmith gave her a knowing smile. "The best way to learn the true stories is to make your own. Every blacksmith has the potential to forge their own legend, just as Durak did, just as Alindra did. You can study the past, but it's the future that will test you. Only then will you understand the real meaning behind the legends."

Seraphis stood silently, a sense of purpose settling in her chest. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—her journey was far from over.

She was about to turn away when a thought struck her, and she turned back to him. "Do you know of any legendary female blacksmiths?" she asked. "Someone who may have had an influence on history like Durak and Alindra?"

The Bladesmith looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. He rubbed his chin, trying to recall something. "Yes... yes, I do. But the name escapes me at the moment." He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "It’s frustrating, really. She was said to be one of the finest blacksmiths of her time—no, perhaps the finest of all time. But the records about her are so fragmented, it's difficult to piece together a complete picture. But I do remember this: she was known for forging weapons that could channel the elements themselves. There are old tales about her blades being able to summon storms or calm the winds with a single strike."

Seraphis leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "What else do you remember about her?" she pressed.

The Bladesmith’s brow furrowed as he racked his brain. "There’s a legend about a sword she made, a blade that had the ability to not only cut through anything but also heal wounds. They say it was imbued with the essence of the earth itself, giving it the power to mend broken bodies and restore life. But she disappeared, leaving no trace of herself behind. Some think she simply left the world behind after her work was done, while others say she vanished into the realms of the gods themselves."

Seraphis’s mind raced. A blacksmith who could craft weapons capable of manipulating the very elements, a blade that could heal as easily as it could destroy—it sounded like a power beyond what even Durak had been capable of. But the mystery surrounding this woman, her name lost to time, only made Seraphis want to learn more.

"Do you think she left any traces of her work?" Seraphis asked, her voice full of hope.

The Bladesmith shook his head. "I doubt it. The records of her time are nearly non-existent. Any surviving pieces of her work would have been lost over the centuries, passed through too many hands. But one thing is certain—she was as much of a legend as any of the great male blacksmiths. Perhaps, even more so. She was said to possess a grace in her craft, a gentleness that contrasted the brutal art of forging, yet she could still create blades of unparalleled power. It’s unfortunate that her name has been lost to history."

Seraphis stood there, her mind whirling. The woman the Bladesmith described was like a phantom, a ghost of the past whose legacy had slipped through the cracks of time. Yet the possibility of such a woman existing, of her creations still waiting to be uncovered, was a tantalizing thought. She couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was more to this story than what the Bladesmith had shared.

The more she thought about it, the more it felt like the next step in her journey. To find the traces of this legendary blacksmith, to uncover the truth behind her lost name and her elemental blades—it seemed like her next great challenge.

With a determined look in her eyes, Seraphis made her decision. "I’ll find her," she said softly, almost to herself.

The Bladesmith glanced at her, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You’re persistent, girl. But sometimes, the legends are best left as they are. They exist to inspire, not to be unearthed."

Seraphis shook her head. "I don’t think so. There’s always more to the story."

And with that, she turned, her mind filled with possibilities, her heart set on a new quest.