The Lifespan Smith: Forging My Own End

Chapter 2: The Ignis-Edge Prototype

The white light behind Aerovan’s eyelids slowly faded into a dull, throbbing red. He slumped against the base of the anvil, his lungs burning as if he’d just inhaled a bucket of hot ash.

"You still breathing, or do I need to call the corpse-wagon?"

Aerovan bolted upright, his head spinning. A man stood in the crooked doorway, framed by the moonlight. He was built like a keg of ale, with shoulders that hit both sides of the frame and a beard so thick and soot-stained it looked like a tangled briar patch.

"Who are you?" Aerovan wheezed, clutching his chest.

"I’m the guy who lives in the cellar so I don't have to listen to idiots screaming in the middle of the night," the man grunted, stepping into the dim light of the forge. He looked at the anvil, then back at Aerovan. "Name’s Drovic Kain. I used to keep this place running before the King decided blacksmiths weren't 'heroic' enough for his budget. What the hell did you just do?"

"I... I hit it," Aerovan said, his voice cracking. He looked down at his hands. They were trembling, and his skin looked strangely pale.

"You hit it? Kid, that wasn't a hammer strike. That sounded like the world cracking an egg," Drovic walked over, squinting at the anvil. His eyes widened. "The surface... it’s warm. This thing hasn't been warm since the last Flare-Drake was killed fifty years ago. How?"

Aerovan ignored him, his eyes glued to the blue screen floating in the air.

[Skill Learned: Material Synthesis (Rank 1)]

[Soul-Forge Status: Active]

[Current Lifespan: 62 Years, 10 Months]

"I’m a Divine Architect," Aerovan whispered, mostly to himself. "It’s not just about sharpening swords. It’s about building things that shouldn't exist."

Drovic snorted, crossing his arms. "Divine Architect? Sounds like a fancy name for a guy who’s going to starve to death in a pile of soot. You got any metal? Any coal? Any talent?"

"I have this," Aerovan said, standing up on shaky legs. He grabbed the satchel Aravelle had given him and dumped the contents on the floor. Dried meat, bread, and a small flint kit.

"Great. You can eat while you watch the forge rot," Drovic said.

"Help me find metal," Aerovan snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Anything. Old nails, scrap, rusted hinges. I don't care. I need to make something."

Drovic looked at him for a long moment, then spat on the floor. "There’s a pile of slag and rusted Abyssal-iron scraps in the back corner. Leftovers from the Great War. It’s brittle, useless junk. Nobody can forge it because it shatters under a normal hammer."

"Then it’s a good thing I’m not a normal smith," Aerovan said.

He scrambled to the back of the room, digging through the debris. He found several shards of a dark, oily-looking metal and a handful of brass casings that looked like they belonged to some ancient, forgotten mechanism.

"What is this?" Aerovan asked, holding up a heavy, circular brass piece with six hollow chambers.

Drovic leaned in. "That? That’s a relic from the Old Tech era. A revolving cylinder. They used to make 'Boom-Sticks' with them before the mana-storms made gunpowder unstable. Now it’s just a paperweight."

Aerovan felt a jolt of electricity run through his mind. A blueprint began to assemble itself in his vision, lines of blue light tracing a shape that combined the lethal edge of a Valorian broadsword with the mechanical ingenuity of his own world.

"I’m going to use it," Aerovan said.

"Use it for what? A necklace?"

"No," Aerovan said, his eyes glowing with a faint blue light. "I’m going to build a gunblade."

"A what-blade? Kid, you’ve lost your mind. You can’t mix Abyssal-iron and brass. The resonance will blow your arms off."

"Watch me," Aerovan muttered. He threw the scrap onto the cold hearth.

[Synthesis Initialized: Abyssal-Iron + Ancient Cylinder + Mana-Crystalline Flake]

[Warning: Insufficient Heat. Would you like to use 'Soul-Fire'?]

[Cost: 3 Months of Lifespan.]

Aerovan’s hand hesitated. Three months. Just for the heat.

"You okay there, kid?" Drovic asked, his voice softening slightly. "You’ve gone white as a sheet. And... is it just me, or is your hair looking a bit thin on top?"

Aerovan reached up, running a hand through his hair. A few strands came away in his fingers. He felt a cold pit in his stomach, but then he remembered Kael’s laughing face. We’re the ones doing the heavy lifting. You’d just be in the way.

"I’m fine," Aerovan said, his voice hard. "It’s just stress. Drovic, get the bellows. Even if there’s no coal, just pump. I need the air."

"Pump for what? The hearth is cold!"

"Just do it!"

Drovic grumbled but moved to the massive leather bellows, heaving them down with a rhythmic whoosh-thump.

"Do it," Aerovan whispered to the system.

WHOOMPH.

A pillar of violet flame erupted from the empty hearth. It wasn't hot in the way a normal fire was; it felt like a vacuum, sucking the very warmth out of the room to fuel its core. The Abyssal-iron didn't melt—it surrendered. It turned into a liquid shadow, swirling around the brass cylinder.

"By the Gods," Drovic gasped, nearly falling over. "That's not mana. That’s... that’s life-force. Stop, kid! You're burning yourself up!"

"I'm building a future!" Aerovan yelled over the roar of the violet flames.

He grabbed the hammer and began to strike. Each blow felt like a punch to his own ribs. He wasn't just shaping metal; he was weaving his own will into the molecular structure of the blade.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

"Talk to me, Aerovan!" Drovic shouted. "What are you doing to the cylinder?"

"I’m reinforcing the chambers!" Aerovan shouted back, his vision blurring. "The Abyssal-iron will act as the pressure jacket. The mana-crystalline flake... that’s the primer! It doesn't need gunpowder! It needs a spark of intent!"

"You're crazy! You're absolutely mental!"

"Maybe!" Aerovan slammed the hammer down one last time. "But I'm not a repairman!"

The violet light imploded, pulling every stray spark back into the object on the anvil. The forge fell into a heavy, ringing silence.

Aerovan slumped against the workbench, sweat dripping from his chin. His chest felt hollow, like an old tree eaten away by termites, but his eyes were fixed on the weapon.

It was beautiful. And terrifying.

The blade was long and straight, forged from a metal so black it seemed to swallow the dim light of the forge. Where a traditional hilt would be, a heavy, polished brass revolving cylinder was integrated into the guard. A trigger mechanism curved elegantly beneath a leather-wrapped grip.

[Item Created: Ignis-Edge (Prototype)]

[Rank: Rare (Growth Potential)]

[Special Ability: Kinetic Discharge. The cylinder can be loaded with mana-shards to fire concussive blasts through the blade’s edge.]

[Current Status: Soul-Bound.]

"Let me see that," Drovic whispered, reaching out with a trembling hand.

Aerovan handed it over. The old smith almost dropped it. "It’s... it’s light. How is it this light? And the balance... it’s perfect. But this mechanism, kid... how do you even 'fire' a sword?"

"It’s not just a sword, Drovic," Aerovan said, wiping blood from his nose. "It’s a statement. The King wants lions? I’ll give him a dragon."

"You look like hell," Drovic said, staring at Aerovan’s face. "Your eyes... they’ve got grey streaks in them. And your hair... kid, you look ten years older than you did an hour ago."

"It’s the price of admission," Aerovan said, his voice raspy. He took the weapon back, feeling a strange, humming connection to the steel. "I need to know if it works. Is there somewhere private?"

"The woods behind the East District," Drovic said, looking worried. "There’s an old quarry. But Aerovan, listen to me. Whatever you're doing with that system of yours... it's eating you alive. No piece of steel is worth your soul."

"I don't have a choice," Aerovan said, heading for the door. "In this world, I'm either a hero or a ghost. I’d rather be a ghost with a gun."

*

The quarry was a jagged scar in the earth, overgrown with twisted briars and grey moss. Aerovan stood at the edge of a thirty-foot drop, looking down at a cluster of rotted wooden targets left behind by some long-forgotten militia.

"Okay," Aerovan whispered. "Let’s see if the 'Divine' part of the name is just marketing."

He focused on the cylinder. He didn't have mana-shards yet, but the system had mentioned 'Intent.' He channeled his remaining energy—the frustration, the coldness of the King’s hall, the sting of Kael’s laughter—into the hilt.

The cylinder began to spin. Click-click-click-click.

A faint orange glow began to thrum along the flat of the black blade.

"Target locked," Aerovan muttered, mimicking the games he used to play back home.

He swung the sword in a wide, horizontal arc and pulled the trigger at the apex of the motion.

BOOM.

The sound was like a thunderclap trapped in a metal box. A crescent wave of orange kinetic energy tore from the edge of the blade, screaming through the air with a high-pitched whistle. It hit the wooden targets and didn't just break them—it vaporized them. A cloud of splinters and dust erupted into the air, followed by a shockwave that knocked Aerovan back onto his heels.

He stood there, panting, the Ignis-Edge smoking in his hand.

"Holy... okay. That works," he laughed, a jagged, manic sound. "That definitely works."

"Aerovan!"

He turned. Drovic was running toward him, his face pale with terror.

"You idiot! Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I heard it! It was amazing!"

"No, you fool!" Drovic grabbed him by the shoulder, pointing back toward the city.

Searchlights—magical beams of pure white light—were cutting through the night sky from the direction of the Royal Palace. The sound of distant trumpets echoed through the trees.

"That blast was loud enough to wake the dead!" Drovic hissed. "The Royal Guard are going to think the Abyss has opened a portal in the East District! We have to get out of here!"

Aerovan looked at the smoking blade, then at the approaching lights of the city's elite soldiers. He didn't feel afraid. For the first time since he’d arrived in this world, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"Let them come," Aerovan said, his thumb tracing the hammer of the Ignis-Edge. "I think it’s time I showed them my 'Gift'."