The Nameless Heir
Chapter 81: The Godsmith

Chapter 81: The Godsmith

The three children of Hephaestus had spent a decent amount of time walking him through the basics—how hard to strike, where to hold the steel, how to listen for the sound that meant it was ready. They were patient. All three brothers passed on the knowledge they had received from their father.

But the downside was that he needed them. He needed the hammer that was passed on to every child of Hephaestus to be able to forge divine weapons. Without it, it was nothing more than useless metal.

So Kael wouldn’t let them touch the forge.

Not this one.

Not with his fire.

He knew the flames that danced at their fingertips were divine—refined, controlled, obedient. But the fire his dragon carried was the opposite.

It didn’t obey.

It only devoured. The dragon of domination.

And he couldn’t risk them getting too close. He couldn’t afford to lose them—not now. They were the only children of Hephaestus, and he didn’t have an unlimited supply of them.

It was about survival.

So he took the hammer in one hand. It was light, yet dense. With the other, he lifted up the gold longsword. It looked fancy, like something a noble would use—not because it was powerful, but because it looked expensive.

He turned to the dragon. "Okay, now."

The dragon inhaled.

Then—FWOOOOOM.

Fire ripped across the stone, hitting the blade. The sword didn’t melt. Instead, it burned brighter, darker, until the glow turned beautiful reddish gold, like blood in sunlight.

CLANG.

He gripped the hammer tight and raised it high. His shoulders tensed. Then, he swung down. The hammer struck, sharp and heavy. Sparks exploded, flying everywhere.

Again.

And again.

Each strike tore through the silence, brutal and loud, like Zeus’s lightning splitting the sky.

He struck again, each blow reshaping the blade. He wanted the blade lighter, shorter, sharper. He wanted it perfect.

Each strike made the shadows around him recoil. Slowly, they slithered toward him and coiled tighter around his body, trembling with every blow like they could feel being called.

Every impact sent tremors through the ground.

Even the River Styx—silent and unyielding—shivered under the weight of it, waves rippling out as if the forge itself could bend death.

Each strike tightened his muscles, sweat dripping down his brow. His palm began to blister, the tearing heat eating into his skin with every blow.

He didn’t flinch.

He drove the blade into the River Styx. It hissed like gurgling blood. The river’s thick, oil-like waters latched onto the steel, feeding it minerals, soaking in and fusing with the blade, becoming part of the Underworld, part of Kael.

Then he lifted it up again, and the dragon lit the sword up once more.

Again.

And again.

Until the dragon’s fire no longer had any effect on it.

Instead... it gave the blade a glow.

Not dull. Not scorched.

But something beautiful—a shine of red and gold, flickering like it had been touched by both death and divinity.

He turned to the three.

"Is it done?"

They didn’t answer.

Their eyes were locked on the sword, unmoving. And that silence... told him everything.

He let out a slow breath through his nose. He flexed his fingers. They felt slightly numb, but he was fine. He picked up the sword he’d forged.

"Not bad," he muttered. The blade pulsed in his grip, warm to the touch.

"Now make it portable."

He glanced down, then back at them.

"I’m thinking... a bracelet."

While they worked on the first blade, Kael moved to the shield and the short sword.

He didn’t hesitate, just picked up the hammer and began again.

Same process. First fire. Then dip in the River Styx. Same unrelenting rhythm.

He struck again and again, pouring in sweat, heat, and silence. He didn’t stop until the sword was perfect.

It couldn’t have flaws. It had to be the perfect fit for her.

When he pulled it from the water one last time, it shimmered, silver and black, like shadow wrapped in moonlight.

He turned back to the three.

"These ones... make them into earrings."

He turned to the three.

"Good job," he said simply, his voice steady.

"You three will be in charge of forging weapons for all the soldiers."

Their faces went still, like he had asked them to do the impossible.

He saw it in their eyes. The fear. The weight. The sheer scale of what he was asking.

He knew it was impossible for only three to build weapons for millions.

He let out a soft laugh. "Don’t worry, I won’t make you three do all the work." He looked at them. "How many men do you think you’ll need?"

One of them, the elder-looking, exhaled through his nose. "Depends how many you’re expecting."

Kael folded his arms. "Enough to shake Olympus."

The second brother let out a low whistle. "That’s not forging—that’s war."

The third one stepped forward. "We’ll need more hands. A real forge team."

Kael tilted his head. "How many?"

They glanced at each other, a short, silent exchange between brothers.

The eldest spoke first. "Normal soldiers will be fine. It’s doable, but it’ll be slow—unless you bring in Cyclopes."

Kael’s gaze sharpened. "You think they’ll answer a call?"

"They barely answered our father," one of them muttered. "They’ve buried themselves so deep in their caves, most forgot they even exist."

"They’re good," the youngest added quietly. "But they are tired of being imprisoned."

Kael dragged a hand down his face, jaw tight.

"What a damn hassle," he muttered. He knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Then he straightened, eyes steady.

"It’s fine. I’ll handle it."

He turned to the dragon, but paused.

That’s when he realized he’d never given it a name.

"Hey, buddy..." he called out, voice a little softer. "How do you like the name Baal?"

The dragon jerked its head up. Its wings snapped open with a shriek that tore through the Underworld—primal and deafening.

Kael smirked. "Good. You like it."

He turned to the three brothers.

"Take Baal home."

They didn’t speak, just climbed onto the dragon’s back. The wings snapped once, twice, then they were gone, swallowed by the dark clouds, disappearing toward the far castle.

Kael stayed behind.

He stood at the edge of the River Styx, silent.

The water shifted slow in front of him, right where he’d fought Charon and won.

The place where his destiny began.