Chapter 524: Calling an Ancient God

Luke walked through the dark temple. It was absolute darkness, no torches, no light at all, and even his perception felt distorted. The shadows were not empty. They were made of fog, a thick black mist that blurred the path ahead. As he advanced, the fog slowly retreated, peeling away from his steps. Luke conjured black knives and let them float around him as he moved. He opened the system interface, checking a notification.

Dimensional Rift: Temple of the Demon Blacksmith

Ages ago, a blacksmith from the Spectral Demon tribe reached the pinnacle of his craft within his clan. Before vanishing, he left behind four weapons forged by his own hands, scattered throughout this dimension as minor treasures. Each one serves as a key leading toward the hidden temple where his masterpiece rests.

But only one deemed worthy may open the temple. To inherit his legacy, one must answer the riddle the master smith left behind:

“Among the four weapons I created… which one holds my true treasure?”

Treasures Found: 4/4

There were no further hints. Just enter the temple and claim the legacy. Luke drew his kukris. The moment the blades left their sheaths, the fog began to thin, and the corridor slowly lit up as torches ignited on their own along the walls.

The weapon is connected to the temple. That tracks.

The interior was familiar, similar to the other temples he had visited. He already knew how to move through a place like this.

If the pattern holds, the treasure should be where I found the Tsukumogami no Me.

As he walked down the corridor, he noticed the murals carved into the walls. In the other temples, the images always depicted demon-wraiths working at forges. Here, there was only one.

Luke stopped in front of one carving.

“This one doesn’t have the black thread.”

In every other depiction he had seen, the wraiths bore a black thread emerging from their abdomen, connected to a monstrous entity that lingered near them as they forged.

“Behold the Great Demon Blacksmith, the Demonic Apparition,” Luke read aloud as the system translated the unknown language etched into the stone.

“The first of his kind to create a beast.”

As he continued forward, the murals unfolded like a timeline. The wraith battled powerful creatures, harvested parts from their bodies, extracted their cores, and hammered something into existence.

The final carving showed the wraith holding a spherical object. In the next image, he sat upon a throne, other wraiths kneeling before him. Now, a black thread extended from his abdomen, linking him to a beast at his side.

At last, Luke reached the treasure chamber. He pushed the doors open. The room was completely swallowed by black fog, yet a sharp white glow sliced through it from the center.

The legacy.

He stepped toward the glowing object. The door behind him slammed shut. Whispers rose from every direction. The black mist began to churn, twisting and condensing until a figure emerged. It resembled a grim reaper, but beneath the hood was a horned skeleton.

The fog shifted again, birthing more of them, until the chamber was filled with wraithlike figures.

“I’m guessing you didn’t come here to talk,” Luke said calmly.

They answered with a deep, guttural scream and charged, wielding blades formed from condensed mist. Luke struck first. With a spinning motion, he hurled a kukri. The blade hit one of the wraiths and the creature dissolved instantly into fog. Luke pulled the weapon back midair with magnetism and pressed forward.

He deflected their attacks, steel clashing against vaporous blades. The wraiths moved with coordination, spreading out, flanking him, one drawing his focus while another attacked from a blind spot.

Luke cut them down anyway. Every slash tore them apart. Every strike caused another wraith to unravel into mist. When the last wraith fell, it let out a final, hollow scream, reaching for him as it dissolved. The black fog faded with it, thinning until the chamber fell silent once more.

Luke looked around. The damned things resembled Nazgûl.

Or at least what he imagined them to be. They also reminded him, uncomfortably so, of how he himself had looked while using [Wraith Form].

The chamber was now fully visible. The black mist was gone, replaced by torchlight that had ignited along the walls. At the far end stood a throne, and upon it sat a statue, its shape strikingly similar to the carvings he had seen outside.

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“The Demon Blacksmith,” Luke murmured. “Or at least a representation of him.”

Something floated before the demonic statue, glowing softly. Luke approached with caution, eyes never leaving the statue’s hand, which held a chalice as if frozen mid-toast. As he drew closer, the glow dimmed and began to take shape. A hammer formed in midair, suspended as if by an unseen will. A notification appeared the moment he stepped within reach.

**Congratulations! You have successfully reached the legacy of the Demon Blacksmith, the first among the Demonic Wraiths to forge a Core capable of awakening a Spectral Beast. Your achievement has granted you the title of Demon Blacksmith, a path countless smiths across the multiverse beg to attain. And now, you stand before it.**

Another prompt followed immediately.

[Do you wish to accept entry into the Order of the Demon Blacksmith and change your profession from Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya to Apprentice of the Demon Blacksmith?]

Then a massive warning flared across his vision.

[Warning: By accepting a profession change outside your natural evolutionary path, ALL acquired skills will be permanently lost, along with ALL Attribute Points gained. Returning to your original profession will be impossible.]

Luke stepped back instantly.

Change professions? Not a chance in hell.

He would have to give up everything, including the core skills of Mother Freya’s Path and [Acid Blood Arrow].

Luke stared at the floating hammer.

Joining an Order and abandoning my profession… is this what Azazel wanted me to do?