A different world game? A different world game!

In the mines of the spiritual world.

Mining continues.

When the ore piled up to almost fill the empty space, making it difficult to even find a foothold, the scene before us underwent another bizarre and unbelievable transformation.

The mountain of ore mysteriously disappeared, as if wiped away by an invisible giant hand.

Instead, a giant forging furnace suddenly appeared in the very center of the mine, its furnace chamber blazing with bright orange-red flames and radiating scorching heat.

The fire leaped wildly, the heat distorting the surrounding air and producing a deep, chilling roar.

Varn showed no surprise whatsoever, as if this extraordinary change was a natural and inevitable step.

He silently bent down, picked up the cold, rough ore at his feet, one piece after another, his movements steady and powerful, and threw them into the gaping maw of the seemingly insatiable, greedily open forge.

The blazing flames instantly and fiercely devoured the cold ore in the intense heat that could melt anything.

The hard stone painfully softened, twisted, and melted, eventually turning into pools of molten metal that flowed hot and emitted a blinding white light, like liquid stars, which churned and boiled violently inside the furnace.

Immediately afterwards, the entire space seemed to be stretched, twisted, and reshaped by an invisible, immense force.

The deep, dark mine caverns vanished completely, like a faded curtain.

He found himself in a fully equipped, bustling blacksmith's workshop with a blazing furnace.

The massive leather bellows thumped and gurgled rhythmically, the flames inside the furnace burned wildly, crackling and popping, and a sturdy, heavy, dark anvil stood firmly in the most conspicuous position in the center of the workshop.

Varn's sharp gaze swept across the area, finally settling on the ground beside the anvil—where a heavy, black forging hammer was firmly planted, its head displaying an astonishing and chilling weight.

Without hesitation, he strode over, firmly grasped the cold hammer handle with one hand, and easily pulled it up with a little force. The hammer felt heavy, reassuring, and powerful.

With practiced ease, he used long-handled iron tongs to carefully remove from the roaring furnace the lump of crimson metal, which had been refined to perfection and was radiating astonishing heat and dazzling incandescent light. The metal was so intense that the edges of the lump even slightly distorted the air due to the extreme heat.

He placed it steadily on the cold, hard, dark anvil.

"clang--!"

The first hammer blow, accompanied by the sound of tearing through the air and carrying the explosive power gathered throughout his body, fell fiercely!

Mars shot out in all directions like an explosive golden shower of stars!
It illuminated Varn's focused and resolute face, with beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks.

The scorching yet supple metal was violently deformed and stretched out in agony under the thunderous impact of the hammer.

Varn's mind was completely and selflessly immersed in the primal, powerful, and rhythmic forging process.

Despite having no memory of it, he was surprisingly adept at forging, as if he had forged it a million times before.

Each hammer blow lands precisely where it is needed, containing the pure power to shatter stone and split rocks.

It was as if the experience and wisdom of countless generations of great blacksmiths were flowing into his arms and his soul through the smooth, shiny hammer handle.

He "felt" that every tiny impurity inside the metal was being driven away and crushed by the relentless force of the hammer.

I could "feel" that its internal structure, under the dual effects of softening at high temperatures and powerful shaping by heavy hammers, was becoming denser, more uniform, and stronger than ever before, as if it had been reborn.

The "feeling" of being forged, which had been vaguely experienced in the furnace before, now became incredibly clear and profound, imprinted on every sensory cell.

He is completely focused on personally using his will as an inextinguishable flame and his strength as a shaping hammer to endow this chaotic metal with a "solid" and immortal soul form and a tenacious will.

The resounding, rhythmic hammer blows echoed continuously, like the stirring war drums on a battlefield.

The red-hot metal block on the anvil was gradually shaped, stretched, and thinned through repeated folding, forging, and tempering, eventually revealing the prototype of a longsword with a restrained cold light, straight and hard lines, and initial sharpness.

Then came a loud, piercing hiss during quenching, as the scalding metal collided with the icy liquid, instantly sending up plumes of white steam.

Then came the long, sharp, and ear-piercing sound of sand and metal rubbing together during the grinding process...

When the final meticulous process was completed, what Varn held in his hand was no longer a piece of raw ore, but a real longsword with a cold gleam, sharp edge, smooth yet rigid lines, and an indomitable and unbreakable will.

This longsword looks so simple and ordinary.

But in Varne's eyes, he was so important, so profoundly meaningful, as if he carried the entire meaning of his existence at that moment.

The sword was cold to the touch, yet it seemed to still silently contain the undying heat and indestructible soul forged from the depths of the furnace.

Holding the longsword he had personally mined from ore, refined in a furnace, and forged millions of times on an anvil, Varn slowly turned around.

He walked with steady steps, carrying a subtle solemnity, toward the heavy wooden door of the blacksmith's workshop, which had been quietly opened at some point.

As soon as he stepped out the door, the scene before him collapsed and vanished like a shattered mirror, only to instantly reform and solidify.

The warm and bright workshop was completely replaced by an endless, suffocating desolation and deathly silence.

He stood on a vast, lifeless battlefield.

The sky was a suffocating, leaden gray, and the earth was charred and cracked, like the skeleton of a giant beast.

As far as the eye could see, there were only broken walls and ruins, shattered chariots, twisted and broken spears, mottled and rusted swords, and... countless corpses lying on the ground, long since decayed into bare white bones.

The heavy stench of blood and rust has long since been dried by time, leaving only the pungent smell of dust mixed with the stench of decay and the scent of eternal death.

A deathly silence enveloped everything like a heavy curtain, yet it seemed as if countless souls were silently shouting and wailing, and the thunderous war drums echoed dully in the void, while desperate roars drifted intermittently in the biting wind.

A tattered yet stubbornly standing flag fluttered in the mournful wind.

The symbol on the banner, though stained and riddled with holes, is still clearly recognizable—a burning, indomitable torch, which is the emblem of the Night's Watch!
at this time!

"Ho-!"

A superhuman battle cry, filled with ferocious killing intent and icy resolve, suddenly ripped through the heavy silence.

Ahead, a blurry yet menacing figure suddenly burst out from behind a towering pile of wreckage.

He wore a kind of old-fashioned light armor, full of deep dents and grotesque cracks, and his helmet completely covered his face, revealing only a pair of eyes that burned with cold, emotionless flames.

That chilling makeup made Varne frown.

The soldier's attire seemed to instinctively trigger something in his otherwise empty mind, yet he couldn't recall anything as if it were shrouded in a thick fog.

All that remained was a surge of intense emotional disgust and cold hatred from the depths of my heart.

The enemy gripped a broadsword, equally scarred yet still gleaming with deadly sharpness, tightly in both hands. With a resolute determination to die, he charged towards Varn like an arrow released from a bow, unleashing a furious and unstoppable momentum.

The powerful winds generated by the charge violently whipped up gray-black dust from the ground, creating a terrifying and astonishing spectacle.

Varn's pupils suddenly contracted. Without thought, without memory, only the fighting instinct, ingrained in his bones by the raging lava flows, the deep burial of mineral veins, and the countless blows of the forging hammer, was instantly ignited like a dormant volcano.

Almost reflexively, he straightened up and stood at attention, gripping the longsword he had forged with both hands like iron clamps, raising it diagonally to assume the most basic yet most stable blocking stance.

Clang—!!!

A deafening, ear-piercing metallic clang suddenly erupted!

The Night's Watch warrior delivered a powerful and ferocious vertical slash, slamming it hard into the middle of Varn's sword.

A tremendous force surged through the blade like a tidal wave, causing Varne's arms to go numb violently, and his tiger's mouth to split open instantly, with warm blood seeping out.

The scorched earth beneath his feet was crushed several inches by this immense force.

The warrior, having missed his first strike, did not hesitate. Using the recoil, he swiftly spun around, his sword slicing through the air in a dark and deadly arc, cunningly sweeping across his waist.

It was as fast as lightning and at an extremely tricky angle.

Varn didn't have time to think; his body acted faster than his mind.

He suddenly took a step back, and at the same time, he quickly changed his longsword from a diagonal block to a downward press, barely managing to block the fierce sword blade that was sweeping across him with the spine of the sword.

"when--!"

Sparks flew everywhere like a sudden rain.

The heavy impact caused Varn to involuntarily stagger backward again, his blood and qi surging violently.

The opponent's swordsmanship was concise, efficient, and deadly, without any frills. Every strike carried the pure ruthlessness and astonishing precision honed through battlefield combat.

Varn could only grit his teeth and endure the ordeal with a tenacious will that came from his very bones and the powerful physique he had forged during the forging process.

He felt like a hot iron blank thrown into a cold, icy torrent, undergoing severe tempering through repeated violent impacts.

The Night's Watch warriors were like tireless killing machines, their attacks relentless and relentless.

Slashing, hacking, stabbing, sweeping... the cold sword light intertwined into an impenetrable net of death, firmly enveloping Varn within it.

Varn struggled to stay afloat, his thin linen clothes were torn open by several sharp sword strikes, and his skin was covered with shallow bloodstains.

He was completely on the defensive, each block accompanied by excruciating pain in his arm and the dull hum of metal colliding.

But amidst this storm of attacks, his once empty and bewildered eyes began to gleam, as if polished by the sharp sword light, and started to gather an increasingly sharp light, like that of a hawk.

He was observing calmly.

Observe your opponent's steady and rhythmic steps, explosive power, and fluid swordplay; observe how that scarred sword is transformed into a deadly weapon in their hands.

The raging torrent of lava, the deep resilience of ore, and the devastating blows of the forging hammer seemed to awaken completely within his bloodline, perfectly merging into a new, more "solid," and almost instinctive fighting instinct.

Finally, the Night's Watch warrior's powerful, diagonal slash missed its mark once more, and the blade embedded itself deeply into a charred fragment of a shield with a "thud."

There was a fleeting, yet unavoidable, pause in the movement—

Varn moved.

He stopped retreating.

He was like a volcano that had been suppressed for a long time, finally finding an outlet, and the accumulated power erupted with a roar.

He took a big step forward, his bare feet landing heavily on the scorched earth as if rooted to the ground. The power of his entire body flowed from his feet to his waist and hips like a river converging, and then surged and gathered in his arms.

The longsword in his hand was no longer a simple defensive shield, but had transformed into a vengeful thunderbolt that tore through the darkness.

There are no complicated moves, only the most direct, the fastest, and the most concentrated will and strength—a desperate straight thrust!
The sword tip, like a deadly arrow released from a bow, pierced the air with a shrill whistle, aiming with unparalleled precision at the weakest point of the Night's Watch warrior's light armor, the fatal seam that had already shown obvious damage in the fierce battle.

That thrust was swift, precise, and ruthless!
It contains the destructive explosive power that Varn learned in the lava, the rock-solid resilience he drew from the ore, and the indestructible sharpness forged through countless hammer blows.

The Night's Watch warrior's reaction was indeed swift; he instinctively tried to draw his sword to defend himself and hastily attempted to dodge to the side.

But Varn's timing for this strike was too perfect, and the speed increased dramatically, exceeding Varn's previous expectations.

That sword strike, which embodied all of Varne's experiences and will, seemed to momentarily disregard the distance in space.

"puff!"

A dull, chilling, and deadly soft thud.

The sharp tip of the sword sliced ​​through the gaps in the damaged armor plates with the precision of a hot knife through butter, and plunged deep into the strong heart of the Night's Watch warrior.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

The Night's Watch warrior's charging stance abruptly froze. The cold flame in his eyes flickered violently with resentment, then quickly dimmed and died down.

He lowered his head sluggishly and stiffly, staring incredulously at the longsword piercing his chest, then slowly raised his head again. His blurred face under his helmet seemed to reveal an indescribable sense of relief... or liberation?
He made no sound; his body, as if stripped of all support, fell softly backward without a sound, crashing heavily onto the scorched earth, kicking up a cloud of choking dust.

Varn maintained his penetrating thrusting stance, his chest heaving as he breathed slightly.

Hot, rusty blood meandered down the sword, dripping onto the parched earth with a soft hissing sound, and was quickly and greedily absorbed.

His arm muscles tensed as he slowly drew his longsword.

The moment the sword tip left the body, the Night Watchman warrior's corpse, along with his tattered armor and weapons, rapidly disintegrated and vanished like a weathered sand sculpture, turning into countless tiny, dim specks of light that merged into the desolate battlefield, as if they had never existed.

Only the longsword in Varne's hand, still stained with warm, sticky blood, and the scorched earth beneath his feet, silently testified that the brief but deadly battle had truly taken place.

A deathly silence descended upon the battlefield once more, with only the indomitable, tattered Night's Watch banner fluttering in the mournful, silent wind.

Varn stood there, looking down at the sword in his hand, then looking up blankly at the endless land of death.

The thick fog of confusion had not dissipated, but something deeper and more refined, like cooled and solidified steel, was slowly settling and taking shape in his empty chest.

He still knew nothing about himself or why he was there, but the sword in his hand, which he had personally mined from ore, refined in a furnace, and forged on an anvil millions of times, had become the only "anchor-like reality" he could grasp.

He gripped the sword hilt even tighter, his knuckles turning white from the force.

The bloodstains on the sword had not yet dried under the leaden sunlight, shimmering with a dark red luster.

He looked up, his gaze piercing through the thick dust and smoke, looking deeper into the battlefield.

There, seemingly more indistinct shadows, radiating the same chilling killing intent, stood silently, waiting...

The battle was not over; rather, the true trial of his path to "fortitude" had only just begun. (End of Chapter)