Pillar of Yita

First and foremost, it was a craftsman.

And only then a warrior.

Yet being a warrior was not its aim.

Fang Hong recalled in an instant, the day he first met the Tower Guard and conversed with Odin, the words the other had said to him:

’Many aspire to reach it, but how many truly do?’

’A combat artisan is not necessarily the correct path; people always remember the glory and thus forget some fundamental things—’

What is the essence of a craftsman? Perhaps the Great Alchemist Ade pointed out such a path to people; he himself was a dual-element luminary of his time, with countless paths originally available to him—

Whether becoming a Dragon Knight.

Or a combat artisan.

Either could leave a dazzling legacy.

But he chose another path, one that opened a new era for mortals after the Numelin Elves.

This path was akin to what Fang Hong’s nominal mentor, Hain Famm, had chosen, but coincidentally, the latter was also a student of this great alchemist. It seemed in some sense, Fang Hong had inherited this legacy from both.

Suddenly, he understood what he needed to do.

He opened his system and indeed found that after passing the sixth trial, besides the original Basic Skills and Ether Theory, another skill line was now active, the core skills of Alchemy.

Alchemy and Creation, along with a series of Forging, Woodworking, and Material Metallurgy, Object Identification Skills.

Fang Hong looked up.

The Tower Guard quietly nodded at him.

Whether strengthening these basic skills unrelated to combat artisans could enhance his combat power, Fang Hong didn’t know, but all he knew was that perhaps this could help him overcome this hurdle. This was the only issue that presently mattered to him.

He thought for just a moment, then made a firm decision and clicked.

Skill enhancement was no different from before, with no earth-shattering commotion, just a subtle, gentle change.

Fang Hong watched as each of his skills related to forging and creation increased by one basic level; besides the change in numbers, there seemed to be no other obvious difference. He pursed his lips and picked up a piece of material again from the ground, heavy in his hands.

At that moment, an inexplicable sensation arose within his heart.

It was as if the parched soil of thought was receiving a gentle rainfall, a steady stream of inspiration welled up from an unknown place deep within him, ringing clearly in the darkness. Naturally, Fang Hong heard that sound—a thought naturally formed in his heart.

In his hand was a piece of cold iron.

This is a proud metal.

It has rebellious ether conductivity, and its soul attribute makes it hard to meld with other alloys.

Even fairies dislike this metal—because it is the enemy of their kind, and besides this, it seems to have little use.

So even dwarf artisans rarely use this metal to forge weapons and armor, except for some artisans deep underground who consider extracting such a metal from minerals when battling the creatures there.

Cold iron glows faintly in the dark, and so it was called Light’s Vein in ancient history.

But unlike mithril, which also originates from Light’s Vein—

The cold iron, born alongside, is the shadow of this king, seemingly destined to symbolize the king’s solitude.

Suddenly, a sense of poignancy rose up in Fang Hong’s heart.

In the mystic, his gaze crossed the boundaries of imagination, as if seeing a coastline swept by harsh winds—the jagged coast extending in the freezing cold, those moonlit white sharp rocks bearing witness to each grueling winter of the Scepter Coast.

And it will be a long, ice-covered season, a king betrayed by his subjects—travelling with ravens under a solitary moon.

The cold wind lifted this monarch’s tattered cloak, the longsword in his hand shimmering with a pale flame, and the realm of the living could no longer accommodate the will of this lonely king, wherever his iron hooves tread—accompanied by the spread of the Black Forest, only sounding with the long call of horns.

Resonating in Fang Hong’s thoughts.

The icy cold metal in his hand was slowly changing shape.

Five streams of light flowed among the starry structural points. This was not the limit of multiple parallels, but as Fang Hong closed his eyes, completely focused, the light in his hand became almost visible, leaving five faint light patterns on the cold iron.

Shimmering softly, with silvery brilliance.

The Tower Guard, witnessing this scene, finally raised his head and glanced at Fang Hong.

Fivefold parallel.

The light flow became materialized.

At this moment, what he saw was no longer a young man, but the beginning of a legendary craftsman.

The Tower Guard knew that the man named ’Odin’ never minced words, merely recognizing talent in his eyes did not mean he would appreciate it. The Tower Guard, having observed the passage of time, seen the birth of many geniuses, understood that combat was not the entirety of a craftsman’s significance.

The Tower Guard would occasionally recall.

Why was he here?

He couldn’t help but remember the initial promise he had made.

Only, after a long passage of time, he finally awaited the second person to arrive.