The forge-light poured down evenly and steadily, dyeing all of Nidavellir in warm gold.
It was as if new life had been injected into a world of cold dead steel. Every corner of the metal structure seemed to ring with vitality.
The air was filled with pure stellar energy, warming every dwarf's skin. Under that nourishing breath, it felt as if power within their bodies was being awakened.
Yet none of them paid attention to those changes.
Their eyes, their souls, every heart—were nailed to the figure slowly descending from the air.
Lucci landed quietly, as if he had only just brushed dust from his clothes—despite having accomplished a miracle worthy of being recorded in cosmic history.
His calm gaze swept the crowd: frozen, sluggish, frightened faces. His heart did not waver in the slightest.
Dwarf King Eitri still maintained that wide-eyed, absurd posture. After dozens of seconds of complete mental shutdown, his brain finally began working again.
What had he seen?
He had seen a young Asgardian prince use his own body to guide neutron star light.
He had seen world-destroying energy become as obedient as a household pet in that youth's hands.
He had watched the forge he and his people had revered for tens of thousands of years be reignited by the boy in a way utterly beyond comprehension…
…and it was running better.
Yes—better!
As a dwarf king who had lived beside the forge for thousands of years, Eitri could clearly feel it: the forge's stability and the purity of its energy were more perfect than ever.
Meaning: the quality of their future weapons would leap by an entire tier.
Shame.
An incomparable shame flooded Eitri's heart. He remembered how he had once looked down on Lucci—his self-righteous warnings and arrogant face.
Looking back now, it was like a primitive who had only just learned to make fire lecturing a god who commanded the sun on how to use flame.
How ignorant.
How ridiculous.
Before true "gods," they were nothing more than children playing in the mud!
Eitri's thick body began to tremble violently—no longer from fear, but from deep reverence and piety from the bottom of his soul.
He stared at Lucci's face. It was far too young—yet seemed to contain mysteries as deep as the universe itself.
His final mental defenses collapsed.
While all the dwarves were still trapped in stunned silence, Eitri made a move nobody expected.
That iron-tower body stepped forward sharply.
Thud.
The ruler of Nidavellir, the famed master smith of the cosmos—Eitri—dropped to one knee before Lucci without hesitation!
"Your Highness!"
That shout was like thunder, jolting every dwarf out of their stupor. They stared at their king in disbelief—
He was performing the dwarves' highest and oldest rite of worship… for an Asgardian youth!
"Forgive my ignorance! Forgive my arrogance!"
Eitri's voice shook violently with emotion, every word squeezed from the depths of his soul.
"I—Eitri—and all the dwarves of Nidavellir… were blind!"
"You didn't come here to learn forging from us!"
"You came to teach us! To enlighten us!"
Eitri suddenly lifted his face. There was not a shred of disdain or doubt left in his eyes—only the fanatic reverence of the most faithful believers worshiping their god.
He declared with utmost solemnity to all of Nidavellir, to the starry cosmos itself:
"You are the true God of Forging!"
Those four words struck every dwarf's heart as if they carried infinite power.
Yes!
Only a true God of Forging could accomplish all this.
Who else could control neutron star power in the palm of their hand?
After a brief daze, the dwarves erupted like dry tinder thrown into flame. The shock and awe in their hearts turned into raging frenzy.
Like a tide, they fell to their knees.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Thousands of dwarves faced Lucci and knelt together.
This world of steel and flame—Nidavellir—became the most sacred temple in that moment.
And Lucci alone was the god they believed in.
"My god above—please accept the humblest servant's most devout reverence!"
The tsunami of worship roared like a world-shaking flood, echoing endlessly through the ring-world.
In Asgard.
When the curtain of light displayed the sight of thousands of dwarves kneeling like a tide, chanting "God of Forging," the heart that had been stuck in Odin's throat finally sank heavily back into his chest.
"Hah…"
He leaned into his throne. In his one eye, along with lingering shock, there was an indescribable pride.
As expected of Lucci.
No wonder Odin regarded him as Asgard's future.
His actions had completely surpassed the realm of "miracles" and stepped into the realm of "myths."
"Your Majesty…" Heimdall's voice carried a dreamlike unreality. "Are we… witnessing the birth of a new god?"
Odin heard this and gave a complex smile. He shook his head, then nodded again, and finally spoke softly:
"No, Heimdall.
What we're witnessing… may be the rise of an existence above the gods."
That terrifying neutron star furnace—handled by Lucci as casually as drawing a line.
It was precisely this calm, effortless ease that shocked Odin the most.
It proved that the earth-shattering scene just now might have been nothing more than a raised hand to Lucci.
Where was his limit?
Even Odin could no longer imagine it.
Just as the atmosphere in the hall was shifting from tension into exhilaration, quick and graceful footsteps sounded outside.
"Odin!"
Queen Frigga rushed in, clutching her skirts, her voice sharp with anxiety. Her elegant, luxurious face was visibly tense and uneasy.
"I saw the healers from the elf palaces rushing toward the Rainbow Bridge—and they brought the highest-grade divine medicines from the treasury! I asked, and they said it was your order!"
She strode to the throne, seized Odin's arm, and asked with worried eyes:
"Tell me, Odin—what happened?
Who are those healers for?
Is Thor there? Is he badly injured?"
Seeing his wife's anxious expression, Odin couldn't help but laugh lightly.
"Oh, my dear—don't be nervous. Those healers were prepared for Lucci."
"Lucci?"
At that name, Frigga's face went pale. Her eyes darkened, her body trembling, almost unsteady.
"What?! Prepared for Lucci?!"
Her voice rose at once, filled with fear and disbelief.
"Is he injured?!
How badly?!
Where is he—where is he now? Tell me! I'm going to see him!"
Frigga panicked completely. Gripping Odin's arm, her nails nearly dug into his skin.
In her heart: Lucci was talented, yes—but he was still a child, a treasure held in the palm.
Hearing he might be seriously hurt—hurt her a hundred times more than being injured herself.
"Don't worry, my love, don't worry!"
Odin was momentarily stunned, then quickly supported and comforted her.
"Listen—Lucci… he's fine. He did very well."
"Fine?"
Frigga stared blankly, then looked at Odin with suspicion and confusion.
"Lucci is fine… then why did you have all the healers prepare?
Odin, what exactly are you doing? Do you know you scared me to death?!"
Faced with his wife's interrogation, even Odin—the supreme god-king of the Nine Realms—could only give a helpless look and explain with a bitter smile that somehow carried a Versailles-like tone:
"The reason I gave that order is because… just now, on Nidavellir, our son Lucci—unarmed—restarted the neutron star furnace."
Odin tried to describe it in the simplest tone, but the words "bare hands" and "neutron star furnace" hit Frigga's heart like a heavy hammer.
Frigga's mouth parted slightly. Her beautiful eyes filled with confusion and shock. Her brain couldn't process the information for a while.
Seeing this, Odin could only recreate the scene from within the curtain of light inside Frigga's mind through divine power—
The miracle-like sight: Lucci bathed in forge-light, while thousands of dwarves knelt.
When that vivid image formed, Frigga was completely stunned—no less than Odin and Heimdall had been.
But after the brief shock, what rose in her heart was not pride—
It was fear.
Endless fear.
When she came back to herself, Frigga didn't feel Lucci's strength the way Odin did. Instead, she glared, twisted Odin's arm, and started scolding him:
"Odin! Just look at what you've done!"
"You never should have let him go alone to such a dangerous place!
Nidavellir! A place that dangerous—how could you be at ease sending him alone?"
"How are you even a father!"
"What if… if something really happened?!"
Even the supreme god-king could only stand there with a bitter smile, obediently letting the Queen of the Gods vent her frustation.
What could he say?
"My dear, I couldn't stop him"?
Or "I believed he could do it"?
Odin sighed helplessly and endured it in silence—yet deep inside, he couldn't help feeling a sweet, aching worry.
His son was walking farther and farther ahead of the heavens.
And sometimes… that was heartbreaking.
…
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