Victor didn't rush it.
That was the first thing Arin noticed.
Once all the black iron steel was ready, once the forge was fully under Victor's control, there was no frenzy, no excitement-driven shortcuts. Just long hours, steady heat, measured strikes, and corrections made before mistakes could settle into the metal.
Seven days.
Seven full days where the forge never truly went cold.
The first major task had already been finished early on.
Arin's sword, Midnight Howl, rested nearby, no longer the center of attention, just another piece of work Victor had moved past. The black blade still held its quiet weight, light sinking into it instead of bouncing off. The pale cloth-wrapped hilt showed faint wear already, proof that Arin had been putting it to good practice.
Victor barely looked at it now.
He'd tested it enough. Watched Arin adjust to it. Made his corrections and locked them in. There was nothing left to fix.
That was how Victor knew a piece was done.
He wiped his hands, turned back to the forge, and moved on to the next weapon, Raul's weapons.
Twin daggers were harder than they looked.
Victor spent nearly a full day just adjusting lengths, balance points, and grip width before he even committed to forging. Raul moves differently. Faster, closer, he doesn't slash wide, he cuts where there is space and disappears before retaliation.
The blades came out pitch black, slimmer than Arin's sword, slightly curved near the tip to favor slicing during high-speed movement. The hilts matched Midnight Howl's material and wrapping, white against black, built to stay steady even when Raul twisted his wrist mid-strike.
When Victor placed them side by side, they looked like they belonged together.
"Name?" Arin asked.
Victor thought for a second. "Midnight Whistles."
Raul grinned the moment he picked them up. Spun one. Then the other.
"Yeah," he said. "These are mine."
Victor moved on without ceremony.
His own weapons came next.
The warhammer took time.
He forged it heavier than anything he'd made before, a thick shaft reinforced from within, the head wide and brutal. One side was flat and squared for crushing force. The other tapered into a hardened spike, narrow enough to punch through armor or stone if the angle was right.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't meant to be elegant; it was meant to be fatal.
He named it Midnight Thunder without anyone asking.
The shield followed.
Victor took extra care with that one.
The surface came out dark and smooth, treated until it reflected light faintly instead of scattering it. When he finished polishing and stepped outside one night to inspect it, the moonlight spread across it like water.
He named it Midnight Lake.
After that, armor.
Raul came first.
Victor used the Stoneback lizard's hide for the chest and vital joints, shaping it carefully so it flexed instead of resisting movement. Sand lizard leather filled in the rest, lighter, easier to move in, layered where it mattered, and trimmed where it didn't.
He reinforced the shoulders and ribs, left the midsection free enough for Raul to twist without resistance.
He didn't forget the details.
Shoes cut from Stoneback leather, firm soles, quiet steps.
Ten throwing knives reforged from old steel, balanced for speed rather than weight.
Raul tested them immediately. Threw three without warning.
All struck clean. He was grinning ear to ear.
Arin's armor came next.
Lighter overall, but more protected where it counted. Sand lizard leather made up most of it, with Stoneback hide reinforcing joints and vulnerable points. The chest piece was black iron steel, shaped close to the body so it didn't restrict movement or pull his balance forward.
Matching shoes, same philosophy, stable, durable, not flashy.
Victor's own armor took the longest.
Full plate.
Black iron steel from collar to greaves, each piece fitted carefully so weight is distributed instead of dragging him down. Leather filled the joints, flexible and reinforced. The boots were steel as well, grounded and heavy, built for someone who intended to stand his ground.
He finished it with a knight's helmet. Simple, solid, no decoration.
When it was all done, the forge finally went quiet.
Seven days of work.
Seven days of progress.
Victor checked his panel later that night.
Soldier Rank — 79%.
He stared at the number for a while, then closed it.
The three of them trained daily after that.
Slowly at first.
Weight changes mattered. Balance mattered. Muscle memory had to be rewritten.
Arin practiced swings until his shoulders burned, adjusting footwork to match the sword instead of forcing it to adapt to him. Raul ran drills until sweat soaked his wraps, learning how the daggers responded at full speed. Victor took hits against his shield and hammer, testing how the armor absorbed impact, how long he could hold position before strain crept in.
They didn't rush.
They corrected mistakes early.
And once the weapons felt like extensions instead of tools, they talked about what came next.
Stoneback lizards.
Rasir had mentioned it the way people talked about bad weather, something everyone knew about and learned to work around.
Stoneback lizards nested beneath the Black Iron Mine. Deep pockets where the tunnels widened, places where the sound of metal on stone carried farther than it should. Sometimes the noise drew them up. Sometimes it didn't. Either way, the miners learned where not to linger.
The mine itself worked in their favor.
The tunnels were narrow, cut for carts and men, not beasts. Low ceilings. Hard corners. Long stretches where a creature that size couldn't turn properly, let alone charge. Even if more than one answered the noise, they'd have to come single file.
Victor thought it over while checking the straps on his armor, eyes tracing an invisible map in his head. "If it comes to a fight," he said, "I can hold the front better than before."
Raul tested a dagger grip, rolling his wrist once. "Plenty of places to slip past it. Legs. Underside. Joints." He smirked. "Last one felt tough because we were exhausted."
Arin didn't argue. "If it turns bad, we don't force it. We pull back and reset. No hero stuff."
Both of them nodded. No one needed convincing.
They packed without rushing, food measured, water checked twice, and straps tightened until they sat right. Victor let the forge die down properly, banking the coals the way he always did. The heat faded behind them, metal cooling in silence, new weapons still clean, armor without a single dent to its name.
They looked in the direction of the Black Iron Mine; it wasn't for ore this time.
They were going to see if what they'd made could survive being used.