Eugene Smithson still sat quietly by the Ghostfire Pool. Ember Doom and Fiona Blaze were constantly attuning themselves to the forces within the Ghostfire Pool, while Eugene Smithson occasionally shook his head. In one hand, he held an orange-red stone; in the other, a small sphere already reworked by Black Moon.
All I could do was keep waiting. Jade Zeng stood silently off to the side, her face still shadowed by worry, even though I’d already promised I wouldn’t turn her into a tree.
The others followed Eugene Smithson’s instructions, searching for those naturally-formed stones. When he said ‘naturally-formed,’ he didn’t mean stones of superior quality, but ones like the piece he held—distinct, different from the rest. These stones were still fairly common in the underworld, but I had no idea what kind of weapon he could possibly forge from such poor materials.
Growing impatient, I walked over and picked up an orange-red stone, clutching it in my hand. With just a little force, the stone crumbled to dust. This kind of material wouldn’t just fail to forge weapons, but Eugene Smithson had already told me not to interfere.
"It’ll do," he said.
As Eugene Smithson spoke, Fiona Blaze and Ember Doom stopped what they were doing. Eugene began slowly adding the materials piled beside him into the now somewhat subdued Ghostfire Pool. The pool cleared up a little, and faint red could be seen in the water.
The orange-red stone landed on the surface of the Ghostfire Pool and began to ignite on its own. But the meager flames weren’t enough to quickly dissolve the stone. Eugene Smithson took out a sword casting mold for forging weapons, setting it aside as he prepared his tools, waiting for the stone to melt so he could pour the molten liquid into the mold.
One stone after another was placed into the Ghostfire Pool. Eugene Smithson watched quietly from the side. I was already running out of patience, but I still intended to watch Eugene forge an entire sword, hoping to learn something. Although I could forge weapons myself, it was only thanks to memories of dead souls swallowed by the underworld, not true skill. Eugene, on the other hand, was different—his craftsmanship had been marked by history.
I walked over to Eugene Smithson.
"It’s too difficult to melt this with such little power," I said.
As I spoke, the orange-red stone glowed faintly, but on the surface, there was no sign of melting in the flames. Eugene Smithson just smiled helplessly and shook his head.
"If you don’t believe me, just wait until the first weapon is finished. You can have its wielder and that young lady behind you test it for themselves."
I nodded and glanced back at Jade Zeng, who stood stiffly beside the stone, still watching us with a trace of fear.
Finally, I saw signs of melting on the surface of the orange-red stone. It wasn’t very obvious, but the stone had cracked, and some orange-red liquid slowly dripped onto the surface of the Ghostfire Pool, drifting quietly in the fierce flames.
"Don’t you need water?" I asked.
I asked, and Eugene Smithson just smiled, nodding slightly as he replied.
"I’ve already asked the young lady to fetch it for me."
I figured it must be Pyra Blaze. She wasn’t here, so Eugene Smithson must have sent her to fetch something.
Sure enough, after a short while, I saw Pyra Blaze carrying a large stream of black water over. As she approached, I realized it was Bitterwater.
"Why not use Tears instead?"
I asked, puzzled. This Bitterwater at the edge of the underworld falls endlessly from above, day and night. It doesn’t hold much power—using it to forge weapons feels almost pitifully inadequate.
Eugene Smithson said nothing, still waiting. Gradually, I saw the stones begin to dissolve, streams of orange-red liquid drifting above the Ghostfire Pool. Eugene swirled his tool in the pool, sending ripples of orange-red across its surface. Soon, these liquids formed ring-like patterns, quietly shifting and morphing as if alive.
"How much longer will it take?"
I asked, but Eugene Smithson simply shook his head.
"I really can't say."
Time passed—I'd grown impatient. Just then, Eugene Smithson finally smiled and shook his head.
"If you can't wait, you can go outside for a while."
"Boss, I’ll keep watch. If it’s done, I’ll notify you right away."
I gave a quiet nod and drifted upward. The underworld was pitch black, so I decided to enter the mirror world. With a thought, I was standing on a pristine white beach, looking around—Zachary Justice wasn’t here.
I sat helplessly on the sand, pondering everything Eugene Smithson had done. Regret gnawed at me—I had no idea what kind of infernal weapon he could forge. The materials he’d chosen were so poor, no matter how much you refine them, you can’t change their nature.
The outcome was obvious: whatever weapon Zachary Justice forged wouldn't stand a chance against Jade Zeng. As a wraith, Jade Zeng’s resentment was overwhelming, and for my own weapon, I’d picked the best materials available—even if its appearance was lacking.
I stood up as a mirror gate opened behind me. I stepped through the glass and entered an ancient city. Every household door was made of glass. I looked around, then walked down the street—the daylight was blinding.
I remembered a ghost lived here. Sure enough, after a few steps, a pale, tragic face appeared in the glass door—a ghost emerged instantly.
"You’re here, Justice."
I gave a quiet nod. In this ghost’s eyes, I was just another spirit in the mirror world.
"By the way, Lucas, have you visited any other ghost’s territory lately?"
I asked. The ghost before me—Lucas Zuo—shook his head. His power ranked high in the mirror world, and I knew the position of every ghost here.
"Justice, I haven’t left my territory lately. Why are you here?"
I smiled, shaking my head helplessly.
"Honestly, I’m just bored, so I came over."
I’d shared many drinks with Lucas Zuo before. He was talkative, and most importantly, a master forger.
"Actually, I remembered an old friend who always forged weapons from inferior materials. I’ve always wondered—so I wanted to ask you, Lucas."
Lucas Zuo’s interest was piqued. With a wave, a tavern door swung open, flooding the air with the scent of wine and food. Everything inside was reversed and strange. We entered, taking seats on the second floor by the street, and began to drink.
"Tell me more."
Lucas Zuo looked bored. I started talking about Eugene Smithson, though I didn’t mention his name—just described my odd swordsmith friend who always chose inferior materials and kept the forge at a low temperature, melting things slowly.
Lucas Zuo burst out laughing.
"Sounds like your friend is a master swordsmith."
I looked at Lucas Zuo in surprise. Originally, I’d planned to ask Eugene Smithson directly, but he’d only given me fragments and never the whole story. Even if I asked, he wouldn’t tell me everything.
"Back when I was alive, our workshop had a famous swordsmith. He always forged swords from leftover scraps, yet they turned out formidable. I couldn’t understand it—I even spied on him a few times and finally discovered the secret."
"What was it?"
I pressed him, but Lucas Zuo just smiled mysteriously and shook his head.
"Drink."
We drank several rounds, but Lucas Zuo just smiled and said nothing more.
"Maybe I couldn’t understand while I was alive, but after death, I’ve had all the time in the world to ponder. When we finish drinking, I’ll take you to my workshop."
I nodded, resigned to accompany Lucas Zuo and chat idly. After many drinks, he finally left the tavern, leading me into a narrow alley.
The alley twisted and turned. Lucas Zuo seemed drunk. He brought me to a small courtyard, opened the door, and inside was a forge with weapons hanging everywhere—some ruined, some looking quite fine.
Lucas Zuo went to the furnace. I saw all kinds of ore—none of it looked special. He picked up the worst ones, lit the forge, tossed them in, and began smelting. Then he lay down beside the furnace.
"Wake me when the stones inside melt."
Seeing this, I knew I could only wait.
Night gradually fell, but the stones in the furnace still hadn’t melted. The fire was so small it would take ages to dissolve the ore.
I could barely sit still. I wanted to leave, but just then Lucas Zuo woke up—it was already night.
"Justice, you seem anxious. Forging can’t be rushed—it takes time. The hammering process is even longer."
I nodded. Lucas Zuo sighed.
"If only I’d understood the master’s secret while I was alive—I wouldn’t have ended up like this."
I nodded. Lucas Zuo had only ever told me fragments of his story—he’d been pushed into a mirror-making vat and boiled alive.
The first time I met him, his appearance was horrifying—his whole body was half-melted, his features unrecognizable.
"In the end, the quality of a weapon depends on the skill of its maker, not the materials. That’s what a thousand strikes and a hundred refinements mean."