"Stairs. The godson really carved a road straight to the heavens."
"So this is what it looks like in front of a true apex. Climbing the Sacred Mountain turns effortless."
As the staircase took shape, jaws hung open. Most Fireborn could spend a lifetime and never reach these heights, yet in the hands of a real monster, the mountain’s grandeur meant nothing. Even the Sacred Mountain could not stop him from opening a path straight to the peak for those who would follow.
Orson’s act wasn’t mere force. It was a miracle unfolding in broad daylight.
"Rougher than I like, but it’ll do."
He wasn’t satisfied. Each step rose three to four meters high, running in a jagged line toward the tip of the black blade ridge. Back on Earth, a contractor this sloppy would be in cuffs before sundown.
He glanced at the chaos blade in his hand. Even if this was nothing but brute-force swings, he could feel it in his bones—every form except mage still had a lot of ceiling left.
If you’re weak, you train. He’d nagged that into Bradley and Madman. It applied just as well to himself. In real fights, no demon or god gave you time to adjust.
The steps were tall, but for Fireborn that was no obstacle. The kids scrambled up and vaulted into the Thirtieth Heaven.
"Immortal gods, what happened out there?"
"Is it the damned rebels again?"
The awakeners "idling" inside the Thirtieth Heaven poked their heads out, wary. Then they froze. Teenagers, all of them, laughing as they climbed straight up the freshly cut stairs.
"Good afternoon, elders!"
Darulunina waved cheerfully. The veterans stood like statues, watching the kids leap onto the blade ridge.
"It took me ten years to get here. They just... passed me?"
A tribe chief stared, worldview broken, then spun and ran back into his den to train like a madman. This had to be a test of resolve. It had to be an illusion.
Beyond the black blade, the world opened. Unlike the heavens below, this place was lush with green, as if they’d stepped into another realm. The ridgeline still climbed without end, daring any to look up.
"Follow them. With that ladder, we can reach higher heavens."
Several awakeners caught on and rushed after.
"Hey, hey. Toll road," Nuhachit called. "My chief built it. Pay up."
The boy had found his calling. He demanded a hundred thousand gold per heaven per head.
"Gold? Take it. Just lead the way," one noble said, tossing over a bag. Another paid a million upfront for ten heavens, promising two million more if the path reached the top.
"Hah! Chief, I’ve found my life’s work. When we get out of here, I’m going to be the richest man alive," Nuhachit cackled.
Damn. Charging for the stairway... why didn’t I think of that?
Orson’s eye twitched. He could feel money bleeding out of him. It was painful. But he was playing the aloof immortal. He couldn’t exactly wrestle the kid for tolls.
In The Sunforge World, NPC permissions were dead, but gold still worked, though there were few places to spend it. Inns and rations were absurdly priced. A plate of fried noodles ran a hundred coins. On any other world that was insanity. Here, it was rampant inflation. Restaurateurs were all millionaires.
Nuhachit had listened when Orson said gold was valuable elsewhere. If they were leaving someday, why not dig his first fortune now?
And of course, a certain heartless someone was counting every coin as it clinked into the boy’s pouch.
"I’m the chief, aren’t I? Allocating clan funds is my right," Orson thought drily.
"Is it true? He awakened the Emperor’s Sword and became the second 6-Shift?" whispers trailed behind. "Is this a scam? Then how do you explain the staircase?"
The doubts died fast.
Orson picked up speed, chaos blade carving stairs as effortlessly as drawing lines with a brush. The mountain shuddered under the force, steps ripping upward without pause.
"Unreal. My full power knocks a rock loose. He tears the mountain like paper."
"Hurry! He’s about to hit the Thirty-Fifth Heaven!"
He slipped fully into inhuman mode. Cliffs and ice meant nothing. He wanted to see how high this mountain truly went—and how angry it could get.
He soon learned why no one had done this before. Even if the average climber couldn’t punch like him, repeated strikes should have scarred the stone ages ago.
"Run! Ironstorm’s coming!" someone screamed.
A cloud of black powder fell from the sky like a swarm of locusts, howling as it swooped toward them.
So that’s the countermeasure.
Where the black cloud passed, grass and leaves atomized into dust. The twins scrambled for their dragon-blood stones, ready to tank whatever they couldn’t dodge.
Darulunina yanked a panicking Nuhachit back. "Shut up and get behind the godson!"
"Form change. Chaos Dragonheart."
Orson nodded. The chaos blade warped and unfurled. A great cross-shaped shield locked into his left hand, a golden war halberd into his right. His helm flared with a hooked dragon horn.
He slammed the shield down. Dust billowed. A thin veil of chaos mist rippled outward.
Two new buffs lit on his status bar: Dragon Bulwark and Dragon Halberd.
The first: while fully guarding, max HP +100 percent, enter immobile guard, block any frontal damage up to 200 percent of max HP.
The second: while attacking with the halberd, reflect 50 percent of any frontal damage taken back to the source.
His health was over forty million. Doubled, that was eighty million. His guard cap? One hundred sixty million frontal damage. Even a forbidden-tier awakening blast would blunt against it.
There was a catch. Chaos Dragonheart’s buffs only worked from the front. A backstab still had to be eaten on the chin.
The bulwark curtain poured down like a waterfall, a hundred meters tall and wide. The iron sand hit it like rain on steel, pinging away in sheets.
Not bad. There’s a hidden knockback on impact.
Knights feared being danced around by crafty warriors and rogues. Walk the pillar, slip behind the shield, chop at the soft spots. But Dragon Bulwark’s shockwave could swat them away even without moving a foot.
After several crashes, the ironstorm spent itself and dissolved into white light.