The crimson church loomed ahead, silent but not still. The air smelled of something older—something unfamiliar.
Hephaestus halted just before the threshold, her eye drawn upward by instinct. There, half-framed in the pale morning light, stood the shape of a colossus. Its frame was skeletal—spine-like cables dangling, limbs half-forged and exposed. The thing loomed over the entrance, not moving… but its presence was enough.
She didn't know what it was.
Not armor. Not a golem. Certainly not anything built in Orario.
Her gaze tightened. No enchantments. No Divine Marks. No recognizable technique. It was rough, even crude in places—but it radiated something she couldn't name. Purpose. Potential.
After getting called inside She stepped, boots echoing on scorched stone.
The interior had changed. Slabs of steel and brass limbs littered the walls, half of them whispering with faint heat. Metal skulls with tentacles. Hooks hung from scaffolds.
At the center stood Luther—mask gleaming, gauntlets dark with work.
It should've felt absurd.
Instead, it felt… dangerous.
Her eye moved from one piece of metal to another, her smith's instinct trying to read this place. It failed.
And that unsettled her.
Luther's words weren't the boasts of a craftsman. They were the declarations of someone who believed in what he made. When he gestured to that incomplete machine and claimed it could kill a Level 8…
Because of something about The density of the frame and the way it was made. She didn't understand it—but she understood enough.
More time to see stay here and look around. she found this Church was built like A forge not for reverence or legacy, but from Desperation.
And something else she couldn't yet name.
She stood quiet for a moment, watching the fading trail of Freya's hand as it left Luther's mask.
Then she stepped forward. One hand resting on her hip, the other gesturing to the colossus outside.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand that thing," Her gaze sharpened. "You're stockpiling weapons and materials, and now you're building machines that could threaten the balance of this entire city."
Luther tilted his head slightly but didn't interrupt.
"So here's the deal," she continued. "You stop flooding the black market with range weapons. In return…"
She exhaled, the weight of the offer making her voice lower, more serious.
"I'll give you access. Not just techniques or notes—I'll send My best smith. She can help you with whatever you are building."
She met his lens directly.
"But that's not the whole deal. You've been bleeding the city dry, buying every ingot and shard like a dragon hoarding treasure. stop doing that so I can help you get better logistics."
She narrowed her eye.
"I can open Guild resource channels for you. Dungeon material quotas. Even mining rights—The Guild won't move unless someone with weight asks."
She folded her arms, voice flat.
She stepped closer, handing it over.
"You stop destabilizing the economy. In exchange, you get everything you need to build."
He took the letter but didn't open it.
"And my price," she said finally, " I want to understand what you're building."
"All I can do is probably explain what my technology does I cannot give you any knowledge about how they work, as you are not part of Adeptus Mechanicus."
Hephaestus didn't expect such a weird reply, but this was a good start. What she wanted was access—a window into this forge made of madness and precision.
Ignoring the Freyas, both of them started to finalize the details only after she remembered the request made by her family member.
So before leaving, she asks, "can you at least tell me how you able to make those weapon so fast?"
"I am using specialised machine which can help with the production."
Hearing this, the only thought in her mind was, I want to see. Now, it wasn't just Freya who sought to involve herself—Hephaestus, too, had decided to stay close. After all, as the goddess of smithing, it only made sense that she witness the machines tied so deeply to the forge.