Eternal Forge: Starting with a SSS Rank talent and a Myth Rank Class

After slipping past the towering palace gates, Leo found a shadowed corner beside a colossal statue of some long-forgotten god. He pulled out a healing potion from his inventory, bit off the cork, and downed the glowing liquid in one gulp.

Warmth flooded his veins. Bruises faded. Cuts knit shut. His HP bar surged back to full with a soft chime of system.

Too much has happened too fast.

The game bleeding into reality. The "system" that had upended his life.

Then, his thoughts drifted to Freya’s words.

She’s not screwing with me... right?

But some changes were happening in the real world—that was no mistake. He had felt it himself.

He slapped his cheeks with both hands.

Focus. Finish the damn quest first.

Leo reopened the quest window.

The word Prove yourself lingered in the panel.

Captain Freya had given him a shot despite the ridiculous odds. He wasn’t about to waste it.

After a few minutes of forced rest, he stood and walked into the bustling streets of Asgard. He kept to the edges, hood pulled low, trying not to draw the attention of beings who could probably squash him like a bug.

The avenues teemed with Asgardians—tall, radiant, and terrifyingly high-leveled, moving between vibrant market stalls.

Soon he found a tavern and slipped inside, hoping to gather some information on the competition.

The entrance to the tavern had no door, just an open archway that led directly to the street. After entering, he found an empty table in the corner. The rich smell of roasted meat and booze assaulted his nose.

He glanced at the prices listed on a wooden board inside and breathed a small sigh of relief.

Gold still works. Thank God.

He ordered some beer and food and listened in on the conversations going on around him.

Two figures at the next table caught his attention: a stocky dwarf with a beard like braided steel cables and a graceful elf whose silver hair shimmered like moonlight on water. An odd pair, but clearly old friends.

Their conversation meandered until it landed squarely on the palace incident.

"Did you hear?" the elf whispered, leaning in. "Some mortal actually tried to enter the palace claiming he could repair..." He glanced around nervously. "...Mjolnir."

The dwarf smirked. "Aye. Word is the princess dragged him off. Some say she’s keeping the lad as her personal pleasure toy. Others swear she vaporized him on the spot for the insult."

The elf slammed his hands on the table. "Watch your filthy mouth! The princess would never—"

Heads turned towards their direction.

....

Behind their table, Leo had been quietly listening to their conversation while sipping his beer.

Pfft—!

Leo nearly choked on his beer.

The beer sprayed straight out of his mouth across the table, coughing violently as it went down the wrong pipe.

"Cough! Cough! Cough!"

His face burned crimson.

What the actual hell? A pleasure Toy?! Who the fuck started that rumor?!

The absurdity. He’d expected wild stories about his fight with the guards, maybe some embellished tale of defiance. Not this.

While the dwarf frantically shushed his furious elven friend, Leo sat there clenching his mug, torn between rage and hysterical laughter.

The conversation between the two shifted again.

The dwarf murmured, "I am planning to enter the smithing competition that’s going to be held at dawn tomorrow."

Leo’s ears perked up at the mention of the competition, and he listened more attentively.

The elf nodded. "Cool. I heard the top candidates will get to study the sacred weapons," his voice low.

"Sacred weapons?" the dwarf asked. "What about Mjolnir?" His voice was a bit loud with excitement.

The elf quickly covered the dwarf’s mouth with his palm and warned in a low voice, "Don’t speak its name." The elf hissed, glancing around nervously to see if anybody had heard. "It’s forbidden."

The dwarf nodded, and their conversation shifted once again.

These two were just hopeless. They talked about everything and gossiped like women. One moment they were dissing the guards, the next moment they were talking about his affairs with the cleaning lady.

Their conversation was getting more and more ridiculous.

Leo couldn’t bear to listen any further. He quickly paid the tab and got out of the place.

...

Night had fallen. Cool air washed over his flushed face as he ducked into a quiet alley.

Freya had examined his Ember-touched sword and Forge-heart bracers with genuine interest. They were his best work so far. Now he needed to surpass them.

My mythic class is the edge. No one here has anything like it.

Dawn would come soon. He needed rest.

The first inn he found charged a full gold per night. Leo grimaced.

Daylight robbery.

But he paid anyway and collapsed onto the stiff bed. He opened his interface and tapped Log Out.

[Ding!]

[Player is outside the tutorial zone. Log Out Disabled.]

[Teleporting to login coordinates...]

[Destination lies in an unconnected world.]

[Teleportation failed.]

[Complete your current quest first.]

The button grayed out.

Now what the heck is going on again?

I can’t log out?

Leo stared at the ceiling. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

He sighed, rolled over, and let exhaustion pull him under.

Dawn painted Asgard’s sky in gold. Leo arrived at the competition grounds early, heart already pounding.

The arena overflowed with people: elves, dwarves, dragonkin, forest giants, humans, and strange races he couldn’t name. The air buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Thousands had come to watch—or compete.

Way too many participants.

Most looked level 50 or higher, but he spotted younger faces in level 20s and 30s.

Wait...

Level 20? Level 30?

How are they here? Am I not supposed to be the only one below level 50?

Looking more closely, they seemed different from the rest.

Something about them felt... off. Different. He shook the thought away.

The announcer’s voice rolled like thunder.

"Welcome to the Divine Forging Trial! Mortals from across the realms shall compete today for the honor of studying Asgard’s sacred techniques. Only the worthy shall advance!"

The crowd roared.

"First round!" the announcer continued. "You will all receive identical materials and the same blueprint. One hour to forge the finest chest plate you can. Anyone failing to produce at least Uncommon-rank armor of Flawless quality or higher will be eliminated. Good luck."

Shit! I’ve never forged armor before.

But blueprints were provided. He could work with that.

Leo approached his assigned station. No forge hearth. No coals. Just a heavy anvil and a well-worn hammer.

He looked around to see what the others would do. Everyone started to summon fire in their palms. Everyone had their own unique flames; some had glowing red flames, some had blue-colored flames.

Leo was dumbfounded by the scene.

Right. Personal flames. Of course.

His mouth twitched. He nearly asked the man beside him about fire before catching himself. He would have made a fool of himself.

Using Forge Sight, he studied others’ flames, they were all unique—some were naturally existing flames, some were beast flames.

Then he called forth his own.

Eternal Flame bloomed in his hand—brilliant, ancient, hungry.

He fed chunks of Asgardian steel into the furnace. The metal drank in the fire, glowing from cherry red to searing white while he studied the armor blueprint.

[Ding!]

[You have learned the Asgardian Armor (Uncommon Rank).]

Information about the armor surged into his mind.

Okay, I can work with this.

He picked up the heated steel. It was heavier than earthly iron, thrumming with latent divine power.

Leo gripped the hammer. It felt right.

The first strike rang out like a bell. Sparks exploded. He folded, hammered, tempered—again and again. Ancestral Cadence activated, turning his rhythm into something almost musical, each blow building on the last. The Eternal Flame responded to his will, intensifying where needed, dancing along the metal’s surface.

The world narrowed to the glowing steel, the hammer’s song, and the burning focus in the chest plate. Everything else—competitors, spectators, rumors—faded away.

"Fifteen minutes remaining!" The announcer said out loud.

Leo delivered the final series of precise strikes, channeling everything he had. The chest plate took shape: elegant yet sturdy, etched with faint fiery patterns that pulsed with light.

[Ding!]

[Item Forged: Asgardian Chest Plate]

Rank: Uncommon

Tier: Master

Physical DEF: +45

Magical DEF: +20

Fire Resistance: +30%

Special Effects: Flame Infusion, Self-Repair.

He stepped back, breathing hard, sweat stinging his eyes. The plate gleamed like a captured star.

The final horn blared.

"All participants, step back! Hammers down!".

Judges began their procession: Elder Thrain the dwarf, Lady Silva the elf, Master Kael the only human, the familiar princess Captain Freya the Valkyrie, and Ironhand Bjorn.

Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs as they moved from station to station, marking failures with crosses and successes with ticks.

They reached his table.

Freya’s sharp gaze locked onto his work. The other judges leaned in, murmuring.

Leo stood perfectly still, fists clenched at his sides, waiting for their verdict.