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

After the completion of the second round, everyone was assigned a place to stay for the night.

Leo, along with the others, was guided to a separate room.

Leo entered the magnificent room. High ceilings arched overhead, adorned with golden ornaments and enchanted lanterns hanging from silver chains. The floor was marble—white with veins of gold running through it like rivers of light.

Every step he took echoed softly.

A grand-sized bed dominated the far wall, its frame carved from dark wood, inlaid with pearls. Silk sheets cascaded over the mattress on the bed.

To his right, a vanity mirror with a golden frame reflected the room’s elegance.

He walked to the window and looked out. Asgard stretched before him. A city of impossible beauty, with towers of silver and gold piercing the sky, floating landscapes, bridges of light connecting buildings, and, in the distance, the great tree Yggdrasil reaching toward the heavens.

"It’s beautiful," he murmured.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. A servant entered, wheeling in a trolley laden with garments.

"Good evening, sir." The servant bowed lightly. "These are clothes gifted by the King for tonight’s banquet. Please choose whatever you prefer."

"You can take your time, sir. There is till an hour before the banquet starts," the servant said and stepped back, waiting for Leo to dress.

Leo approached the garment trolley filled with clothes. He looked at the different types of clothes. There were no suits, just tunics, robes, and strange garments he didn’t recognize.

Some were made of cotton, others of wool, and some of materials he couldn’t identify.

He picked up a white tunic, turned it over in his hands, and set it back down. He had no idea how he was supposed to wear it.

He skimmed through the options until he found something familiar: leather pants designed to wrap tightly from the knees down, like bandages for the legs.

He put them on, wrapping the fabric criss-cross from his ankles to his knees. The material was thick but flexible. He laced the boots over them. Simple leather boots that reached halfway to his knees.

Next, he found a long oversized white T-shirt made of silk and wool blended together with silver stripes lined with sparkling gems. The fabric was soft against his skin, lighter than he expected. It fell to his thighs, loose and comfortable.

He then wore a brown leather belt around his waist, above the long shirt, cinching the fabric slightly. The belt sat snugly, giving the loose shirt some shape.

Finally, he picked up the vibrant blue cloak. After a few clumsy attempts that left the fabric draped over him like a fallen curtain, the servant stepped forward.

"Allow me, sir."

With practiced hands, the servant draped the cloak over Leo’s left shoulder so it cascaded down his back and partially covered his front. He fastened it at the right collarbone with a round bronze brooch. The material settled naturally, swaying with his movements.

"Thanks," Leo said, cheeks warming slightly. "First time wearing anything like this."

The servant nodded politely and returned to his position.

He stood before the mirror, examining his reflection. The outfit looked surprisingly good—rugged yet refined, the blue cloak adding a dramatic flair.

Not bad at all, he thought. This actually feels... kind of cool.

The servant then guided him through the shining corridors toward the banquet. They arrived before a massive doorway that opened into the Great Hall of Asgard.

The hall was even more magnificent. Ceilings stretched overhead, supported by columns of polished marble that gleamed under hundreds of enchanted lanterns.

Long tables lined the room. Competitors were entering one by one. Some had already arrived, while others were probably on their way.

The air hummed with conversation, laughter, and the clink of glasses.

At the far end of the hall, a raised platform held a single throne—empty, waiting. The throne was carved from dark wood, inlaid with gold and silver, depicting scenes of ancient gods and cosmic battles.

Leo stood there, momentarily stunned.

"Quite something, isn’t it?" he heard a voice beside him.

He turned to find a dwarf standing beside him—the same dwarf from the tavern, the one who had been gossiping about him with the elf. The same one who had reached ninety percent purity using his hands as a hammer.

Leo nodded. Before either could say more, a young man approached.

"Hello. and welcome to the Grand Hall of Asgard." He said warmly with a charming smile plastered on his face and extended his hand. "I’m Aldric. Freya’s brother."

Leo and the dwarf shook his hand and introduced themselves.

"Leo."

"Gandalf. Greetings, Your Highness."

Leo looked at the dwarf, realizing he should offer his greeting as well. He turned to Aldric and bowed slightly. "Thank you for the welcome, Your Highness."

Aldric smiled. "Please, no need for formalities. I remember both of you from the competition. You’re both great blacksmiths."

He looked at Gandalf. "You have a unique forging style. Using your fists as hammers—that’s impressive."

Hearing the praise, the dwarf puffed out his chest. "Aye, thank you, Your Highness. Been hammering since I was a kid."

Aldric turned to Leo. "And you were also impressive, Leo. My sister spoke highly of you. She even mentioned you to Father—the King."

Leo blinked. "The King knows about me?"

Aldric nodded. "Freya doesn’t usually talk about people. When she does, it’s worth listening."

Leo expressed his thanks, though his mind was reeling. The King of Asgard knew his name.

"It seems all thirty participants are here," Aldric said, glancing around the hall. "The King and judges should be arriving soon. Let’s take a seat."

He gestured toward the tables, then walked away to greet other guests.

The participants began finding their seats. Most grouped together in twos and threes, already forming alliances and rivalries.

Leo walked toward the tables, looking for a place to sit.

Everywhere he looked, competitors were chatting, laughing, and sizing each other up.

Gandalf appeared beside him. "Well, lad? Where shall we sit?"

Leo spotted an empty table near the back—small, tucked away from the main crowd. "There."

Gandalf followed him, and they sat down across from each other.

The dwarf leaned back, crossing his arms.

"Not very social, are you?" Gandalf asked.

"Not really," Leo replied.

Gandalf chuckled. "Fair enough. I’m not one for chatter myself. Unless it’s about forging. Or food. Or a good fight."

Leo looked at him with disdain, not believing for a second that this dwarf was not the chatter type. He distinctly remembered this dwarf gossiping like a market auntie in the tavern—whispering about the princess, the cleaning lady’s affair, and half the guards.

Not the chatter type. Sure.

Leo kept his expression neutral, but his eyes said everything.

Gandalf caught the look and grinned. "Aye, I know what you’re thinking."

"Do you?" Leo asked.

"Aye. You’re thinking, ’This dwarf is such a nice, handsome guy.’"

Leo blinked, black lines covering his face.

"Well... yeah." he replied with a deadpanned expression.

Gandalf laughed, caressing his braided beard.

"Relax, lad. We’re at a feast. Eat, drink, enjoy. Tomorrow we fight. Tonight we live."

Before Leo could respond, a serving girl appeared with a tray of roasted meats and bread. Gandalf grabbed a leg of something—chicken, maybe, or some Asgardian bird. He tore into it with gusto.

"Mmm," the dwarf mumbled through a mouthful. "Now this is what I call living."

Leo stared at him for a long moment, then reached for his own plate.

Maybe the dwarf wasn’t so bad after all.

The hall buzzed with activity as more guests arrived. These weren’t competitors—they were nobles, dressed in fine silks and armored robes, their auras radiating power and wealth.

The participants were not the only people attending the banquet. All the noble families of Asgard had been invited as well.

Nobles moved through the crowd, introducing themselves to the Blacksmiths. They were sizing up potential allies, future allies, or threats.

A woman in silver armor approached their table. Her hair was braided with gold, her eyes sharp.

"Did you forge an armor with a self-healing rune?"

Leo nodded.

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Interesting. A mortal in the finals had astonishing results. The King will want to see this."

She turned and walked away without another word.

Gandalf whistled. "Well, that wasn’t ominous at all."

Other nobles approached, each with their own agendas.

A young man with silver hair shook Leo’s hand. "I’m Kael. My family runs the largest forge in the eastern district. If you ever need work, come find us."

A woman in dark armor nodded at Gandalf. "You’re the dwarf who forged with his fists? Impressive. My brother would like to meet you."

A group of elves passed by, whispering among themselves. One glanced at Leo, then looked away quickly.

The whispers followed Leo everywhere.

"That’s the one who got ninety-nine point nine nine percent."

"That mortal."

"He’s just a boy."

Leo tried to ignore them, but it was hard. Every eye was on him.

Every whisper was about him.

Gandalf leaned forward. "Don’t let them get to you, lad. They’re just jealous."

"Jealous of what?" Leo asked.

"Of you," Gandalf said simply. "You haven’t shed your mortal body, and you’re in the finals."

Leo looked at the dwarf. "Thanks."

Gandalf shrugged. "Don’t mention it. Technically we’re all mortals here—the gods own the palace. Though the royals and high nobles might as well be gods."

He continued, "Now eat. The food’s going to get cold."

....

A voice echoed through the hall. "The King is entering. All pay respect to the Allfather."

The hall fell silent.

Figures in silver armor entered first—Valkyries. They moved in formation, taking positions on both sides of the path leading to the throne.

At their head walked Freya, her expression cold and focused. She took her place at the base of the platform, her eyes scanning the crowd.

Then Odin, the king of Asgard, the Allfather entered.

He walked slowly, each step echoing with majesty. His one eye gleamed with golden light, the other hidden behind a leather patch. A long scar crossed his face, running from his forehead to his jaw—a mark of ancient battle. A cloak of feathers draped over his shoulders, shifting with each movement. In his hand, he carried a staff of silver, its surface etched with runes that pulsed with faint light.

All the nobles and competitors knelt to the ground.

Leo remained standing.

He looked around, confused. Everyone was on their knees. He was about to kneel when Gandalf grabbed his arm and yanked him down.

"Get down, you idiot," the dwarf hissed.

Leo hit the ground, his knees hitting the marble floor. He looked at Gandalf, who was already bowed low.

"Show some respect, Do you want to be executed?" Gandalf muttered without looking up.

The judges followed behind the king—Elder Thrain, Lady Silva, Master Kael, Ironhand Bjorn. They walked in a line, their expressions serious, and took their places on the platform.

Odin reached the throne and turned to face the crowd. His golden eye swept across the hall, lingering on faces, measuring.

Then he sat.

"Rise," he said.

The hall rose as one.

The king spoke, his voice reverberating with majesty. "Welcome. Tonight we gather not as king and his subjects, not as mortals and gods, but as warriors and crafters."

He paused, letting the words settle in, and continued.

"For generations, the art of forging has been the backbone of Asgard. Our weapons, our armor, our tools are what have helped us defend our world and its people. We do not forge for destruction, but to protect peace."

His eye landed on Leo and the rest of the participants.

"Out of thousands of crafters, only 30 of you remain. You are the best 30 people in Asgard. You have proven your skills, knowledge and your worth."

"I have invited you all to give my thanks and I hope you will help lead Asgard toward an even more prosperous future."

He raised a hand. "Now let the banquet begin."

With that, a fountain of champagne exploded at the center of the hall.

Dancers entered while the music started to play.

The feast began. Food arrived in waves—roasted meats, breads, cheeses, wines of every color. The tables groaned under the abundance.

Leo sat at his table with Gandalf, trying to eat while nobles kept approaching him. Some introduced themselves, others simply stared.

Then Freya appeared.

She walked through the crowd with purpose, competitors parting before her. She stopped at Leo’s table.

"May I?" she asked.

Gandalf scrambled to his feet. "Your Highness! Please, sit!"

Freya sat beside Leo, her presence commanding attention. The hall quieted slightly.

"You impressed my father," she said.

Leo looked at her. "He’s... intimidating."

Freya almost smiled. "He doesn’t praise often. When he does, it means something."

"What does it mean?" Leo asked.

Freya studied him for a moment. "It means you have potential. It means you’re worth watching."

She paused.

"It also means you have a target on your back."

Leo sighed. "Great."

"Don’t worry," Freya said. "I’ll keep an eye on you."

She added, If you truly win this competition as a Level 10 from an unawakened world, Father said he would reward you personally—and as well let you give a shot at Mjolnir."

With that she stood and left.

As she walked away, Leo noticed the other competitors staring at him—some with jealousy, others with suspicion or open curiosity.

He had made an impression, whether good or bad remained to be seen.

He could only sigh.

In his frustration, he had completely forgotten about the dwarf still standing beside him, listening to the entire conversation. When Leo finally glanced over, he found Gandalf staring at him with wide, gleaming red eyes.

"Oi... Y-You... You’re the boy the princess took in as her personal pleasure toy?" the dwarf asked bluntly.

"Toy your mother," Leo snapped, smacking the dwarf on the top of his head.

The moment his hand connected, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his palm. A small system window popped up in front of him:

[-5 HP]

Leo winced. Even smacking this loudmouth costs me HP?

"And what’s this about being Level 10 in an unawakened world?" the dwarf pressed, his tone thick with suspicion.

"It’s exactly what it sounds like," Leo replied irritably. "I’m fucking Level 10. What else is there to say?"

The dwarf stared at him in disbelief. "How is that even possible?"

Leo just shrugged.

Gandalf remained silent for a long moment, studying him carefully. Then he let out a heavy sigh and scratched his braided beard.

"Oh well... If the princess thinks it’s fine, and even the King already knows about it, then it should be fine."

He answered so casually, like he didn’t give a damn about the implications.