Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 997: Two People, One Student!

Quinlan, for his part, just shrugged with the same annoying smirk tugging at his lips. "This arrangement works perfectly for me," he announced simply.

Entirely shameless. Entirely pleased.

Rykar’s eye twitched a billion times.

"Who would’ve expected the universe itself would team us up in such a way, Kaelira?" Quinlan asked the tomboy elf while still hugging her waist close to him, which in turn made her squirm.

"Certainly not me... But I’m excited, My Lord," she muttered under her breath.

"That makes the two of us," Quinlan replied with a grin and let the elf go, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "Let’s just hope our supposed teacher knows his stuff. Honestly, I’m a bit skeptical..."

That statement of his earned a smile from Rykar, though no warmth reached his eyes. "Done flirting, overly rude students of mine? Let’s begin then."

He looked toward Kaelira. "You have free rein, long-eared one. Choose the item you wish to make. I won’t influence the decision."

The muscly elf nodded.

Quinlan stepped aside to give her space and watched from the sidelines with a great deal of interest.

Kaelira thought inwardly for a bit before nodding for a second time, coming to a decision.

Tools were picked fast. Metal was chosen even faster: high-grade steel, cold iron, and something silver-like, Rykar didn’t even recognize as he hadn’t been introduced to the unique metals of this world just yet. Not that he needed to for the purposes of this lesson.

He, however, understood that this was a rare combo. She wasn’t going for something simple.

She started working.

No blueprint. No elaborate design phase. It wasn’t clean, but it was confident.

The room was filled with heat and the sound of hammering.

Kaelira folded the steel first, layering it with the silver. Not too thick. Not too thin. She kept it light. Flexible. Jointed segments.

She was making a gauntlet.

Rykar didn’t interrupt at first, but his gaze sharpened the longer she worked. There was skill. No doubt. Her hammer strikes were clean. Her sense of proportion was natural. Her talent for the art was immense. But there were telltale signs of her shortcomings.

Tiny ones.

Her fold angle was a bit too wide when joining the wrist segment. She over-tightened a binding pin that didn’t need it. Her quenching cycle for the finger joints was off by a few seconds, enough to leave spots if left alone.

"Stop," Rykar grunted.

Kaelira paused mid-swing and looked over, clearly not expecting to be stopped already.

"You’re folding too early. Let the silver settle another two seconds before you layer the iron, or the inner channels will warp under pressure."

Kaelira, to her credit, did not complain one bit. She just adjusted accordingly.

She kept working.

Another five minutes passed.

"You’re over-clinching the socket. Unless you want the whole thing to seize up the first time its user throws a punch, loosen that grip."

While his words might’ve been a bit dramatic, as Kaelira wasn’t such a horrible smith that she’d make a failure like that, his statement still held true. ṛ𝐚ＮȰᛒÈȘ

Thus, she made the fix. This time, faster.

It went on like that: quick corrections, nothing fancy. Rykar never coddled. Just pointed out flaws the moment they appeared. His tone stayed dry as if he didn’t care if she listened or not.

But Kaelira did.

She was sharp enough to follow, crafter’s pride shoved aside for the sake of getting it right.

By the time she reached the palm core, the flow was smoother. Her rhythm more precise. Her forging more measured.

Then she paused, staring at the near-finished gauntlet as if she didn’t recognize her own work.

"I can’t believe it..." she muttered, wide-eyed. "Teacher, you’ve already made me into a better smith in such a short time?!"

Her voice cracked with excitement. She actually looked shocked.

Rykar gave a short grunt. "You’ve got good instincts. But instincts only take you so far."

Quinlan spoke up then, explaining the reason behind it to the old man. "That’s the Alliance of Elvardia for you. A country made up of ugly midgets and foot sniffers."

"My Lord!" Kaelira snapped, ears moving frantically at being labeled a foot sniffer.

He ignored her.

"The dwarves there hold a complete monopoly over crafting. Elves aren’t allowed near a forge. Anyone caught even trying gets punished for ’stepping above their station.’"

"Thus, Kaelira had to learn in secret," Quinlan continued. "No mentor. No guidance. Just stolen equipment and salvaged junk. When they found out, they threw her into the army as punishment."

Rykar’s face twisted into disgust. "Wasting talent like that... what a backwards country."

He looked at Kaelira again. This time with a different kind of scrutiny.

"That explains it," he muttered. "Immense talent. No polish."

Kaelira just stood there, flushed and a bit sweaty, still holding her tongs. But now, a small smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

Rykar grunted once more.

"Alright. It’s your turn, brat."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "So Kaelira gets your respect, but I don’t?"

"She deserves it. While you..."

"..."

"Kaelira desires to be a proper smith, so I didn’t use my class’s abilities on her just yet," Rykar said, adjusting his position atop the table he was perched on. "But I’ll use them on you right out of the gate."

Quinlan looked outright offended at those words. "Hmm? Old man, I’m happy to grind. Stop treating me like I’m only here to make use of shortcuts. Just because it was decided I’m only doing the last 25% doesn’t mean you get to unjustly bully me."

Rykar didn’t respond.

Then Quinlan narrowed his eyes. "Wait."

He stepped closer, studying the old man.

"You’re excited," he revealed his findings with his frown turning into a smirk. "You want to try out your new class."

"Ridiculous!" Rykar snapped instantly.

"Sure, sure... I’m a nice student, so I’ll give you this favor."

Rykar’s face twitched, but he didn’t argue further besides grumbling some truly unfriendly words under his breath.

He exhaled and turned inward with his eyes dimming. A soft hum of magic filled the room. The forge flames dimmed, reacting to the old man’s spiritual focus.

He had no limbs—just a battered torso and scarred face—but his presence filled the forge like a pressure wave. He wasn’t moving, but something deep within him was awakening.

Then it began.

Rykar activated his class ability, [Legacy of the Mythwright].

The spell rippled out from his core as soon as the words left his mouth. A current of dull white light moved across the smithy, creeping toward Quinlan.

Then it hit him.

Quinlan didn’t fall, but he had to brace. His eyes widened as a surge of information slammed into his mind.

Blueprints. Techniques. Etching methods. Binding rituals. Heat curves. Alloy compatibilities. Anchor points. Everything related to the final phase of crafting: enchanting, finishing, and magical alignment, it all came at once.

"This is..." he grunted with sweat instantly forming on his brow, "... this is truly an inheritance... I’m speechless."

His Primordial brain kicked into overdrive to accept all the incoming data. His internal mindspace expanded. Neural pathways that didn’t exist moments ago were carved into being just to keep up.

Ten seconds in, and his fingers were moving involuntarily. His jaw clenched.

But he survived it.

Slowly, the wave ended, leaving Quinlan standing in place, having to catch himself for a short bit.

Once he did so, he looked over at Rykar.