The Mithril Golem knows that Jacob Cloud does not deserve his master’s legacy. Thankfully, the boy has barely taken the first step and gained a handful of Skills that can be learned through common means.

  But why did Master gift him the pickaxe?

  The Mithril Golem would never doubt Rafnov’s actions, but he’s always considered his master excessively generous with the undeserving ones.

  That is why he passed, the Mithril Golem feels a surge of fury coursing through his silvery veins. Master… you were too generous. Now, only fragments of you are left behind.

  The Mithril Golem has briefly observed what Jacob Cloud was up to, thinking that the disciple of Baalrek might have an ace up his sleeve. Yet, as shown by his incoherent behavior, he hasn’t even figured out the very first layer of the trial, the same layer that the Dark Champion has immediately uncovered.

  What a useless tool, the Mithril Golem smirks to himself. He is not deserving. And what are they doing now? The Mithril Golem looks through a mirror of Mithril that projects the events in the forge where Jacob Cloud is standing alongside the Goblin and the Dwarf. And he wonders…

  Are they forging something? Have they lost it? Have they decided to completely throw the entire trial? Do they even know what kind of riches my master left behind even at the pathetic level they’re currently at?

  * * *

  Boomgar wipes some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand while Jacob operates the bellows and raises the heat in the forge. He’s tempering the metal, making sure that the barrel of the gun is resistant enough for the makeshift ammunition he repurposed from some of the alchemical powder in his own bombs.

  Before they started, the heat of the molten metal at the center of the room had been suffocating enough to make this environment hostile—to say the least—to most living creatures. Yet, with Boomgar taking one side of the workshop for this and having to speedrun the process, the forge had become a living hell.

  “Lass, this is the best I can do in the little time we have,” the Dwarf says, cooling the barrel in a bucket of oil and, a few moments later, placing it in a metallic handle he had hastily made on the side.

  Zibrek gently takes up the gun in her hands, despite the metal still being too hot to be handled like that. But both Goblins and Dwarves share the same gift when it comes to forging. All of them learn the Fire Resistance Skill when they’re still in their cradle.

  “You’re an impressive Blacksmith,” Zibrek admits, looking at the rugged edges of the barrell. However, her own Engineering Skills tell her just how straight and flawless the inside is. This is a gun that could have sold to any Platinum Ranker without even batting an eye. Zibrek is sure that if Boomgar had the time, he could have made much better work than this. But the fact that he was able to do this much in barely half an hour is a testament to the fact that the Dwarf belongs among Champions.

  “Yeah, do me a favor,” Boomgar says, a bit winded, leaning his butt against an anvil, “use it.”

  When Zibrek looks at the weapon again, there’s a wistful look in her eyes. Her pupils are focused on the piece of metal in the wrong way—almost as if there was something through it.

  Jacob observes the scene in silence. So far, he hasn’t had to say anything. The two have filled in for each other. All he had to do was to say the name of their Rainbow Skills out loud. Honestly, if Jacob had to guess, he would have said that he would have had to put much more work into each to make sure they’d change their mind. Yet, he had to do absolutely nothing but watch.

  “When I was a kid, I played with toy guns all the time,” Zibrek says. “The first thing I’ve made once I got access to a forge was a gun, in fact.”

  “When we go back, we can collaborate on something. I don’t mind showing a dumb Goblin how to work some metal out.”

  “Bold words for the member of a race who lives in literal volcanos and still cannot outcraft mine,” Zibrek shoots back.

  “Guys,” Jacob interrupts. “It’s time.”

  And, as if on cue, a wall starts opening and reveals a large passage.

  * * *

  Nimirea looks curiously at Jacob as he walks out of the large corridor leading into a massive hall. Before, they had been in a forge with living metal—now, they’re in what looks like a throne room.

  “So, are you confident?” Nimirea asks with a smirk. She’s figured out the trial from the very first moment. As soon as they tried regulating the sphere and she saw that it started changing for the worse, she immediately realized that it was a trap. There was absolutely no way to fix the molten metal and make it more stable. In fact, the more one would try and struggle to fix it, the more they’d fail.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Knowing that Jacob has the Grimoire, she can only imagine he’d be so tempted to keep struggling for a fix—which means he’s definitely lost.

  “Did you hear me, Jacob?” She asks again when he sees him covered in soot from head to toe.

  He most definitely tried too hard and lost. I told the two idiots behind me not to touch the metal. It barely changed since we entered, but as long as it did not destabilize more, it’s good.

  Jacob looks with a confused expression at her and then he says, “did you get an haircut?”

  Nimirea feels her pointed ears reddening as she frowns at the Leader of Champions.

  “What has that to do with anything?” Nimirea says between gritted teeth.

  “Just curious. It suits you, though. Shorter, right?”

  Nimirea has indeed gotten an haircut, but she had not expected Jacob to notice.

  “It’s time for me to announce the victors.”

  The Mithril Golem slides into the throne room, his body sliding into existence from thin air.

  Mithril is not the most powerful metal, but it is the metal of dimensional magic. It means that this Golem possesses capabilities far beyond what one could even imagine when it comes to phasing through space, Nimirea’s attention goes to the Mithril Golem. Once I’ve gathered enough power, I’ll make sure to take over this construct. It’s too powerful to leave it unattended and free. Every time I move, the magic costs us too many resources. With a creature such as this one under my control, I could easily bridge long distances and execute missions that are now are prohibitively expensive because of the dimensional travel costs.

  “The Leader of the Dark Champions, Nimirea Arendor, has led her team to victory.”

  Nimirea smirks smugly.

  I knew it. He must have thought he was so smart, but his own arrogance blinds him.

  “Jacob Cloud, you should feel ashamed that you were not able to figure out such a simple trial,” the Mithril Golem says with narrowed eyes. “You are the recipient of one of my master’s legacies. You were bestowed a pickaxe from him. Yet, you prove yourself unworthy.”

  Nimirea looks curiously towards Jacob, curious to see what kind of reaction he’s going to have to the Golem’s words. If those words had been directed at her, she’d be fuming; she’d be restless until she’d be able to prove herself. And now, with a bet between them, with pride at stake… he lost.

  “Did you really not understand the trial at all?” Nimirea asks. Without even realizing it, there’s a strong disappointment in her voice—almost as if she had wished Jacob to progress smoothly through the first trial, to prove himself worthy to be her enemy.

  “The first trial was very tricky,” Jacob sighs.

  “Tricks should not faze those bearing Rafnov’s legacy,” the Mithril Golem says, his words thick with disgust. “The point of the first test was not to disturb the metal. When digging deep through the Earth, one does not touch what’s not ready to be touched or what one is not ready to touch.”

  “I understand,” Jacob says, lowering his voice. “Master Rafnov, being a miner, would have wanted to teach us the importance of not disturbing the earth when it ought not to be disturbed.”

  “Yet, you failed,” the Mithril Golem sighs. “I did not expect such foolishness of you, Jacob Cloud. But now, onto the second trial.”

  The Mithril Golem walks up the steps to the throne, a dozen or so, and bows deeply in front of it.

  “One of my master’s children became a benevolent King who was renowned to spread knowledge about blacksmithing in an era when such knowledge was hoarded by nobles. He took after his father and tried as hard as he could to make each and every citizen of his kingdom as wealthy as possible, giving them work and purpose.”

  The Mithril Golem turns toward the trial-takers, looking at them from his vantage point.

  “Do you understand, Jacob Cloud?” The Mithril Golem asks.

  “No,” Jacob replies earnestly. “What’s the Trial?”

  “My master’s son did not relish in luxury. He did not think that piling riches on top of each other would grant anyone happiness. Even with his citizen, he would teach them a craft, but rarely hand out money directly. At his core, he believed that to experience life at its fullest, you must strip everything away from it until only its very core remains.”

  The Mithril Golems frowns when he sees Jacob smiling for barely a fraction of a second.

  “Does this amuse you? Do you even understand what kind of kindness it takes to live by such principles? Are you perhaps making a mockery of my master’s legacy?”

  “None of the above,” Jacob says calmly. “I actually just liked the story. But you didn’t say what the trial was.”

  Fool, the Mithril Golem thinks, I just did. The reality is that you are both going to fail. I don’t want you anywhere near my master’s legacy, but damn my entire soul if I let the follower of an Evil God gain anything from my master.

  “You have two hours to figure out how to unlock the throne. There’s a mechanism that will react to the right key. If you present the right key, you’ll progress to the third and last trial my master left behind here.”

  “And if we don’t?” Nimirea asks.

  “You lose access to it. But I suppose your bet still stands. You, Nimirea Arendor, stand one trial above Jacob Cloud. So, if you both lose here, you would still be entitled to a win over him.”

  “Right,” Nimirea nods to herself.

  “Lad,” Boomgar says, worried. “Do you have any idea here?”

  Zibrek walks toward the throne as the Mithril Golem disappears and sees that in the back of the seat there’s a small keyhole.

  “There’s actually a keyhole.”

  Filr’etk, the red-skinned Goblin, walks there and looks at it, puzzled.

  “Half-Elf, what’s this?”

  Nimirea walks forward herself and stares at the keyhole.

  “What the other Goblin said,” Nimirea replies. “Just a keyhole. Scour the place.”

  The Leader of the Dark Champions uncorks a potion and downs it, her aura exploding forth.

  “Jacob, if you or your friends make a single move, I’ll break all the bones in your body.”