Zalanir was looking at a vast green plain that stretched beyond the horizon. A couple of deer and snakes were playing the game of survival here and there. A clear sky watched over from above. Occasional wind breezed through, flirting with the swaying grass kiddos and the stoic rock uncles. Approaching from afar, a long line of supply convoys was treading on. Their destination looked to be a large stream of water that Zalanir was hovering over.

  This would be a perfect, captivating picture that soothed the mind if Zalanir had been an art critic, and if he was able to move around to enjoy the scene from different angles. But the reality was that Zalanir had somehow found himself floating about three meters in the air. Underneath him, slightly to the front, a man was hiding behind a big stone on the riverbank. He looked young and cheerful, grinning while spying. His eyes were firmly fixed on the approaching caravan.

  Who is this guy?

  Zalanir remembered that a moment ago he had been watching the butterfly land on his forehead. That fragile, small creature somehow possessed an enormous force that pushed him down to the ground. And in a blink later, he found himself in this current situation. He had tried everything, but no matter what, all he could do was watch on, like a camera being fixed to a spot to record what was happening.

  The man jumped out when the caravan arrived at the riverbank and began humming a sublime, angelic-vibe melody. Under the grass, weapons of all kinds flew up and attacked the guards. There was no one else. Just automated weapons went around slaughtering the convoy crews. The strongest one, a warrior in red armor, was knocked back by the man’s shoulder into a waiting spear, resulting in a skewer through the center of his neck.

  It was a massacre. Zalanir could have puked right now if his body had allowed it. He wanted to look away, but his view was fixed on the spot, central around the crazy man down below.

  When everything was done, he broke open a cart in the back, revealing a man about his age trapped inside. For someone Zalanir deemed to be a prisoner, he looked rather … fine? Wrinkled orange tunic, unkempt hair, hands tied by a purple shimmering rope to the front, but his eyes were crystal clear. There was no sight of submission from the man trapped inside the cart.

  “Let’s get you out of here. I am Verizss’ia, your boss from now on.” Zalanir mentally admired how the man could form a bright, genuine smile after committing such carnage.

  The scene shifted to both of the men — now older — working in a forge facility of some sort. The one Zalanir followed was inspecting the painting of a wicked lantern with several sharp, pointed designs on the top and middle hanging on the wall. Behind him was the rescued man, now wearing only a pair of short leather pants, huffing while hammering down a block of rigid black material. A curve, half-moon scar had somehow contracted right under his left eye.

  “Hey Sinclair, you have four days to finish that. When I return, let’s make this.”

  “What? Really? Where would you go to find that soul shackled material? Besides, your theory is ass. There is no way we can maintain the balance using that design,” the rescued man dropped the hammer and went to sit in a corner. A cylindrical container of yellow liquid was brewing on the table to the right, eclipsing two smaller empty metal goblets.

  “You are the best smith, so I am sure you will figure that out. As for me, I guess it’s time to pay the yofhun a visit,” another grin on Verizss’ia’s face.

  “The deep ocean? Why? Is there any … What! Don’t tell me you are—”

  Without letting his underling finish the sentence, Verizss’ia just vanished. Zalanir could feel air disturbances at the prior spot of that man, though he had no way to tell what they were. But that wasn’t important. The fact that Zalanir was still here when the man whom he was supposed to watch just went puff was confusing. Why didn’t he follow him?

  “Is that idiot for real?” Zalanir heard the naked man complain and curse his boss with all the descriptions that even Zalanir would be shy to use.

  After calming down though, Sinclair came back to continue refining the material. However, after three bangs, he dropped the hammer again and went over to the painting. His forehead wrinkled while his hands made weird gestures of push and pull.

  After a while, he took out another painting and started to draw the lantern again, or rather, the zoom-out version of each part of the lantern. That sequence of events kept repeating until being disrupted on the fourth day by the return of Verizss’ia. Zalanir thought that Sinclair would have some beef with his boss, but to his surprise, the man just refocused on the painting again after gazing at the long greenish blue rope-like material tied into Verizss’ia’s shoulder. That was not to mention that he completely ignored all the blood and bruises that Verizss’ia carried.

  “If we make it two stories instead of one, and cool it down half-way using your blood to reinforce its frame and strengthen its connection to you, then store it inside your soul realm for it to feed on your energy, I think there is a possibility.”

  “Oh, that extra story is for redistribution when necessary, correct? Oh yeah, if we bolster the frame with extra toughness from, let’s say, ektin? Yeah, I could see it working. Told you. Put more faith in your skills. Go crazy with what’s on your mind and experience. Oh, but ektin? That alloy needed … hmm, basilisk? Lake Etno this time then.”

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  For the next ten days, both of these crafting maniacs kept discussing and challenging each other on how to improve the lantern. Whenever they mentioned the name of a material, Verizss’ia just left to find it, while Sinclair focused on preparing and refining what they already gathered. Zalanir tried to remember the names of all of these materials, as well as the location of some of the creatures or places that Verizss’ia mentioned, as he vaguely had a feeling that what these two were attempting was super high level, but he soon dropped the attempt. The list had gone up to nearly sixty materials, and with no way of at least understanding what they were for, there was no way he could memorize them. Heck, even the last five materials were no longer on his mind.

  The actual forging took four months from start to finish. The final lantern coming out of the furnace — before the storing process inside Verizss’ia’s soul — was a masterpiece. Even an amateur like Zalanir would know that. Its size was about a mini refrigerator — the tall and thin version. It was dark green and had two stories with some sharp spikes perched on top and in the middle frame between the first and second floors. The base was in the shape of a hexagon, with a pointed dome-like design at the bottom. The sides weren’t sealed off completely. They had windows on both of the stories resembling that of a house. Honestly, a house built based on this design would be cool. Would look like a secluded, haunted little mansion waiting for adventurers to explore.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” Verizss’ia grinned. This man sure loved to grin.

  With a wave of hands, the lantern shrank, and got pulled into Verizss’ia’s forehead. Zalanir almost screamed when seeing that, but he quickly remembered that he was witnessing two geniuses, not only in crafting but also in combat as well. Especially Verizss’ia. That long rope Verizss’ia brought back on the first day was the tendon of a monster called melusane — a peak creature that only a few could challenge.

  It would be just a random name if not for Sinclair’s appreciation of Verizss’ia for finding it. Thanks to that, Zalanir learned that there were nine creatures that were praised to sit on the summit, and melusane was one of those, alongside the likes of dragons, loongs, or phoenixes.

  Another blink of an eye, and Zalanir found himself inside a dark tunnel. Both of the men were roaming side by side.

  “Even if you slay the supreme queen, it’s still my win. How many Throne Guards had you killed? None!” Verizss’ia bragged.

  “Two queens,” Sinclair lifted two fingers.

  “That wouldn’t count. My weapons helped you with that,” Verizss’ia scoffed.

  “You mean those four useless spears?” Sinclair raised the right corner of his lips.

  “Yes. They confused the queens and bought you time.”

  “Right. Right. I’m surprised you can say that with a straight face.”

  “The truth is, and will always be, the truth.”

  The banter continued until they reached the end of the tunnel, where ahead of them lay a massive cocoon. Its color was beige, with silk branches wrapping around.

  “This is rather unexpected. What is this thing doing inside an ant colony?” Sinclair comments.

  “There was a life force inside. Strong. And hungry.”

  Verizss’ia came over to touch the cocoon, but pulled out immediately when an emerald object flew straight at him.

  “Haha, come.”

  Dropping from the ceiling were five massive black ants, each with the front limbs morphing into two drills. Drifting over them was a massive orange ant with lots of wings. Zalanir could count to twenty, but he believed he missed some. That had to be the queen.

  “You handle those guards. Leave the queen to me.”

  Without waiting for confirmation, Verizss’ia shot into the air. Out of nowhere, hundreds of weapons floated beside him, then, just like what Zalanir had seen during the caravan scene, all of these weapons flew up to attack the queen. It was as if the queen was facing the whole army just by herself.

  Down on the ground, Sinclair and the five black ants were brawling inside a muddy ground. While Sinclair moved around like normal, all of these ants were glued to their spot and couldn’t fly up to assist their queen. Sinclair was using a sledgehammer quadrupled the size of the hammer he used inside the forge, which was already a pretty big hammer itself. That was to say that the sledgehammer that Sinclair was swinging around was just ridiculous by itself.

  If there was nothing else, the outcome of this battle wasn’t hard to guess. But the queen broke out of the encircle, receiving countless wounds in the process, and landed on the cocoon. She then stabbed it with her two antennae.

  An earthquake rocked the tunnel, with the cocoon acting as the main actor. Its skin ripped apart by whatever was inside. Layers after layers fell onto the ground until a massive red ant twice the size of the queen emerged. But it wasn’t entirely an ant in the normal sense. The first difference was its four massive black fangs that outgrew its own mouth. Next was the forked tail that secreted acid. Zalanir saw a drop touch the cocoon and in a matter of a second corrode a massive area around it.

  “Now that’s what I call a challenge. Your soul would make a good pair with the queen’s,” Verizss’ia cackled.

  The man recalled every weapon to his side and then took out the familiar lantern from his forehead. This time, it was no longer empty. Souls wandered inside the artifact. Lots of souls.

  Before the two ants converged at his position, all the lantern windows were slammed open, and souls flew out like ants losing their target. But they didn’t move around without a destination. They competed to get onto the weapon. The better the weapon, the fiercer the competition. And when one got it, the possessed weapon hummed to life.

  If previously they attacked the queen in an organized manner, each handling a particular spot, then now they collided and even fought each other off. However, that didn’t mean the damage was lower. On the contrary, each weapon was going berserk, tearing apart both of the ants who perhaps thought of themselves as the predators. The queen’s wings came off first, followed by her legs, antennae, and then her head. Similarly, the red ant got its tail chopped in four, then its limbs, and finally its belly punctuated by a storm of swords, daggers, and pikes. Even when both of them were dead, they were nowhere near their presumed prey.

  Verizss’ia held the lantern with his right hand and chanted. A green whirlwind expanded outward, using the lantern as its center. All the animated weapons that were currently fighting among themselves were recalled once again, though this time, on their way to Verizss’ia, the embedded souls were dislodged and found themselves heading toward the lantern. Two poor ants’ souls also suffered the same fate as well.

  “How is it, Sinclair? Who wins?” He embraced his belly and laughed to his heart’s content.