All MILFs are Mine

Chapter 286: That is one ugly dog

Inside the Dungeon, Fifteenth Floor…

Leon sat slouched on his rough rock throne, floating a full meter above the cold stone floor, his fingers drumming against the arm-rest, brows knotted, mind racing.

’Hah… A whole goddamn hidden village buried in the southern mountains, packed with demons. Thirteen fucking demons with hyper regeneration ruling over it, and now Adwin wants my answer by the day after tomorrow.

Fucking hell… All of this because I ran my mouth and told that stupid fucking Charles, “I am king in the south.” One sentence. One fucking sentence fucked up so much. I have to start keeping my mouth shut.’

*Swish*

The air tore open. Elis dropped out of nowhere, her knee hitting the ground at once, head bowed so low her hairs brushed against the floor.

“Master… Sir Gerald is asking to have a talk with you,” she whispered, voice soft but clear.

“Hmm…? Gerald wants to talk ?” Leon muttered. He pushed off the throne, dropping fast, but before his boots could touch stone his body vanished.

…

Twelfth Floor…

*Tang-Tang-Tang-Tang-Tang-Tang!*

The massive furnace roared like a living beast, flames licking the ceiling. Heat rolled in waves. Gerald sat hunched over the anvil, hammer rising and falling in a brutal rhythm, beating a glowing curved bow of metal into shape. Sparks exploded with every strike.

Black goggles hid his eyes. Thick brown leather gloves creaked as his fists worked full force.

A tiny elf girl stood right beside him, staring at the metal like her life depended on it. Same big goggles on her eyes, huge scorched leather jacket that covered almost every body part and her cheeks were red from the heat.

*Swish*

Leon appeared out of thin air behind them. His gaze slid across the room and locked on the long rack against the wall—dozens of brand-new weapons still steaming from the forge.

“Gerald, you wanted to see me ?” he asked, voice low, almost lost under the hammer’s song.

“Wait a damn second…” Gerald growled without turning. He lifted the hammer high and slammed it down one last time.

*CRACK*

A sharp crack split the bow limb clean.

The elf girl leaned in, eyes wide.

“If the center is too damn strong, the limbs stay weak as glass. First draw of the string and it shatters. The archer will die before he can take the shot. Start over,” Gerald said, voice rough as gravel. He stood up and ripped the goggles off.

“I understand, Teacher,” the little elf said quietly. She grabbed the broken piece with tongs and shoved it back into the furnace’s mouth.

“Kid, you’re here, good.” Gerald said, finally facing Leon, wiping sweat with a forearm.

“Yeah. What’s the deal with the elf kid ? Isn’t she took small to be playing around here ?” Leon asked, eyebrow raised.

“She was running around this floor, when the blue-haired transperent girl first dragged me down here. I told her to piss off. She looked me dead in the eye and said she wanted to be a blacksmith.

Figured she’d bolt once the heat and noise hit. Two hours later she’s passing me tools before I even ask. Made a deal—she helps, I teach. So now she’s my apprentice. Everything I know dies with me if I don’t pass it on,” Gerald said, face flat, honest.

“I see… But, aren’t dwarfs and Elfs enemies ?” Leon asked as they walked together towards the south side of the room.

“I have no enemies kid, but knowledge to pass on… I wouldn’t have given that dagger pair to the dark elf you brought to my shop the other day, if I hated them like the rest.” Gerald spoke with a neutral expression as he stopped in front of the corner.

As soon as Leon looked into the corner his eyes twitched in confusion.

Pure black waited there. Not shadow—something thicker. A living fog of darkness that crawled and pulsed, as if it was ready to eat anything that got too close.

“What the fuck is this ?” Leon asked, staring at it with a confused expression.

“In the dwarf kingdom there’s a ritual nobody agrees on—some call it forbidden, some don’t. Blacksmith fixes the finest weapon that he has ever crafted, casts a summoning spell that opens a door straight to the darkness realm, and throws the blade in.

I threw your sword into it,” Gerald said, calm as stone.

“Reach in. Picture the Nyxter in your mind. When it burns clear in your head, it’ll be in your hand. The moment your fingers close on the hilt, the trial starts.

Beat it, the sword comes back with a rare skill no forge, no enchantment, no mage in this world can give. Fail it and… Well I don’t know what happens then. Nobody’s come back to tell the tale.

Or I kill the spell right now and forge you a new one. Your choice.”

Leon stared harder. “Why the hell would you throw my sword in there?”

Gerald walked away, dropped onto a wooden bench, grabbed a heavy mug dripping with booze, and took a long pull.

*Gulp… Gulp*

He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove and looked up. For one heartbeat his eyes flashed faint gold.

“I needed to know…” he said, voice low, “if I’m making weapons for some guy who just kills big beasts with them… or for someone who actually deserves them.

You can just say no and I will forge you a new sword, it will be made out of iron but it will come with a skill, although it won’t be really good.” Gerald replied with a smile.

A slow, dangerous grin spread across Leon’s face.

“You know what ? Your timing couldn’t have been better…”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t think. He shoved his hand straight into the writhing black fog.

Gerald’s eyes shot wide.

’This kid-’

Dark smoke crawled up Leon’s arm like poison veins. His eyes flipped solid black. His whole body locked stiff, breath gone as if his soul was ripped out.

Gerald barked a short laugh, jumped down from the bench and walked upto him, he then slapped leon’s frozen shoulder once, and turned back to the furnace.

“Crazy bastard. No one in history’s ever pulled a blade back out. Hell… no one ever agreed to place their hand into it. Hahaha…”

…

Somewhere…

*Blink—Blink*

Leon’s eyes snapped open.

Cold. Dead silent. Ash fell slow like grey snow.

He looked down—Nyxter already rested heavy in his grip.

He drew it slow. The edge gleamed perfect again, razor-sharp and ready to slice.

Bare trees stood all around, trunks pitch black, branches coated in thick white ash, not a single leaf. The ground was cracked dry earth that drank every sound. Icy wind cut straight through him.

“Where the fu—”

*GRAAAWWWWWLLLLLL*

A guttural roar rolled out behind him.

Leon spun.

Twenty meters away, a massive hound crouched low. Skin gone, muscle gone—just bone and empty air. A gaping hole sat where its chest should be, and inside floated a single glowing green core, pulsing like a sick heart. Empty sockets burned with venomous green fire.

It bared rows of jagged black teeth and growled again, low and hungry.

Leon tightened his grip on the Nyxter’s handle…

“That is one ugly motherfucking dog…”

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