Adventuresse
patreon
The Apocalypse Grinder - Chapter 314
🕑 Added 2025-12-02 09:12:48 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 313 | Index | Chapter 315 >>
Ronan wasn’t sure what to do when he saw the notification. His first instinct, one borne of dozens of lives fighting against the foxes and a few painful deaths to the Trickster itself, made him want to rush to the tower and take it down so that he could reclaim the sector pillar for himself. However, a rational part of his mind prevailed. There was no need to do so.
He didn’t have to complete every objective in every single life. He was busy crafting, and whatever happened with the sector pillar wouldn’t affect him. If anything, it would be a waste of his time to run off. He already had a noble title that far surpassed what claiming the pillar would grant him, and there was little need to take time away from crafting when he was working towards the important goal of producing high-quality gear for himself on a regular basis.
So after reading it once more, and having a great laugh as he imagined Lord Rockmore rushing off to fight the fox boss and getting torn apart while suffering in an illusion, he continued making mediocre weapons from scrap metal ingots.
As he worked, he occasionally thought about what might be happening elsewhere. Taking his mind off the forging caused him to make mistakes, but he soon found a balance between being overly stressed about what he was making, and distracting his mind to stay calm. His control mastery started to gain points as well as his various crafting masteries after he started doing that, so it must have worked.
Three more times he had to go back out to collect scrap metal. He was stretching the limits of exploring the sector, and Ronan believed that he might not be able to obtain more materials without starting to demolish some buildings. On his third journey out, he was walking through the streets of the city when he heard a loud explosion followed by the sound of shattering glass.
He did a double take, throwing the pieces of steel rebar and concrete into the Survivalist’s Portable Forge—it doubling as a storage item was useful, as it meant he didn’t need to put useless materials in his inventory. Huh, I ended up getting closer than I thought. I’m surprised the fight is still going on, it must have been a few days since the notification.
Ronan was about two streets away from the boss tower. Given that he had already come that far, he decided to just check it out. At worst, he would lose some time that he could have spent making badly forged weapons. At best, however, he might get to see Lord Rockmore getting his arse handed to him by a fox. That would be well worth a detour.
Ronan arrived at the base of the tower and stared upwards. He realised that the reason the battle was still going on a few days later was likely the fact that Rockmore and his goons were fighting their way through the hundred floors of the tower. They had to take down all of the foxes before they could even lay eyes on the sector pillar.
Ronan wasn’t even sure they were strong enough. Even he had failed a few times. Then again, he gained way more experience per kill, but he was working alone whereas Rockmore and his goons were a large group. In any case, the shattered glass was quite high up, near the top floor. Ronan smiled. The final clash between them would happen soon. He could satiate his curiosity if he climbed up there, but he wasn’t bothered. He began to walk back to the place he’d made his temporary base. It was time to do some more forging.
Ronan had grown bored of the constant trips. Before he went back, he decided to harvest the remains of a shattered skyscraper. There was no way he could have taken all of the metal that was scattered around, but he packed the Survivalist’s Portable Forge as full as it would get without ruining some of the equipment. He reckoned there was enough to keep him going for a month or so, if he took regular breaks.
Ronan settled into a rhythm quickly. He started by turning all the metal into ingots. He wanted to have it all prepared so he could just focus on making weapons and not worry about stopping halfway through and changing tasks. He was better when he was focused on a singular goal.
He lost track of time while repeating the same process. Smashing off the concrete, melting the metal, removing impurities, and separating it. The steel was ruined, but he was able to recover some of the iron from it. He wasn’t here for perfection. Yet.
Even though Ronan had only been forging ingots, he still managed to gain enough crafting mastery to increase its tier by one. That was a great bonus, as it meant everything he made from that moment on would be better.
Once he was done, Ronan realised he was coated in sweat and grime. His skin had turned from a lightly tanned off-white to a grimy orange-brown. After taking a break to bathe and wash the accumulated soot and dirt from his body, and changing clothes to an outfit he’d looted from a corpse—it wasn’t ideal, but he’d not had any other clothes—Ronan prepared to start forging once more. Then he realised that maybe working on simpler crafting might have been a better starting point. Having the ability to make regular clothes would help him a great deal, as he was often stuck with his work suit that he’d started the first integration in, which was far from durable and usually fell apart after a few dozen fights.
I guess I missed the mark on that one. I’ll go back and figure out tailoring once I can make a weapon that doesn’t fall apart after a few strikes. He sighed while looking down at the new outfit he wore. It was just a shirt and cargo trousers, not that bad, all things considered, but it was a little odd it had come from a dead dude. Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Once Ronan had drunk some water he was ready to begin forging again.
Before he started to make stuff, he pulled out his most recent creation. He wanted to use it as a measuring post to see how far he grew during his practice session. In the corner of the forge—or rather, occupying a good third of the space inside—there was a huge mountain of ingots. Mostly iron, but with varying other metals that he had found. Ronan wasn’t sure if there would be any benefits to using other metals, but he would find out one way or another.
Imperfect Iron Shortsword Lv.42 (Uncommon)
A mediocre shortsword that was forged by an amateur craftsman using low-quality scrap iron.
+1 Strength, +4 Agility, +1 Dexterity
The stat bonuses were actually decent considering he had made the blade from scraps. Not to mention that he had managed to push mundane metal into an uncommon rarity and over level 40—that was a far cry from his first pathetic attempts. However, it was still a very, very long way from where he wanted to be. Hopefully by the time he made his way through the mound of ingots, Ronan would be looking at a blade that he could use in battle. If not, there was always time for more practice.
Ronan dealt the final hammer blow to the blade. Even after his sweat-stained arm swung the heavy tool down against the metal, it was not yet finished. He immediately reached for the base of the blade. It was searing hot, but his stats compensated. An ordinary human hand would have been melted off by grabbing it with bare hands, but Ronan only felt a subtle warmth.
He plunged the unrealized blade into the bucket of oil that sat beside his anvil. The oil bubbled and hissed as the blazing hot metal was dipped into it. A few flecks splashed against his forearm, but Ronan barely noticed. He was focused on the blade; watching and waiting for the perfect moment. Once the oil stopped bubbling, he immediately pulled it out. Getting the timing right had taken him dozens of failures, but eventually he figured out when to remove his creations from the quenching bucket. He raised the glistening sword overhead and narrowed his eyes to inspect it.
No marks on the blade, save for the few spots where traces of other metals had slipped into the ingot he had used to forge it. No cracks. Not a single bump or distortion. He lowered it to the anvil, and then tapped it against the edge. A metallic hum sounded through the room, echoing off the bricks. It was eerily beautiful. The blade shivered, but there was no damage. Ronan listened to the sound. If there were any hollow cracks inside the metal, he would be able to tell.
The sound was even. He smiled. It was not the first true success he had over the past hundred or so attempts at forging a proper weapon, but it was the first that he had managed without his Insightful Artificer’s secondary effect activating to rectify an error. Wholly forged by his own hand, using the lessons he had learned by shedding blood, sweat, and tears. But it wasn’t quite finished yet. A real sword needed a handle.
<< Chapter 313 | Index | Chapter 315 >>
