MCRP 56

MCRP

Chapter 56 Heavenly Pool Workshop (5)

“Uwooooo!!!”
“He did it! This bastard really did it!!!”
“Crazy! Fixing a divine relic? Is that even possible?”
“He’s a divine craftsman! A true god-smith!”

The blacksmiths shouted in what could only be described as chaotic euphoria, surrounding Sehyun and pounding him on the back.

Are these craftsmen or bandits?

He remembered — back in his past life, on the day he forged his first artifact, he’d been “encouraged” in exactly the same way.

If they were that happy, couldn’t they just throw him in the air or something? Why did celebration always have to involve hitting?

Coughing violently, Sehyun barely managed to choke out,
“Ji… Jia… Keuk… Go… check on Granny…”

Kang Jia, flustered but quick to understand, shouted,
“Ahhh! Right! Granny’s recovered too, thank goodness!!!”

Hey, idiot.

Recovered? No — he’d repaired her talisman.

Still, her shout successfully drew everyone’s attention away from him.

“Right, where’s Granny?”
“There she is!”
“Granny!! Congratulations!!!”

Thwack!

A young blacksmith who’d run up to her, unable to contain his excitement, went flying with a single punch.

For a hunched old lady, her fist packed some serious power.

As expected of someone who’d ruled over the workshop for so many years — she hadn’t done it by luck alone.

Of course, the blacksmiths who laughed even while getting knocked out were equally impressive.

“What a lively bunch.”
“No kidding.”

Sehyun let out a faint chuckle and stepped toward the forge, where the crimson flames had just died down.

“What are you doing?” Jia asked.

“There’s something I haven’t taken out yet.”
“Huh?”

While Jia tilted her head, Sehyun used a poker to scrape along the bottom of the forge.

Soon, red, translucent dust glittered like crushed gemstones in the ash.

“What’s that?”

“Hm, you could call it the true form of ash.”

This was what Sehyun had been after all along.

Ash mixed with eternal cold iron and gold dust — refined through black, white, yellow, and red flames — had crystallized into something extraordinary.

[The Sage’s Powder]

If the black ash that produced black flames was the essential material for weapons, then the Sage’s Powder was the key material for artifacts.

With this, most of the problems I’ve been dealing with are solved.

It wasn’t quite the mythical “Philosopher’s Stone,” capable of creating something from nothing — but it came close.

Artifact creation had countless constraints: the myth engraved, the materials used, the soul stone, and their delicate balance.

Up until now, Sehyun had only made what was possible based on his experience and memories from his previous life.

That naturally created limits.

Like when I made Seongcheol-hyung’s smelter. Tried putting too grand a myth into low-quality materials, and it nearly exploded.

Of course, that time he had been experimenting deliberately.

But with this Sage’s Powder, he could finally bypass those limits.

By adding it during forging, he could prevent the backlash that happened when the levels of each component didn’t match.

In simpler terms: a balance corrector.

Whether physical (materials, shape) or conceptual (myth, energy), this powder averaged all elements into harmony.

Which meant —

Now, I can forge any myth into an artifact.

Sure, low-grade materials would still limit performance, but being able to create something — even a weaker version — was far better than nothing.

I came here to make this anyway, but now it’s absolutely essential.

Because to seal the uncloseable rift, he needed to forge that weapon — one imbued with an overwhelming myth.

Later, Sehyun sat again across from Granny and the head craftsman.

“Now that the talisman’s repaired, we can move on to planning how to close the rift.”

“Close it? Wasn’t the whole point of fixing the talisman because it couldn’t be closed?”

Of course, the repaired talisman could control the rift’s chaos, just like it had restrained the rift of frost before.

It could suppress the heart’s rampage even if the balance of chaotic energy collapsed.

But that was just a temporary fix — not a true solution.

“With the talisman, we can manage it. But what’s to stop this from happening again someday?”

“…I understand your concern, but repairing the talisman alone was already a tremendous feat. The rest, we can—”

“You don’t have to feel bad. I’m not saying I’ll do the rest for free.”

“Tch. Such a young brat, talking big.”

Ignoring their amused sighs, Sehyun began his briefing.

To close the chaotic rift, three simultaneous operations were needed:

The workshop’s craftsmen would combine their strength to build an altar.
Granny would maintain the rift’s balance until the altar was in place.
Once the altar was ready, someone would enter the rift and seal it.

“Wait a minute!”

Jia suddenly interrupted.

“What’s wrong?”

“Plenty’s wrong! There’s no boss monster in this rift — how are you going to close it?”

“Well, there are a few ways.”

The most common method was to cut off all external stellar energy feeding the rift.

And since they had the black flame, which could burn that energy away, that part was doable.

But the problem was—

“If I burn the entire mountain, that might work. Three days, maybe?”

“…”

Everyone stared at him coldly.

Jia finally snapped.

“Stop joking! You do have a real method, right?”
“Of course.”
“What is it then?”
“That’s a secret.”

“…”

Her jaw dropped in disbelief.

Meanwhile, the head craftsman looked at Granny uncertainly.

“You’re really trusting him with this?”

“He must have his reasons. Proceed as he says.”

“Granny!”

Even the head craftsman’s worried tone didn’t sway her. She had already made up her mind.

Good.

If this were the Granny he knew, she wouldn’t have agreed unless she understood everything in detail.

For her to approve now meant she was placing real trust in him.

“Don’t get it twisted,” she warned. “This is just my payment for fixing the talisman. Don’t make me regret it.”

Jia tilted her head, confused by her words, but Sehyun understood.

Granny owed him a debt for the talisman’s repair — and he, in turn, needed her trust to carry out his secret plan.

A fair trade.

As expected from her — never easy to deal with.

“What, not happy about that, brat?”

“Ah… how’d you know?”

“I can see it all over your face.”

Scratching his head, Sehyun turned to the head craftsman.

“Can you complete it within the deadline?”

“It’ll be difficult… but doable. There are parts I don’t quite understand, but the construction itself is feasible.”

His blueprint was covered with meticulous notes — in handwriting that wasn’t Granny’s.

“So it was you researching this, not Granny…”

“I did my best, though it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Oho.”

So he hadn’t become head craftsman by chance.

His curiosity, his dedication to analysis — his determination to achieve results no matter what.

It explained how he’d earned that position so young.

Still, his understanding had a flaw.

Artifacts can’t be made by following a blueprint alone.

Knowing the theory of a myth and actually manifesting it into an artifact were two completely different things.

If it were that easy, Sehyun wouldn’t have been the only one able to do it in his past life.

Even so, he could entrust the construction to them for one reason:

The environment and conditions are perfect — Mount Baekdu, the talisman, everything.

And these craftsmen carried years of experience in their blood.

Their sweat and devotion to the workshop would become the myth’s power source itself.

Their genuine wish for the workshop’s safety will fuel the altar’s divinity.

That was Sehyun’s true plan: have them build it themselves, letting their faith naturally infuse into it.

“Not an ordinary job. You’ll manage?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just focus on the talisman, Granny.”

“Do your best.”

With her trust affirmed, Sehyun only added one more request.

“Could you lend me one of the spare hearts?”

“…The entire core?”

“Yes. There’s something I need to make.”

“Give it to him.”

At Granny’s quiet order, the head craftsman nodded.

As Sehyun turned to leave, Jia immediately followed.

“Don’t you need my help?”

“I can handle it… actually, I need to handle it alone. Go keep Sasha company.”

“Aw, whyyy~ I just wanna watch!”

So you weren’t planning to help anyway, huh.

“No. You can’t see it. Go.”

“Heeeng…”

Sehyun dismissed her firmly and walked away.

He had no choice.

The weapon he was about to forge — no one else could see it.

The more people became aware of an artifact’s unique myth, the stronger its will and influence grew.

That was why the talisman, imbued with the Dangun myth, was so powerful.

So this one… I have to make it in secret.

Because this myth’s power needed to stay as restrained as possible.

A full day passed.

The central heart was a whirlwind of activity as all the blacksmiths worked together to construct the mysterious altar.

“What? Make bricks out of cooling stones? And stack them irregularly? Wait — you’re saying they must be irregular?”

“Route the cables sideways… carve a sigil? Invoke Unsa and Pungbaek?”

“Careful! That’s a stellar-grade soul stone! You need at least five people per tong grip!”
“Yes, sir!!!”

At the head craftsman’s command, several blacksmiths grabbed the long tongs together to lift the glowing soul stone.

Even veteran players would struggle to withstand its psychic pull — teamwork was their only defense.

“Wow, those uncles don’t even complain when the head craftsman gives them orders in casual speech.”

“Right? Simple-minded folks.”

Jia sounded amazed, and Sehyun nodded.

No matter how young, the head craftsman was still the head. You couldn’t get things done if you had to be polite about everything.

Careful now, please handle it gently! This is a stellar soul stone! We’ll need five per tong grip — no, Juncheol, Seokjeong, grab that side—
Ugh, just speak comfortably, will ya? You’re the head craftsman, not our granny!
Y-yes! I mean… right!

Sehyun could picture that conversation perfectly.

In any case, the altar’s construction was progressing smoothly under the head craftsman’s direction.

As they watched, Jia murmured,
“It feels kind of strange.”

“What does?”

“Seeing everyone running around like that… it feels peaceful, somehow. Doesn’t match the situation at all.”

“…”

“Just yesterday, monsters were bursting out right there. But now it feels calm, almost reassuring. Like… everything’s fine, even though it isn’t.”

Why did she have to say that? Such words always jinxed things.

“Don’t say stuff like that, kid.”

“I’m just saying. What, it’s not like something bad’s gonna happen right now. If it did, we’d just be really unlucky.”

And that, precisely, was why you don’t say it.

Words like “no way,” “surely not,” or “we’ve got this” — they always tempted fate.