Viktor emerged from the pond, water streaming from his body. His hair was slicked back, droplets running down his muscular frame. He grabbed a fresh towel Mira had brought, drying himself efficiently.

Mira had already left after sucking him dry to prepare food for everyone. She had blown him a kiss from the lips that seemed a moment ago like fish stuffed, to now holding a grin before disappearing inside, her mission apparently complete.

'That woman...' Viktor thought with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

He dressed quickly—black pants, white shirt left partially unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tail coiled comfortably around his waist beneath the fabric. No shoes—he preferred feeling the ground beneath his feet in his own territory.

Viktor walked across the garden, his bare feet silent on the grass. The artificial sun warmed his shoulders as he approached the completed forge.

And it was complete.

Where yesterday there had been half-finished stone framework and scattered materials, now stood a fully functional smithy. The structure was open-aired but covered, supported by thick stone pillars.

A massive forge dominated the center, flames already crackling within, fed by some mechanism Rusty had engineered. Anvils of varying sizes were positioned strategically. Tools hung on walls—hammers, tongs, chisels, files. Raw materials were organized in bins—iron ore, steel ingots, coal, various metals Viktor didn't immediately recognize.

It was professional. Functional. Perfect.

"Finally," Viktor said, his voice carrying genuine approval. "Not bad. This seems more than fine."

BOUNCE. BOUNCE. BOUNCE.

Rusty appeared beside him instantly, the large purple slime vibrating with excitement. Its gelatinous body tightened and expanded rhythmically, like a chest puffing out with pride.

"Kyuu! Kyuu!"

The slime bounced in place, clearly waiting for more appreciation. Its two eye-spots were focused entirely on Viktor, eager and expectant.

Viktor smirked, reaching out to pat Rusty's surface. His hand sank slightly into the warm, gel-like texture. "You did good work, Rusty. Both you and Rustina."

"KYUUUU~~!"

Rusty's entire body glowed brighter purple, practically vibrating with happiness.

Viktor understood what had happened. His marathon session with Elara last night—hours of intense sexual activity with a succubus—had produced massive amounts of demonic energy.

That energy had saturated the atmosphere, and both Rusty and Rustina, being demonic creatures themselves who use manifestation using it, had absorbed it like sponge absorbing water.

Fed and energized, they'd worked through the night, completing the forge at supernatural speed.

'At least they were productive while I was... occupied,' Viktor thought, a hint of amusement coloring his internal voice.

He moved toward the pink slime—Rustina—who was resting near a pile of finished materials. She seemed more reserved than Rusty, but her body also glowed with satisfaction.

"Good work," Viktor said simply.

"Kyu~" Rustina's response was softer, more dignified, but equally pleased.

Viktor entered the forge proper, his eyes scanning every detail with a craftsman's critical gaze. The layout was efficient—everything within easy reach.

The forge fire burned at the perfect temperature, hot enough to work metal but controlled enough not to waste fuel.

Ventilation was excellent; he could feel air circulation keeping the space from becoming suffocating.

He moved to one of the material bins, selecting a small piece of raw iron. It was rough, unrefined, still containing impurities.

Viktor held it in his palm, then began manipulating it.

Using his Craftsmanship Ability gotten from Mira, he molded the metal like clay.

His fingers pressed and shaped, the iron bending and elongating under his touch as if it were soft dough rather than solid metal.

Within thirty seconds, he'd formed a crude arrow shaft.

He held it up to the light, examining it critically. Then he gripped both ends and applied pressure.

Snap.

The arrow broke cleanly in half.

"Hmm." Viktor tossed the broken pieces into the forge fire, watching them heat and begin to melt. "Too many impurities. The constitution isn't durable enough, even with shaping."

He wasn't surprised. Raw materials needed proper refinement. Heating, hammering, tempering. You couldn't shortcut the process and expect quality results.

Of course, he saw that not using Forge Mastery to create weapons, even if he can shape them using craftsmanship, ur was useless.

This was also the major reason why he wasn't able to use his ability completely before.

Craftsmanship ability made anything like clay, a raw material allowed to be molded by his fingers at will, but without heating, actual work meant he couldn't make them indestructible, which was the major reason he built a forge.

Viktor stretched his back, rolling his shoulders to loosen muscles still slightly sore from his night with Elara. "Let's try to make arrows first."

It might have seemed like an odd choice. Most would prioritize swords, daggers, armor—weapons for direct combat. But Viktor's strategic mind was already several steps ahead.

The first floor needed traps. Automated defenses.

Helena's wooden puppets were useful, and the Tower Guardian knight was powerful in battle mode, but it required Viktor's direct control to function properly against opponents.

That meant if multiple threats came simultaneously, or if a high-ranking hunter appeared, Viktor would be stretched thin.

'The first floor seems overpowered now,' Viktor thought, moving to select proper iron ingots. 'But when the tsunami of hunters starts barging in...'

It was inevitable. Word would spread about the Tower. Hunters would come in waves, drawn by the promise of abilities, power, rewards.

The credit system helped—requiring minimum credits meant hunters couldn't just flood in all at once.

But it wasn't foolproof. A wealthy guild or noble house could easily fund Village, helping many at once, buying them enough credits to breach the entrance simultaneously.

And strong hunters—really strong ones—could accumulate credits frighteningly fast due to their already set public image.

'If they come prepared and invested,' Viktor analyzed coldly, 'Hm...'

That was the Tower's rule. Each floor defeated meant one ability lost. Viktor could choose which ability to sacrifice, but that was still a significant setback.

He'd worked too hard to build his current arsenal. Of course, fucking each woman all night until their bodies mold to him and their throats sing his name is not that easy, so he wasn't going to lose those abilties without a fight.

'Traps. Automated defenses. Force multiplication.' Viktor's mind cataloged the strategy. 'Make the first floor so dangerous that even strong hunters create doubts about second floor.'

Naturally, to spread his name outside, he would naturally get defeated on the first floor, but naturally not without putting up a fight, and the ability he gives to the hunters will be in the form of skill books that attract more.

But hype is created with difficulty.

Arrows were perfect for that. Trap triggers, automatic firing mechanisms, poison coating potential. Mass-producible. Effective against flesh regardless of skill level if placed correctly.

Viktor rolled up his sleeves properly now, the white fabric bunching at his elbows. His forearms were corded with muscle, veins prominent. His shirt pulled tight across his chest and shoulders as he moved.

He selected a proper iron ingot—already refined, quality metal. He placed it in the forge, watching it heat to the right temperature. The metal began to glow—first red, then orange, approaching white-hot.

Using tongs, Viktor pulled it free and positioned it on the anvil.

He hefted a hammer—medium weight, well-balanced. The handle was smooth from use, fitting comfortably in his grip.

Viktor took a deep breath, centering himself. This was different from sex, from fighting, from scheming. This was creation. Transformation of raw material into something functional and deadly.

"Let's fulfill the duties of a husband now," he muttered, a slight smirk on his lips.

Viktor raised the hammer high.

Then brought it down with perfect form and devastating force.

CLANK.

The sound rang out across the garden, clear and pure. Sparks flew from the impact, the glowing metal deforming under the blow.

Viktor raised the hammer again.

CLANK.

And again.

CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.

He fell into a rhythm—strike, rotate the metal, strike, reheat when necessary, strike again. His movements were efficient, economical. No wasted motion. Each hammer blow had purpose and precision.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead. His muscles flexed and released with each strike, his body moving like a machine designed for this singular purpose.

To be honest, he felt no difference between pounding a metal or his women, both had a sound, position switches, the erotic sounds produced when flesh met flesh or here metal met metal.

'Eh? The fuck... I am comparing even this with...'

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