(The character will be introduced immediately after the episode concludes.)

Scene 1: The Completion of the Soul Weapons

The forge blazed like a miniature sun, its relentless flames casting long, flickering shadows across the soot-covered chamber. For an entire day, the underground chamber had been filled with the rhythmic symphony of metal meeting metal, each strike of Mr. Chuck’s hammer infused with the weight of countless battles, regrets, and unspoken wisdom. The air was thick with the acrid scent of molten steel and sweat—both of which clung to the blacksmith like a second skin.

Finally, with one last powerful CLANG, Mr. Chuck let out a deep, weary breath. His gnarled fingers trembled slightly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving streaks of soot across his wrinkled skin. Before him, resting upon the anvil, lay four intricately crafted rings—each one shimmering with an otherworldly glow, as though alive with the essence of those who would wield them.

Lifting the rings, Mr. Chuck turned to face the group. The firelight flickered in his tired yet sharp eyes as he handed each of them a ring.

Mr. Chuck (weary but resolute):
"It's done. Each of these Soul Rings is now bound to your very essence. Engraved within is the name of your Soul Weapon. Through this ring, you can summon or dismiss your weapon at will—simply by speaking its name."

Mechan took his ring, his fingers tightening around it as his sharp gaze traced the delicate engravings. He turned it over, running his thumb along the fine details, feeling the pulse of power hidden beneath the metal’s surface. Yet, despite the marvel before him, a flicker of dissatisfaction crossed his features.

Mechan (furrowing his brow):
"I don’t really get it… even though I’ve practiced blacksmithing on my own."

His eyes drifted toward the others as they admired their freshly forged weapons, their excitement evident in every movement. There was no bitterness in his stare—only a quiet frustration, a reminder that he still had more to learn. Then, as if shaking off the feeling, he let out a low chuckle, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Mechan:
"Heh, more weight means more power. Works for me."

Straightening his posture, he cracked his knuckles before turning back to Mr. Chuck, his expression hardening with determination.

Mechan:
"Can you teach me how to forge Soul Weapons?"

The blacksmith let out a deep, gravelly sigh, shaking his head without hesitation.

Mr. Chuck:
"You're not qualified."

Mechan’s jaw tightened. His cybernetic fingers curled slightly, the metal joints barely making a sound despite their formidable construction.

Mechan:
"Then what are the qualifications?"

Crossing his arms, Mr. Chuck regarded him with an expression that carried both the patience of an elder and the unyielding nature of a warrior who had seen too much. When he finally spoke, his voice was even but firm.

Mr. Chuck:
"To forge a Soul Weapon, you need to have practiced since childhood. It’s not just about metal and fire—it’s about understanding the soul’s flow. That’s not something you can learn overnight."

The words hit like an anvil, but Mechan didn’t flinch. He simply let them settle, knowing that deep down, the blacksmith was right. Even if he mastered the forge, he lacked the years of attunement to soul energy that were required.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Mr. Chuck’s gaze drifted to Mechan’s cybernetic arms—his enhancements gleaming faintly in the forge’s glow. The old blacksmith let out a slow hum of appreciation as he stepped forward, lifting one of Mechan’s arms slightly to inspect the craftsmanship.

Mr. Chuck (gruffly):
"But… I’ll give you this—what you did to your own body? That’s some damn fine work."

Mechan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the rare compliment.

Mr. Chuck:
"Reinforcing a body like this… takes a different kind of skill. Most folks would overload their frame with unnecessary parts, weighing themselves down. But you—" (He taps a finger against the plating.) "—you didn’t just make yourself stronger. You made yourself tougher. Durable. Efficient."

He stepped back, nodding to himself.

Mr. Chuck:
"You’re not a blacksmith. Not yet, anyway. But you are a damn good engineer. And that? That takes its own kind of genius."

Mechan stared at him for a moment before a smirk returned to his lips. He rolled his shoulders, the servos in his arms shifting smoothly with the motion.

Mechan:
"Heh. That almost sounded like praise, old man."

Mr. Chuck snorted.

Mr. Chuck:
"Don’t let it get to your head. You still got a long way to go."

The moment passed, and Mechan exhaled quietly, his grip on his Soul Ring loosening slightly. He might not have the skill to forge weapons of the soul just yet, but he had his own path—and that was enough for now.

Mr. Chuck turning his attention to the others, Mr. Chuck gestures toward Cloud.

Mr. Chuck:
"Cloud, your Soul Weapon is the Edgeless Blade. It may lack conventional sharpness, but if your speed matches its rhythm, nothing can stand in its way. Even the hardest materials will be cleaved as if they were air."

Cloud narrows his eyes, absorbing the revelation.
Cloud:
"So it’s not about the blade’s edge, but about the flow of my movement?"

Mr. Chuck nods, then shifts his gaze to Wicca.
Mr. Chuck:
"Wicca, your weapon is the Soothing Wand. As an Infrahuman—a rare race in history—this wand amplifies your rune-writing ability and enhances the regeneration of your Soul Energy... but only if you meet its requirements."

A hush falls over the group as everyone turns to Wicca, stunned by the revelation—except for Mechan, who is still trying to comprehend the term 'Infrahuman.'

Xero, unable to hide his disbelief, blurts out:
Xero:
"Wicca… why didn’t you tell us?"

Wicca crosses her arms defiantly.
Wicca:
"We need to keep a low profile for our safety. Infrahumans have been hunted by the Ethereal Domain for over forty years."

Mr. Chuck adds gravely:
Mr. Chuck:
"Truth. If your identity is exposed to the wrong people, it could mean your downfall."

Mechan, blinking in confusion, asks:
Mechan:
"Wait… so Wicca's some ancient relic or something?"

Wicca scoffs lightly, her tone edged with pride.
Wicca:
"I prefer the term 'rare and powerful.'"

Finally, Mr. Chuck turns to Xero, his tone softening with a mix of hesitation and challenge.
Mr. Chuck:
"Xero, your Soul Weapon is the Arcane Staff. But…I must admit, I don’t understand why. You have no elemental affinity, yet your soul manifested a staff. You’ll need to figure out how to wield it on your own."

Xero twirls the staff in his hands, his face a mask of both curiosity and frustration.
Xero:
"A staff? I was expecting something… sharper."

Mr. Chuck’s eyes gleam with an ancient wisdom as he explains further.
Mr. Chuck:
"Every Soul Weapon has conditions that must be met before it can be fully utilized. If you don’t meet those conditions, it’s useless. If broken, it can be resummoned, but as you level up, its requirements will become more demanding. Learn to listen to your inner soul."

A light of understanding flashes in Cloud’s eyes as he connects the dots.
Cloud:
"So that’s why my father’s sword always seemed brand new every time I saw him use it—it wasn’t being reforged; it was being resummoned."

Mr. Chuck nods in agreement.
Mr. Chuck:
"Exactly. Train hard, and your potential will awaken."

Xero, still searching for clarity, asks with genuine hope:
Xero:
"Can you at least give me a hint about my staff’s requirements?"

Mr. Chuck shakes his head slowly, his tone firm yet kind.
Mr. Chuck:
"That’s for you to discover. I can forge your Soul into a weapon, but the path to mastering it is yours alone."

With that final, cryptic instruction, Mr. Chuck slumps onto a nearby bench, exhaustion etched into every line of his weathered face.
Mr. Chuck:
"Now go. I need some damn sleep."

The group, their new weapons glistening with ethereal promise, bids farewell to the old blacksmith and steps out into the cool, dark night—each carrying not only a forged Soul Weapon, but the heavy, inspiring responsibility of unlocking their true potential.

Scene 2: The Harsh Reality of Power

Once outside the forge, the group’s anticipation transforms into raw urgency as they each call forth their Soul Weapons for the first test. The air vibrates with expectation.

Mechan clenches his fists, summoning Iron Spikes—massive, jagged, and imbued with his soul’s essence. With a mighty heave, he hurls them at a nearby stone wall. The spikes crash, but the wall barely shudders—as if the impact were met with paper-thin resistance.

Mechan: (frustrated, voice echoing)
"What the hell?!"

Cloud steps forward next, gripping his Edgeless Blade with fierce determination. He slashes at a small rock, expecting it to shatter under his swift movement. Instead, the rock skitters away, rolling harmlessly across the ground.

Cloud: (disappointed, muttering)
"So much for slicing through anything…"

Wicca, eager to prove her skill, attempts to inscribe complex runes in the air with her Soothing Wand. But as soon as her fingers move, a jolt of energy drains her, and she crumples to her knees, gasping for breath. Her eyes flash with pain and disappointment.

Xero, desperate not to be left behind, grips his Arcane Staff tightly and swings it like a club. The staff strikes a nearby pillar with a resounding thud, yet nothing magical sparks—only a dull, inert impact, leaving him staring at his so-called weapon in disbelief.

Two long hours pass in a haze of frustration. The chamber fills with the sound of labored breaths, the clanging of discarded tools, and the unspoken realization that something vital is missing. Cloud, exasperated, pulls out the tattered map. As he unrolls it on a nearby stone table, an eerie stillness descends. The wind should have stirred the map’s edges, yet it lies perfectly still—as if held by a mysterious force. He narrows his eyes, unsure whether it’s his imagination or something more.

Nearby, Mechan’s irritation peaks. He snatches up a rough, jagged stone and crushes it with his bare hand. Instead of feeling the satisfying crunch of solid rock, he only feels the stone crumble effortlessly into fine dust. He glares at his palm, muttering under his breath before shaking his head in disbelief.

Xero’s focus is solely on his Arcane Staff. His fingers tense instinctively, and for a split second, a vibrant spark of energy pulses from his hand to the staff—a fleeting glow so brief that it vanishes before anyone can comment on it. The moment passes like a whisper in the dark.

Finally, Cloud breaks the heavy silence, his voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and realization.
Cloud: (panting)
"We’re missing something... these weapons are useless in our hands."

Mechan groans in unison, the weight of their collective failure pressing down on them.
Mechan:
"We’re doomed."

Xero, despite his mounting frustration, speaks up with a quiet determination.
Xero:
"We need time to figure this out. We should find a place to train—a safe haven where we can harness our true power."

The group gathers around the map, deliberating their next move. Cloud scans the parchment, tracing potential routes with his finger.
Cloud:
"Next stop is Mercenfold, then Twain District—where we can officially register for the Guild."

Xero adds with a spark of hope,
Xero:
"Maybe we can find someone there to help us—an old mentor or a hidden sage."

Mechan interjects with a mix of excitement and caution.
Mechan:
"Mercenfold’s notorious for its bustling black markets and whispered legends of a revolutionary group called the Union Corps. They oppose the government and the Fortress Guardians outright."

Wicca’s voice cuts through, laced with concern.
Wicca:
"But wouldn’t that put us in dangerous territory, especially since we plan to join the Vanguards? We need to be careful."

Cloud, always the strategist, suggests another alternative with a thoughtful frown.
Cloud:
"There’s another route—through Grim Groves and over Goa Hill. It’ll take longer, but we’d avoid drawing unwanted attention."

After a moment of intense discussion and cautious planning, they agree on the longer, safer path. Their eyes meet, each reflecting determination and a quiet resolve. With renewed purpose, they pack up their meager belongings and set off, stepping into the unknown—a journey where every step is a test of their resilience and the quiet stirrings of their inner souls slowly begin to awaken.

The haunting stillness of their weapons’ failure now becomes a catalyst, driving them to discover the missing piece of their power—a secret that lies just beyond the horizon in the heart of adversity.