The next morning Logan woke before sunrise. The outpost was cold and quiet except for guards switching shifts at the gate. He walked toward the forge and found Captain Rhea already waiting with a pile of newly damaged gear. Patrol went rough she said. We fought off a pack of night hounds. Their claws tear through weak metal. Some of our blades failed again.

Logan inspected the pile. Twisted daggers cracked mail links bent gauntlets. This world was unforgiving. But as he worked he noticed something new. Mixed in with the damaged pieces were fragments of strange material pulled from the beasts they fought. One shard looked like bone but rang like metal when he tapped it. Another piece felt lighter than aluminum yet tougher than steel.

He turned it in his hand. What is this stuff

Rhea answered. Beastbone. The stronger the creature the tougher the bone. Blacksmiths cannot shape it well. It resists heat and breaks the tools.

Logan felt a flicker of excitement. This was the kind of material engineers would kill to experiment with. Strong light and naturally structured. In his world this could be the core of an advanced ballistic plate or high performance barrel reinforcement.

He placed the bone shard on a flat surface and pressed. It barely flexed. He smiled.

He spent hours testing ways to cut grind and shape the bone. Traditional tools failed but his precision file bit into it slowly. He experimented until he formed a thin curved plate. When he held it to the light he saw potential. Armor made of this could be lighter and stronger than anything in the outpost.

When Rhea saw it she froze. You shaped beastbone with your own tools That should be impossible.

Logan shrugged. Nothing is impossible. You only lack proper technique and patience.

Rhea watched the plate with awe and fear. If you can craft armor like that the kingdoms will fight to own you.

Logan wiped sweat from his brow. I do not plan on working for a kingdom.

Rhea hesitated then spoke in a quieter voice. People will still come for you. Word moves fast across these lands especially through the black market.

That afternoon a stranger approached the forge. He wore a heavy cloak with the hood low and moved with the confidence of someone used to dangerous roads. His boots were clean meaning he did not come from the plains. He had traveled fast and directly.

He leaned against the doorway. You must be the new craftsman. The one fixing weapons better than any local smith.

Logan stayed cautious. Who are you

Call me Vorn the man said. I deal in goods. Rare goods. Weapons goods. And I hear you know how to make them.

Logan narrowed his eyes. I repair them.

Vorn smiled. Repairs are the first step. Creation is the second. Selling comes next. And in this realm selling weapons is the fastest way to gold power and death. Usually in that order.

Rhea stepped forward with her hand on her sword. We do not trade with your kind Vorn. Leave.

Vorn ignored her. His eyes stayed locked on Logan. I hear you shaped beastbone. Only a handful of people can do that and they all belong to kingdoms. But you are free. Independent. That makes you valuable.

Logan did not answer.

Vorn reached into his cloak and dropped a small pouch onto the table. Logan opened it and saw coins thicker and brighter than any he had seen in the outpost. Enough to feed the entire fort for a week.

This is only for a sample Vorn said. You craft me a reinforced dagger from that bone plate. I sell it. You earn more. If you want I can introduce you to buyers in the black market. Adventurers mercenaries small warlords. People who pay well and ask few questions.

Rhea stepped between them. Get out. Now.

Vorn raised his hands. I meant no insult. I only offer business. But remember this Logan Mercer. The world is hungry for better weapons. And you are feeding that hunger whether you want to or not.

He walked away with the same silent confidence he arrived with.

After he left Rhea turned to Logan. Do not deal with him. The black market runs deeper than the wars themselves. Once you sell to them every kingdom will search for you. Some want to buy your work. Others want to chain you. None will let you stay free.

Logan sat at the forge staring at the bone shard. He came from a world where crafting a gun part was routine and harmless. Here a simple shaped bone plate was enough to shift the balance of power. The realm was on a knife edge and every improvement he made pushed it further.

But deep in his chest he felt the old feeling again. The thrill of solving a problem. The pull of innovation. The urge to build something greater than anything around him.

He looked at the coins. The pouch felt heavy in his hand.

Rhea said quietly You do not have to accept his offer.

Logan nodded but did not put the coins down.

That night under the weak torchlight he shaped the first reinforced dagger the world had ever seen. It was sharp durable and light. A perfect prototype.

He knew what he was doing. He knew this path ended in danger and conflict. But he also knew he was already part of this world. Every kingdom wanted stronger weapons and he was the only one capable of making them.

When the final edge gleamed under the moonlight Logan thought about what Vorn said. The world is hungry.

Maybe he was ready to feed it.