All MILFs are Mine Chapter 286: That is one ugly dog

Deep within the Dungeon’s Fifteenth Floor...

Leon reclined upon his jagged throne of stone, hovering a meter above the freezing floor. His fingers rhythmically tapped the armrest while his brow furrowed in deep thought.

’Dammit... A hidden village tucked away in the southern peaks, crawling with demons. Thirteen of those bastards with high-speed regeneration are running the show, and Adwin is demanding my choice by the day after tomorrow.

Son of a bitch... All this trouble just because I let my ego talk and told that moron Charles, "I am king in the south." Just one sentence. One single sentence ruined everything. I seriously need to start shutting my mouth.’

*Swish*

The fabric of reality tore open. Elis materialized instantly, dropping to one knee with her head bowed so low her hair swept the stone.

"Master... Sir Gerald is requesting an audience with you," she murmured, her voice quiet but distinct.

"Hmm...? Gerald wants a word?" Leon grunted. He pushed off from his throne, descending rapidly, but his form flickered and vanished before his soles could touch the floor.

...

The Twelfth Floor...

*Tang-Tang-Tang-Tang-Tang-Tang!*

The massive furnace roared like a feral predator, sending tongues of fire licking toward the ceiling. Waves of intense heat flooded the room. Gerald was hunched over his anvil, his hammer rising and falling in a savage cadence as he shaped a glowing, curved metal bow. With every impact, a spray of sparks erupted.

Dark goggles shielded his vision. His thick brown leather gloves groaned under the strain of his full strength.

A small elven girl stood by his side, her eyes fixed on the metal with absolute intensity. She wore matching oversized goggles and a scorched leather coat that swallowed her small frame, her cheeks flushed crimson from the ambient heat.

*Swish*

Leon manifested behind them out of thin air. His eyes scanned the workshop, settling on a long wall rack where dozens of freshly forged weapons were still radiating heat.

"Gerald, you sent for me?" he inquired, his low voice nearly drowned out by the rhythmic clanging.

"Hold your horses for a damn second..." Gerald growled, refusing to turn around. He raised the hammer high and delivered one final, crushing blow.

*CRACK*

The limb of the bow snapped clean through.

The elven girl leaned forward, her eyes widening.

"If the core is too rigid, the limbs become as brittle as glass. The moment the string is pulled, it shatters. An archer would be dead before getting a shot off. Do it over," Gerald commanded, his voice as coarse as gravel. He straightened up and pulled his goggles off.

"I understand, Teacher," the little elf replied softly. Using a pair of tongs, she snatched up the broken metal and thrust it back into the heart of the furnace.

"You’re here, kid. Good," Gerald said, finally looking at Leon while wiping sweat away with his forearm.

"Yeah. What's the story with the elf brat? Isn't she a bit young to be playing with fire?" Leon asked, arching an eyebrow.

"She was wandering this floor when that blue-haired ghost girl first brought me down. I told her to get lost. She stared me down and told me she wanted to be a blacksmith.

I figured the noise and heat would make her run for it. Two hours later, she was handing me tools before I could even open my mouth. We struck a deal—she works, I instruct. Now she’s my apprentice. Everything I've learned dies with me if there's no one to inherit it," Gerald explained with blunt honesty.

"I see... but I thought Dwarfs and Elfs were at each other's throats?" Leon asked as they walked toward the southern corner of the forge.

"I don't have enemies, kid, only knowledge to leave behind... I wouldn’t have handed those daggers to that dark elf you brought by the shop if I shared that common hatred." Gerald spoke with a neutral face as they reached the corner.

As Leon glanced into the corner, his eyes twitched with sudden confusion.

Absolute blackness occupied the space. It wasn't merely a shadow—it was something denser. A living miasma of dark fog pulsed and writhed, looking as though it might consume anything that ventured too close.

"What the hell is that?" Leon asked, staring at the phenomenon in bewilderment.

"There is a ritual in the dwarf kingdom that causes a lot of arguments—some label it forbidden, others don't. A smith takes the greatest weapon he has ever forged, performs a summoning that opens a gateway to the realm of darkness, and tosses the blade inside.

I threw your sword in," Gerald stated, his voice as steady as a mountain.

"Reach inside. Visualize the Nyxter in your mind. Once the image is clear in your head, you'll feel it in your hand. The trial begins the moment your hand grips that hilt.

Succeed, and the blade returns with a rare skill that no forge, enchantment, or mage in this world can replicate. Fail and... well, I haven't a clue. No one has ever come back to tell the story.

Or, I can kill the spell right now and make you something else. It's your call."

Leon’s stare intensified. "Why the hell would you throw my sword in there in the first place?"

Gerald walked away and slumped onto a wooden bench, seizing a heavy mug of booze and taking a deep swig.

*Gulp... Gulp*

He wiped his mouth with his gloved hand and looked up. For a fleeting second, his eyes shimmered with a faint golden light.

"I had to know..." he muttered. "Am I forging steel for some guy who just slaughters monsters with them... or for someone who is actually worthy of them?

You can walk away and I'll forge you a new sword. It'll be iron, and it'll have a skill, though it won't be anything special," Gerald added with a smirk.

A slow, predatory grin spread across Leon’s face.

"You know what? Your timing is perfect..."

Without hesitation or a second thought, he plunged his hand directly into the swirling black mist.

Gerald’s eyes snapped wide.

’This brat—’

Dark smoke slithered up Leon’s arm like venomous veins. His eyes turned a solid, abyssal black. His frame locked up tight, and his breath vanished as if his very soul had been yanked from his chest.

Gerald let out a short bark of laughter, stood up from the bench, and walked over. He gave Leon’s paralyzed shoulder a single slap before heading back to the furnace.

"Mad bastard. Not a soul in history has ever pulled a sword back out. Hell... no one has even been brave enough to put their hand in. Hahaha..."

...

Somewhere else...

*Blink—Blink*

Leon’s eyes flew open.

It was freezing and deathly quiet. Ash drifted down like grey snow.

Checking his hand, he found the Nyxter already resting heavily in his palm.

He unsheathed it slowly. The blade gleamed with a perfect edge once more, razor-sharp and lethal.

Skeletal trees surrounded him, their trunks charred black and branches laden with thick white ash, devoid of any leaves. The ground was parched, cracked earth that seemed to swallow all sound. A biting wind sliced right through his clothes.

"Where the fu—"

*GRAAAWWWWWLLLLLL*

A deep, guttural roar echoed from behind him.

Leon whirled around.

Twenty meters away, a colossal hound was crouched low. It had no skin or muscle—only bone and empty space. A massive void occupied its chest, where a single glowing green core pulsed like a diseased heart. Its hollow eye sockets flickered with a poisonous green flame.

It flashed rows of jagged, blackened teeth and let out another low, famished growl.

Leon tightened his fingers around the Nyxter’s hilt...

"That is one ugly motherfucking dog..."