CHAPTER 365: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?

Damon smiled. Anyone whom this idiot criticized was basically above average and had the ability to become at least a Master in the future. Recruiting these people in bulk would only net him profits in the long run. He could potentially start a huge company and forge industry unlike anything this world had seen.

Why settle for three when he could recruit dozens? With enough smiths under his command, Damon wouldn’t just supply his army, he could dominate the market.

Weapons, armor, enchanted alloys, even experimental blueprints that the fraud tore apart, he could gather them all, cultivate them under his banner, and mass-produce greatness. An industrial monopoly under the Blood Hall’s crest.

And the beauty of it was simple. These so-called failures had already been branded useless by the academy. No one would fight Damon for them, not even their peers. They would cling to him with desperate loyalty once he offered them what they had always been denied, recognition.

Damon’s grin widened in the shadows. "This bastard just saved me years of searching," he thought, crimson eyes gleaming.

He needed to think bigger. Damon then had another idea.

Sylvara still had that cosmic vessel blue plan. These guys could even help build something like that if they had La Rocha’s guidance. After all, he needed to make La Rocha do better than role-playing as a butler. He was not yet fully using his talents.

Damon’s mind swirled with various thoughts as he silently stood and waited for the lecture to get over.

The lecture droned on for quite some time. The guy barked at another student, ridiculing the angle of their forge hammer strike, calling it "the effort of a donkey pretending to be a smith."

The boy’s hands shook, his knuckles raw from repeated blows, but Damon’s sharp gaze caught the flaw that wasn’t in the strike. It was in the cheap, poorly balanced hammer the academy had issued him.

Another diamond in the rough. Another one being buried alive. The fraud was making his job easy. By the time the lecture ended, Damon already had a mental list of nearly a dozen students worth pulling aside.

When the lecture finally ended and the students began to disperse, Damon didn’t move immediately. He wanted the room to clear. Then, when the three beaten-down apprentices shuffled out with their heads low, he stepped from the wall, he stepped from the wall, walking towards them.

The students froze, eyes widening. They were quite young, and when they saw a hooded and fully covered figure approach them and they started to panic.

Damon smiled lazily, crimson eyes locking on the three he had come for, though his words carried to everyone within earshot. "Tell me," he said softly, "how does it feel to be failures... when you’re the only ones in this room worth recruiting?"

The three apprentices froze, their wide eyes darting from Damon’s hood to the faint glow of his crimson gaze beneath it. Around them, a few lingering students stopped in their tracks, whispering nervously.

One of the three stammered, "W-we... we’re not—"

"You’re not failures," Damon said, cutting him off. "You’re unpolished gems buried in mud. And mud only clings when people like him, " his head tilted casually toward the lecture stage, "decide to smear it on you until you drown in it."

The apprentices stiffened. "You three," Damon continued, stepping closer. "And all of you who’ve been spat on by that fraud... The ones called useless now? You are the ones with the actual talent. These brainless idiots might not be able to see it, but I can see it clearly."

"I won’t beat around the bush. I can see that you are all suffocating here. This man will never let you grow as long as you stay here. How about you come with me?"

The hall had gone so quiet that even the hiss of the forges outside seemed distant. The apprentices stood frozen, their hearts pounding. For the first time, someone hadn’t dismissed them. Someone had called them valuable. Their soot-streaked faces trembled between disbelief and a fragile, desperate hope.

Damon’s smile never faltered. "You’ve been told you’re worthless. That your hands are clumsy, your strikes weak, your fire cold. But what do these fools know of worth? A real forge doesn’t care about the insults of frauds. It cares about fire, pressure, and time. And I can give you all three."

"Stay here, and you’ll rot in chains of mediocrity, broken before you’re ever finished. Come with me, and I will break those chains. I’ll give you the chance to create works that will shake kingdoms."

"I will give you more resources than you can dream of, more chances that will keep your talent shining, and most of all, freedom. No one will mock you, no one will shackle your growth. The only thing that will decide your worth under me is the fire in your forge and the strength of your work."

The words rang in the empty hall like a hammer striking steel. Damon’s crimson gaze swept across the three apprentices, then deliberately lingered on the handful of other students who had dared to stay behind and listen.

"You have been starved of recognition, denied tools, stripped of dignity. That ends here. Follow me, and I will not only rebuild your names. I will make them feared, and whispered in the halls of kings. The weapons you forge will shape wars. The armor you craft will decide who lives and who dies. You will no longer be forgotten footnotes. You will be legends."

The apprentices’ hearts pounded in their chests, hearing Damon’s passionate speech.

"I won’t force you. The decision is yours. But remember this moment, because no one else will ever offer it to you again. I am ready to sign system contracts with you right now, backing up my words."

After saying his little speech, Damon remained silent. He did not speak further. The three in front of him as well fidgeted nervously. After a long while, a girl with ash tangled in her hair, swallowed hard and whispered, "You’d really... give us that chance?"

Damon chuckled. "I don’t give chances. I forge them. I’ll break the chains that bind you here, and what you do with your fire after that... is up to you. But remember, steel that refuses the hammer stays brittle. If you come with me, you will be tempered, reforged, and made into legends. If you stay, you will rust, forgotten."

Damon’s words rang true. Even the few other students who hadn’t been singled out by Damon stood frozen, their hearts drumming. More and more students started gathering around and whispering and talking.

Hearing all the commotion, the master smith, who had already walked out of the class once again strolled towards the lecture room.

"What is going on here?" the man’s voice boomed with indignation. His gaze swept the room, narrowing when he noticed the cluster of students still lingering instead of dispersing.

"Who is creating this ruckus? The academy halls are to be treated with the utmost respect and devotion." His eyes finally landed on Damon. "Who the hell are you?"

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