-Before Pagma was born, there was a blacksmith called Bultar. Was he worshipped as a legend like you and Pagma? No, he was a very ordinary blacksmith. However, he worked hard. For the sake of those who needed his skills, he never left the furnace and his skin was always red.

Who was the owner of this cold and cynical voice? Grid was still unaware of who exactly this second voice belonged to.

‘God’s Command is the power of the fourth evil, so is it Taren’s voice?’

In any case, it wasn’t important. Darkness encroached Grid’s eyes and then his location changed from the Vatican’s warehouse to a shabby smithy.

Ttang! Ttang! Ttang!

“...”

There was a blacksmith making various tools with crude workmanship. The blacksmith’s skin was red from the heat of the furnace, and he was covered with sweat. It was Bultar. He hammered desperately despite his fatigue and suffering.

‘Why is he going so far?’

The reason was immediately apparent.

“Hey! Bultar! Isn’t it ready yet?”

“I’m almost done!”

How many days had he gone without sleep? Bultar, who was dozing off and almost fell into the burning furnace, woke up when he heard the voice. The person who called out to Bultar was a villager. A small village covered in pouring rain could be seen...