HP - Shadow Monarch - Chapter 137 - The Sword.

[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.]
Third Person POV

London.

...

...

Severus entered Gringotts Bank at that moment. Today was a holiday, and it seemed that wizards followed the Muggle custom as well. He noticed not only the bank was nearly empty, but even Diagon Alley had only a few people strolling here and there, with none of the shops open.

Inside the bank, he saw only a common wizard arguing about something with a goblin in a corner. The goblin listened to the wizard’s complaints but looked at the man as if he were an idiot.

Another goblin sat on the grand elevated chair, as always, analyzing his ledger with a tedious expression. His gaze eventually landed on Snape. Recognizing him, the goblin quickly stood up and pressed a button to summon a manager.

"Mr. Snape, welcome to Gringotts. We are pleased to finally see you. The manager will attend to you shortly," the goblin said.

Snape nodded and waited. It was then that a door opened, revealing the goblin in a suit, none other than the manager, approaching him with a somewhat cautious demeanor, more so than usual. Snape had received a letter a few days ago informing him that the sword was being crafted, so he came to see it.

"Mr. Snape, it’s an honor to have you here again. You’ve arrived just in time to discuss our endeavor. Please, follow me. I’ll take you to it," the manager said.

Snape nodded once more and followed him. However, instead of being led to the room where he usually had meetings with the manager, he was guided through a corridor leading to the tunnels beneath Gringotts. Their pace was calm, with the manager trying to match Severus’s stride.

"As you can see, we will be heading to the deeper areas of the bank. I hope that doesn’t trouble you. After all, we want to show you our progress," the manager explained.

"That’s fine. Let’s proceed," Snape replied.

They arrived at a cart waiting for them on the tracks. Snape stepped in and sat on one of the benches, observing as the manager also settled in.

"We’ve been working hard to reclaim our ancient skills. A few weeks ago, we reached a satisfactory level, and since then, we’ve been producing goblin metal successfully," the manager commented.

Snape nodded, maintaining his serious demeanor. "I appreciate the effort. I’m curious to see how things are progressing," he said.

The next moment, the belts were fastened, and the cart began to move. The mechanism was peculiar, descending through the tunnels while keeping the platform balanced. The axis, however, twisted in various ways, with the tracks curving and even looping. Despite the non-linear movements, both Snape and the manager remained steady and composed.

Snape showed no emotion during the ride; it was trivial to him. The manager, on the other hand, seemed accustomed to it. The journey was smooth, passing through paths and stops indicating vaults, but the cart didn’t slow down until they finally reached a point where red lights gleamed as if entering a volcano. The heat began to rise, and the cart eventually stopped at Gringotts’ deepest point, where even lava was visible—this was the bank’s final depth.

"We’ve arrived. Please follow me, Mr. Snape," the manager requested.

Severus nodded and stepped out of the cart, following down the corridor. Goblins were positioned along the path, mostly guards, who greeted the manager. However, many cast cautious glances at Snape.

Some seemed to be seeing him for the first time, their fear palpable, a sentiment shared by all present. These goblins understood why their superiors were so apprehensive about dealing with this man. To them, it wasn’t clear whether Snape was merely human... or something beyond that.

The sounds of forges and hammers striking anvils echoed in the air as they approached the volcanic area. Upon arrival, they found a peculiar scene: dozens of goblins working together, with at least three forges operating simultaneously near pools of molten lava. They hammered goblin metal while others worked on what appeared to be a sword with calculated rhythm.

"As you can see, Mr. Snape, we are working diligently," said the manager.

Snape, however, narrowed his eyes. Something felt off. He raised an eyebrow as he waited for the goblin to continue. The small creature, noticing Snape’s intent, began to tremble slightly, casting him a cautious glance.

"Well... things didn’t go exactly as we planned, Mr. Snape. We have a problem with the creation of the sword. To achieve the quality you desire, there’s still a missing detail. We could finish it now, but the result wouldn’t be to your satisfaction," the goblin explained.

"What’s the problem?" Snape asked in a serious tone. He had already suspected that the goblin had brought him here merely to make excuses for their lack of success when he believed the work was nearing completion.

"We thought we could manage it in the next few days... But unfortunately, to create the sword you desire, we need to keep a forge running for an entire day, striking at a perfect rhythm. That means 86,400 consecutive seconds, with each strike being precise. However, none of our goblins can sustain that rhythm for so long without leaving the forge... Any slight mistake ruins the metal. We’ve tried several times and ended up melting the pieces down to start over," the manager confessed.

"Wait... The materials I provided you were wasted?" Snape asked, his tone tinged with concern. He had spent more than 150,000 Galleons on rare ingredients for the weapon’s creation.

"No, Mr. Snape. Don’t worry about that. The materials you provided were used to create a special liquid that will bathe the sword at the end, enhancing it with the desired magical properties. But without the metal being ready, we can’t proceed to that stage," the goblin explained.

Snape nodded, relieved at least that his investment hadn’t been squandered. "So that’s all that remains for the sword’s creation, correct? Tell me: how long do you think it will take to finish it?" he asked.

"Our goblins are working diligently, but I believe, even so, we won’t succeed in less than a week," the manager said cautiously.

Snape observed the goblins striking rhythmically at the forges, almost hypnotized by the glow of the forming metal, still red from the heat of the lava combined with goblin magic. He noticed the weariness in their movements.

"None of them will manage it," he commented. "It’s obvious that forging for 24 straight hours completely exhausts them," he admitted.

"Yes... I apologize for that. It’s all we can do about the blade at the moment," the manager murmured, hoping Snape would understand.

"Then let me do it," Snape said calmly, still watching the forges.

The manager looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Snape?" he asked.

"I said: let me do it. I will strike the blade 86,400 times. I can do it easily, so just let me finish it," Snape said.

The goblin hesitated, unsure of how to react, but in the end, he nodded to Snape’s demand. "I will arrange it immediately," he replied. He stepped forward and exclaimed, "Everyone, stop!"

The goblins, startled, halted their work at the forges, cautiously observing him. Some glanced between the manager and Snape walking behind him, as if it were the first time they had seen a human as terrifying as the guards had just moments ago. As they stopped, the swords being worked on began to crack and shatter into fragments due to the disruption in rhythm.

"Mr. Snape has said he will do the work. I want you to prepare the sword’s mold so he can take over. He will handle the strikes for the next 24 hours. That is his demand," the manager declared.

The goblins nodded without complaint. Swiftly, they began heating the goblin metal in the lava within the forge until it became molten. Then, they poured the metal into the sword’s mold, crafting it to the exact shape Snape desired.

When everything was ready, Snape stepped forward, taking a hammer handed to him by a trembling goblin. He approached the central forge, waiting for the metal to reach the ideal point to begin.

The first strike echoed. Then the second, the third. Despite wearing the same clothes he had worn to the Greengrass family’s gathering, Snape didn’t care about the heat or the effort, continuing to strike with perfect rhythm. All the goblins stopped what they were doing to watch him.

Snape had no intention of waiting an entire week. He planned to move toward his goal as quickly as possible. Time passed, hour by hour, as he maintained an impeccable rhythm, showing no signs of fatigue from the movement, environment, or any physiological condition such as hunger or thirst. The goblins guided him, pointing out where he should strike to ensure precision, alternating shifts every six hours, while Snape remained steadfast, crafting the blade to perfection.

Twenty-four hours finally passed, and he was still there, striking with precision. Then, at last, the final strike produced a different sound—something unique. All the goblins opened their eyes in surprise.

"He did it! Quick, bring the magical liquid!" they exclaimed.

A barrel was brought near Snape, containing a black liquid. This was the special concoction created with the ingredients he had provided. The blade was submerged into the boiling liquid, which steamed due to the sword’s heat. The next moment, even immersed in the dark liquid, the blade began to glow intensely in blue. The liquid started to disappear, being absorbed by the sword until the last drop was consumed, while Snape held the blade’s hilt the entire time.

Everyone watched in silence, astonished. Snape raised the sword as it shone brilliantly, surprised by the weapon’s remarkable quality. The goblins stared at him with a mixture of admiration and respect, recognizing that Snape had achieved something they had failed to do repeatedly.

"Incredible..." the manager murmured.

A spontaneous applause erupted among the goblins. The manager observed with a rare smile of satisfaction.

Snape himself was pleased, knowing that finally, the weapon he needed was ready: a blade capable of killing anything in this world.

Now, little remained before he could head to Romania and face the dreaded level 45 dungeon.

The blade continued to shine before him as he turned back to the goblins.

"Is it ready?" he asked curiously, and the goblins nodded.

"Yes... test it by striking the forge’s metal," the manager suggested. Snape nodded and approached one of the forges again.

What the goblins didn’t expect was for Snape to strike with such force that the forge itself began to crumble as the sword descended upon it, generating a tremendous sound as everyone watched in shock.

"..." Snape observed the forge starting to collapse, using his strength to test the blade’s resilience and finding it excessive.

"Well... I think it’s a good sword," he said, a bit embarrassed, having underestimated his own strength.

"That..." The goblins were speechless, for what they had just witnessed was beyond human.

"I believe your sword is perfect, Mr. Snape..." the manager cautiously remarked, and Severus nodded.

"Excellent. It just needs magical runes, but it will require a master for that, like how Godric Gryffindor worked with a contact of Salazar’s when creating the Sword of Gryffindor. But I can handle that later. Either way, I’m satisfied with the blade and will be using it soon," Snape concluded.

"Bring a scabbard for the sword!" the manager called out, but Snape interrupted.

"There’s no need for that," Snape said as he made the sword disappear—after all, he had his inventory. He turned back to the goblins. "Now let’s settle the final details. You’ve done a fine job here," Snape said as he nodded at them, preparing to finalize the agreement.

The goblins led him to one of the rooms to settle the matter of their labor costs. Snape followed, ready to conclude his business.