I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 132: Gift of God of Hammers

The suffocating presence of Hamiel lingered in the air, pressing down on the students like the heavy heat of a raging furnace.

Alina gritted her teeth, her muscles trembling under the weight of his overwhelming intent.

It wasn't the normal mana pressure; it was manifestation of pure intent.

The sheer force of his will, honed through centuries of relentless blacksmithing, had become a manifestation in itself.

For over a hundred years, Hamiel had swung his hammer against the anvil, shaping steel with unmatched precision.

The repetition, the discipline, the unwavering dedication—it had forged him into more than just a craftsman.

He carried the very essence of his forge within him, radiating heat and pressure as if his very soul burned like molten metal.

And now, the students had dared to stand against that will.

It was a futile resistance.

Their bodies, unconditioned to such raw presence, could not endure even seconds.

One by one, they crumbled.

Seven of them collapsed, their limbs convulsing as foam gathered at the corners of their mouths, their minds unable to withstand the weight of Hamiel's silent judgment.

Only Alina remained.

She was the last one kneeling, her breath ragged, sweat dripping from her brow.

The only reason she hadn't succumbed like the others was the bloodline that coursed through her veins.

As a descendant of the Cindergarde family, her resistance to fire was unparalleled, her affinity for heat an intrinsic part of her existence.

And yet—even with her natural fortitude—the pressure was nearly unbearable.

Her vision blurred, her body screaming for relief.

She teetered on the edge of consciousness, the heat pressing against her lungs, constricting her breath.

Then—finally—it faded.

The weight that had threatened to crush her dissipated, leaving behind only the ghost of its presence.

Hamiel's voice, rough and commanding, sliced through the silence.

"Be grateful that your bloodline saved your face, child of Cindergarde."

His words carried neither malice nor sympathy—only truth.

He straightened, his gaze sweeping across the hall. "Anyone else thinks that I am unfair? Feel free to raise your voice."

No one answered.

The remaining students stiffened, their mouths pressed into thin lines, unwilling to meet Hamiel's eyes.

The demonstration had been enough—an unspoken warning that none were foolish enough to challenge further.

Satisfied, Hamiel turned and strode back toward Ashok, his notepad still gripped firmly in his hands, his previous excitement rekindling now that the matter had been settled.

Meanwhile, Mia exhaled softly and walked toward the unconscious students, kneeling beside them one by one.

With quiet efficiency, she worked to rouse them from their state after all she cannot let the students fall into mental trauma after facing the Hamiel's intent

Hamiel's fiery demeanor melted away in an instant, replaced by the gleaming excitement that had overtaken him earlier.

His eyes shone with renewed fascination as he watched Ashok,

his mood shifting so dramatically that the remaining students found it hard to believe they were looking at the same person who had just subdued eight nobles without lifting a finger.

Ashok, unfazed by the spectacle of power Hamiel had displayed, cast a brief glance at the notepad before curling his lips in disdain.

"This isn't even a rune. What have you even drawn? Hand it over."

Without hesitation, he snatched the notepad from Hamiel's grip, moving with the same confidence that had defined his every action thus far.

Pulling out a pen from his storage ring,

he ignored the lingering shock of the class—their disbelief that he could remain so arrogant under the presence of a teacher who had just effortlessly crushed several students.

Elara, standing stiffly, swallowed hard, a ripple of regret passing through her thoughts.

'He truly is a madman.'

The realization settled deep within her mind. For the first time, she questioned her decision to associate with him.

Meanwhile, Ashok's hands worked with precise movements, his strokes deliberate as he drew two runes directly beneath Hamiel's incorrect sketch.

In mere moments, the symbols took form, unmistakably refined and though looking same they were distinct from the each attempt.

"Here." His voice carried an edge of impatience as he handed the notepad back to Hamiel.

"These are the two closest to whatever it is you tried to draw. The first is the Rune of Explosion, the second is the Rune of Fire. Your strokes were entirely wrong—these are the correct ones."

Hamiel accepted the notepad, his calloused fingers tightening over its worn edges as his gaze flickered between the newly drawn runes.

Though outwardly composed, his mind whirled with intrigue.

He had deliberately drawn the rune incorrectly, placing an intentional flaw in its structure.

This had been a test, a final gauge of Ashok's precision and expertise.

Hamiel was not a fool—he was never going to hand over a Merit Point without ensuring the boy's knowledge was real.

But now, staring at the perfectly corrected symbols before him, he realized the outcome had exceeded his expectations.

Hamiel's eyes shimmered with an almost childlike excitement as he stared at Ashok, the sheer thrill of discovery igniting something deep within him.

His gruff voice, now laced with astonishment, rumbled through the hall. "You even know Elemental Runes! Who is your master?"

Elemental Runes—one of the most difficult branches of runic inscriptions—were regarded as Major Runes, the foundation upon which countless derived symbols were built.

The Rune of Fire, for instance, was a primal force, while the Rune of Explosion was merely an extension of its core properties.

Such knowledge wasn't something one stumbled upon—it was meticulously passed down by master craftsmen over years of dedicated study.

For Hamiel, whoever had taught the Dwarven Tongue to Ashok had to be an extraordinary blacksmith, someone deeply entrenched in ancient traditions.

But Ashok's response shattered that expectation entirely.

"Master? Why would I waste my time seeking masters just to learn mere language?"

The words were spoken with such dismissive certainty that Hamiel found himself momentarily speechless.

His mind reeled at the implications. 'No… impossible…'

His voice wavered, breaking slightly as he forced himself to ask the question. "Y-You are self-taught?"

Ashok didn't hesitate. His expression didn't shift. "Isn't it obvious?"

The answer sent a shock through Hamiel's system. Genius. No—prodigy!

A gift. The gift of the God of Hammers!

Living as long as he had, Hamiel had developed an uncanny ability to discern truth from deception.

He could read lies in the flicker of a person's gaze, in the hesitance of their breath, in the subtle shift of their stance.

But Ashok—Ashok wasn't lying.

Everything he had said was absolute truth.

Even Hamiel who himself was genius when it came to blacksmithing was still someone who learned Dwarven Tongue as a tradition passed down in his family.

Even someone of his caliber took years to fully master those runes but now facing some who was not even one-tenth of his age is self-taught and holds the knowledge at the level of Elemental Rines.

The realization crashed into Hamiel with overwhelming force.

Without thinking, without hesitation, he grabbed Ashok's hand, the pen still gripped between the boy's fingers.

His grasp was firm, fueled by sheer exhilaration.

And then, in a voice thick with raw emotion, Hamiel declared—

"You! Become my disciple!"

Mia cast a knowing glance toward Hamiel and Ashok as she finished helping the last student to his feet.

'Looks like Teacher Hamiel will finally get a worthy disciple after all these years,' she mused, watching the dwarf's rare enthusiasm unfold.

But in an instant, Ashok shattered that expectation.

"Not interested!" His voice, flat and unbothered, carried an air of complete dismissal, his words cutting through the moment like a cold blade.

With effortless indifference, he attempted to free his hand from Hamiel's grasp—but the difference in their ranks was undeniable.

No matter how much Ashok thrived under the False Monarch, he was still bound by the reality of power.

Hamiel's reaction was immediate—and devastating.

"WHY?" His cry erupted through the Weapon Hall like a thunderclap, his voice reverberating against the stone walls with unfiltered heartbreak.

His expression twisted into something almost tragic—wide eyes, tense features, the unmistakable look of a heartbroken lover abandoned in the worst possible way.

Ashok clicked his tongue in irritation, the intensity of Hamiel's reaction making him pause. 'It seems I went too far under the pretext of reward,' he thought internally and now it seems he gained another pain in the ass.

With a sigh, he met the dwarf's gaze and spoke with deliberate impatience. "First, stop shouting. Second, release my hand."

The atmosphere in the Weapon Hall had shifted yet again, though this time, it was not fueled by tension, but sheer incredulity.

Hamiel released Ashok's hand at once, allowing the boy to tuck his hands back into his pockets with a casual air of disinterest.

Ashok's voice remained flat, unmoved by the grand offer before him.

"I am not interested in wielding weapons, let alone crafting them. And I never learned ancient languages for that purpose."

His words carried no hesitation—no trace of even considering the proposal.

'Technically I just learned them while playing the game because I just find them cool over magic circles' thought Ashok.

Hamiel, however, was far from ready to back down.

"I'll teach you my personally created forging techniques. You will be my inheritor."

His voice brimmed with conviction, as though willing Ashok to understand the gravity of what he was turning down.

Mia, standing nearby, barely concealed her shock.

'Did I hear that correctly?' she thought, momentarily frozen.

Hamiel's offer was monumental—something many would fight tooth and nail to obtain in the entire Academy—and yet, Ashok's reaction was beyond belief.