My Charity System made me too OP

From Floor 300 onward, each floor is like a world of its own.

Take the Obsidian Ant Obsidian Floor—a perfect example. But now, Floor 301 is called the Dwarven Floor, a vast realm where the Dwarves dwell.

Although they live on Floor 301, their power surpasses that of races residing across the mid-floors, even some from Floor 467. Why are they now on Floor 301, then?

It is said that Floor 301 once belonged to the Inferno Race, and it is rich in magma, heat, and danger. These same hostile conditions make it an ideal environment for Dwarves to forge high-level equipment—something their race excels at.

Over time, more than 80% of the Dwarven population migrated to this floor. The Inferno Race, meanwhile, now inhabits Floor 467. Despite this shift, some Dwarves still remain on Floor 467, and people now commonly refer to that place as the Inferno Floor. Conversely, Floor 301 is now known as the Dwarven Star, the true homeland of the Dwarves.

In one of the tower's many divisions, a scout sent a report to the Ascendant Registry:

"Leon has arrived—along with his team: Roselia, Naval, Liliana, Milim, and Roman."

"Floor 301… We're here," Leon muttered as he stepped out, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

All around, there were Dwarves and a few other Ascenders like him. As Leon and his group advanced, a soft red mist rolled over the edges, and a red emblem began to glow—it was the sigil that marked them as recognized visitors to Floor 301.

They were officially registered now. The Dwarven Star had welcomed them.

As the group stepped out of the registry hall and into the open expanse of Floor 301, a wave of suffocating heat slammed into them like a living wall.

"Tch—here it comes," Leon muttered, raising an arm instinctively to shield his eyes as the ambient air shimmered with rising waves of thermal distortion.

The entire floor felt like a forge. Rivers of molten lava flowed through jagged canyons in the distance, and volcanic geysers occasionally burst skyward, releasing plumes of white-hot steam. The air itself tasted of metal and ash.

Liliana winced, though her body glowed faintly with golden mana as she auto-regulated her core temperature.

"It's no joke here… If a normal Tier III tried to breathe this air, they'd be ashed in seconds."

Milim laughed, casually stretching, her skin seemingly untouched by the furnace-like atmosphere.

"Heh! Good thing we're not Tier III, huh?" she said, grinning at Roman, who was already analyzing local elemental flows through a rune-etched monocle.

Roselia nodded in agreement. "This entire floor is a natural smelting world. No wonder the Dwarves chose it—this kind of environment isn't just survivable to them, it's optimal."

Indeed, for the Dwarves, this place was home. Massive furnaces—some powered by fire elementals—could be seen embedded into the rocky walls. Entire smithing districts stretched across the horizon, their towering smoke stacks belching flames into the sky. Armored Dwarves moved in organized units, accompanied by massive golems sculpted from volcanic stone and magma cores.

Naval took a deep breath and smiled. "Feels like fire mana is denser here. I can practically swim in it."

Leon turned, his cloak fluttering as another heat wave passed. "Stay sharp. If this place is as hostile as they say, we'll need our senses at full alert. Even stepping too close to the magma vents could vaporize a careless Ascender."

Suddenly, a Dwarven Sentinel approached them—thick beard, layered runic armor, and a hammer slung across his back that looked heavier than a warhorse.

"You lot," he growled, glancing at a floating sigil that had followed them from the registry. "Newcomers to the Dwarven Star, aye? You'll want ta get yourselves enchanted heat wards if you don't fancy bein' turned into dried meat."

Leon stepped forward. "Where's the nearest safe zone or city?"

The Dwarf gestured toward the jagged ridge behind him. "Through the basalt gate—Ironrift City lies ahead. Just don't pick a fight in the forge halls. And don't drink from the glowing pools. That's elemental ore water, not ale."

The team gave a nod and continued forward, the ground beneath their feet growing more scorched and jagged with every step.

Roselia looked up. "Floor 301… it's beautiful. Deadly. But beautiful."

The city's gates loomed ahead, carved directly into the base of a jagged volcanic ridge. Giant stone doors glowed faintly from internal magma channels, etched with ancient Dwarven runes that pulsed with red-gold light. As Leon and his team approached, a wave of intense heat poured out, far hotter than before, yet the Dwarves stationed there stood unaffected, armored and unmoving like sentinels born of the flame.

The guards gave a quick nod after seeing the sigil from the registry, and without a word, the doors groaned open. A gust of heat-laced wind surged out—but within lay a breathtaking sight.

Ironrift City was a living forge.

Buildings of obsidian, brass, and darksteel formed blocky, powerful structures. Open-air furnaces lined the streets. Every third citizen was a smith, hammering metal, enchanting gear, or moving glowing ore using magma-fed lifts. Golems strolled the streets carrying anvils the size of wagons, and the very air rang with the music of metal being shaped.

As they stepped inside, some nearby Ascenders paused to glance at them. Whispers followed.

"Is that him? The Rank 1 Champion from the Obsidian Ant floor?"

"Leon… the one who spent an entire year on Floor 300 just to master a dead technique?"

"Madman. But he did reach Shell Reverb's core layer... Maybe he's here to master forging next?"

Liliana blinked as the mutterings grew. "They're already talking about you, Leon."

Leon didn't respond immediately. He simply looked around—at the pounding forges, the precise strikes of the smiths, the rows of armor glinting with enchantments. And then he nodded.

"Yes," he said finally. "I want to learn it. The forging arts."

The team stared.

"You're serious?" Naval asked, arms crossed.

"Of course he is," Milim grinned, stretching. "It's Leon. After mastering one of the most insane techniques in Tower history, why wouldn't he jump into blacksmithing next?"

Roselia raised an eyebrow. "Still, blacksmithing isn't just about brute power. It takes patience. Precision. Mental discipline."

Leon gave a small smile. "That's why I need it."

Just then, a Dwarf stepped forward. His apron was singed, his beard tied with iron bands, and his arms looked like sculpted granite.

"I heard ye mutterin', lad," he said. "You want to learn the Way of the Forge?"

Leon nodded. "Yes."

The Dwarf eyed him up and down, then grunted. "Follow me. You're not the first warrior to come looking for wisdom here—but few last more than a day."

As Leon stepped forward to follow, a hand touched his shoulder.

"I'll join too." It was Roman, who had been silent until now. "I've always been interested in the structure of things—how they're made. Maybe this is what I need to advance."

Leon looked at him with surprise—and approval. "Then let's forge together."

And so, as the others settled into Ironrift's inns and observation balconies, Leon and Roman entered the Infinity Smithery—the most sacred forge on the entire floor.

It wasn't just a place to create weapons. It was where skills were reforged, souls tempered, and dreams turned to steel.

The door shut behind them with a heavy thud.