The Alloy (Part 2)

There are certain urges no man can ever resist.

Things that look utterly moronic, yet irresistibly fun—pure, primal entertainment that bypasses reason entirely. Usually, indulging in such stupidity ends in some kind of disaster, but a man cannot always walk the safe and narrow path. Besides, what if the odds of success look tantalizingly high? What if you have enough leeway that even a complete failure could just be laughed off?

At that point, a man transforms into a runaway bulldozer, utterly devoid of fear.

An endeavor that promised exhilarating fun while guaranteeing top-tier performance was the ultimate prize—something that captured both sheer romanticism and cold, hard utility. There was simply no saying no. The dwarf chased romance while I chased practical survival, making us an immaculate team.

One after another, I received the blueprints and essential components for a makeshift furnace from the dwarf. While he supplied nearly all the materials, assembling them was entirely up to me.

In truth, putting it together was far easier than building a baking oven. I wasn't smelting raw ore or refining slag; all I had to do was liquefy what was already there.

I stacked the refractory firebricks he provided into a sturdy square shaft, then slapped thick layers of mud all over the outer walls. I made sure to leave an opening for the bellows nozzle as well. The structure measured roughly fifty centimeters across each side, rising just past my knees. As instructed, I tapered the top inward so it narrowed toward the opening—a simple design to trap and concentrate as much ambient heat as possible.

Lastly, I set aside the crucible that would hold the Mithril and Orichalcum, along with heavy iron tongs to hoist it. I thought that was everything, but the dwarf sent over another parcel.

According to the dwarf, the substance was finely pulverized, specially treated magic stone dust—a flux designed to facilitate the alloying process. Having an extra measure of insurance never hurt, so I gratefully took it.

Now for the mold.

The very last piece of equipment was the casting flask. It came fitted with a snug lid that had a single, circular pour hole bored straight through the center.

Creak—

Prying it open revealed the clean, recessed silhouette of a longsword stamped into the interior. Since it was crafted by a dwarven artisan, there was no fear of the mold warping or melting beneath the liquid metal. As I clamped the lid back down, the dwarf fired off a final round of warnings.

He warned me that molten metal could pop and spit violently like boiling cooking oil, repeatedly insisting that I wear protective gear. I briefly considered strapping on a helmet, but decided against it since it would only tunnel my vision and get in the way. Instead, I accepted a spare pair of goggles he tossed my way.

Some might say I was taking an awful lot from him, but there was no need to feel guilty. If the dwarf wanted, I was more than happy to forge additional alloys down the line, and I was planning to harvest some fresh river crabs for him shortly anyway.

Whether he was joking or dead serious was anyone's guess. With dwarves, the line was notoriously blurry.

Regardless, the preparations were complete. All that remained was execution.

He told me an eight-to-two ratio was best, right?

That was the proportion he had recommended after calculating their properties. Naturally, Mithril took the lion's share. Orichalcum was profoundly attuned to mana, but its structural hardness couldn't hold a candle to the tensile strength of Mithril.

Rattle—

I tipped roughly half of my carefully hoarded charcoal straight into the furnace shaft. Watching that black treasure pour away nearly brought tears to my eyes, but for the sake of forging a proper blade, it was an investment I made gladly.

I really need to build a dedicated charcoal kiln soon.

Completing one project inevitably created the need for another. Charcoal was a miracle material in the wild—an all-purpose workhorse useful for water filtration, cooking, metallurgy, and medicine alike.

Satisfied that the bed of charcoal was deep enough, I stepped toward the next phase.

He wasn't exaggerating. This thing is seriously heavy.

The heat-resistant crucible was thick-walled with a broad diameter. It was hefty enough when lifted with bare hands, but having to clamp and balance it at the end of long-handled tongs for safety made it feel twice as burdensome. Praying that the precious ores inside would melt smoothly, I lowered the crucible into the center of the furnace.

Now to light the fire...

Fwhoosh!

I tossed a flaming branch directly onto the mound of charcoal. Moments later, the black lumps began to glow a dull, ember-red, and faint waves of heat wafted upward.

"Ah. Wait a second."

Come to think of it, shouldn't I have started the kindling at the bottom first before dumping the charcoal on top? I had completely reversed the sequence.

I mentally cursed my own foolishness, but what was done was done. The flame was already caught. While the coals slowly caught life, I double-checked the area to make sure nothing was out of place.

"Bbarmbo. Take Wonmo and head a bit further back."

"......"

"Kyuu?"

Just in case of an accident, I had Bbarmbo escort the curious cub a safe distance away.

Now came the time for total focus. As the furnace began to radiate real heat, I gripped the wooden handles of the bellows with both hands. It was elementary science: feed pure oxygen into fire, and it roars.

Pshhh—

I pulled the handles apart slowly to fill the leather chamber with air.

Fwoooom!

Then I shoved them shut, driving a concentrated gust straight into the base of the furnace.

ROAAAR!!

The flames erupted with newfound ferocity, a transformation instantly recognizable from the change in pitch alone. I pumped the bellows rhythmically, working hard to coax the charcoal up to blistering temperatures.

Puff! Fwoosh! Puff! Fwoosh!

With every rhythmic surge of air, the inferno within grew wilder and more violent. But it still wasn't enough. I refused to let up until the fiery yellow hue transitioned into a blinding, searing white.

Every so often, I tossed in fresh handfuls of charcoal to feed the beast. Since this was my very first time attempting anything like this, a prickle of anxiety gnawed at me that the heat might fall short and ruin the melt.

CRACKLE—ROOAAR!

Eventually, the entire bed of charcoal was fully ignited, whipping up a violent pillar of radiant heat. The glow inside hovered right on the razor's edge between incandescent yellow and pure white.

This should do it.

I halted the bellows and dragged my sleeve across my brow to wipe away the stinging sweat. Even at an arm's length, the heat radiating from the shaft was breathtaking. I dreaded getting any closer, but I had to check on the ores.

ROOOAAR!!

"Ugh..."

I winced, squinting through the shimmering air. Stepping into the radius of the furnace made the skin of my face prickle as if needle-pricked by microscopic embers. Still, I gritted my teeth and peered inside.

The crucible is holding up fine... and the volume looks like it's shrinking?

The bulk of the ores had visibly collapsed, particularly the Orichalcum. The Mithril, too, had begun to weep heavy rivulets of liquid across its surface like sweat dripping down skin.

They were melting. The backbreaking labor was already paying off.

Toss in a bit more charcoal, then back to pumping.

Now that the melting process was underway, all that remained was maintaining the heat. I pumped the bellows vigorously for another stretch before slowly retreating. I had barely moved around, yet the ambient thermal radiation had soaked my clothes as thoroughly as a torrential downpour.

And that dwarf does this every single day?

Mine was merely a crude, small-scale pit. He worked in a massive forge under conditions that had to be infinitely more punishing. Truly, nothing in this world was easy—least of all the fundamental trades that built civilization. Society ran on the invisible suffering of craftsmen whose sacrifices went entirely unappreciated.

Now, to add the powder.

Following the dwarf's exact instructions, I sprinkled the blue magic powder over the slurry. By now, both minerals had softened into a glowing, semi-viscous sludge. I used the iron tongs to give the mixture a cautious stir, helping it blend, then fired off a video update to the dwarf.

I snorted softly. Classic dwarf. With the Mithril breaking down into a clear liquid state, keeping him looped in real-time seemed like the right call.

A true professional operated on an entirely different level. Handing out critical trade secrets like cheap candy was something only an expert could do so casually. Still, receiving the advice was one thing; executing it without burning myself was entirely on me.

I prepared the trough filled with the quenching oil, then leaned back over the furnace to inspect the melt.

Bubble, bubble, simmer—

The Mithril and Orichalcum had melted completely, bubbling together in a gentle simmer. Dark, dross-like impurities gathered on the surface, which I skimmed off immediately using a perforated ladle the dwarf had provided. Thanks to the blue flux powder, the slag separated effortlessly, leaving behind a pure, shimmering crucible of molten alloy.

Now comes the moment of truth.

This was the crux of the entire operation. Swallowing hard, I clamped the tongs securely around the heavy crucible. It had been hefty when empty, but laden with liquid metal, the weight pulled fiercely at my tendons. Circulating mana through my core to reinforce my stance, I carefully lifted the glowing pot and hovered it over the casting mold.

Aligning the pour spout with the center hole in the lid, I tipped the crucible bit by bit.

Sizzle—glug, glug, glug—

Stop the instant it reaches the brim. That was the dwarf's command. But you couldn't hesitate or pause halfway, because liquid metal chilled rapidly in contact with cool air. I poured with total, unyielding focus, eyes locked on the dark hole.

My forearms screamed under the prolonged strain, but I held my posture rigid.

Trickle—whoosh!

Now!

The very instant the metal threatened to overflow, I snapped the crucible upright. A small puddle of alloy remained at the bottom, but it hardly mattered; I had plenty of raw ore to spare.

Setting the crucible down, I tilted the casting flask slightly to let the excess metal run clear of the pour hole. Preventing the vent from welding itself shut with hardened overflow was a necessary step to keep the casting uniform.

"Whew."

I exhaled a long breath. The initial pour had gone remarkably smooth. Now all that was left was waiting for the metal to solidify.

The guy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was so overwhelmed with anticipation he had lost the ability to speak like a civilized person. Chuckling quietly, I waited for the cooling process to finish.

I had been told it took about ten to fifteen minutes on average for a casting of this size to set. That gave me plenty of time to clean up the workspace, starting with the furnace.

Nothing to do but wait for the charcoal to burn out on its own.

Most of the coals had transitioned from pitch black to a powdery gray ash. Even without my intervention, the fire would die out naturally before long.

Even amidst all this bad luck, I've had my share of blessings.

I wiped away sheets of sweat with a rough towel. If the ores hadn't arrived in pure, consolidated chunks, smelting and refining them from scratch would have been a grueling nightmare. I'd still have to craft a dagger and a backup sidearm eventually, so this wouldn't be my last bout with the forge.

It should be ready by now, shouldn't it?

Once enough time had elapsed, I gingerly loosened the clamps and lifted the top lid of the mold.

There, resting in the hollow recess, was a perfectly cast sword blank.

An alloy born of emerald Mithril and dusky, violet Orichalcum.

It's... surprisingly dull.

There was nothing glamorous or eye-catching about it. In fact, to put it plainly, the color was remarkably drab. Neither bright green nor deep violet, it resembled a muted, dark grayish silver.

It was a bit underwhelming aesthetically, but practical performance mattered infinitely more than flashiness.

I instinctively reached out to lift the blade, then snatched my fingers back with a sudden start.

That was close.

I had assumed it was cold, but waves of searing heat still pulsed from the surface. Grabbing the tongs the dwarf had given me, I tapped the metal with a series of light clicks to ensure it had fully hardened, then carefully hoisted the blade blank.

Now came the final step: lowering it into the trough of oil for quenching.

TSSSSSSSS—FWHUMP!

Just as the dwarf had warned, the surface of the oil ignited into a sheet of orange flame the instant the hot metal plunged in. But having been assured that accidents were rare, I kept my nerve, steadily working the blade through the dark liquid. After several slow, deliberate dips, the oil ceased to flare.

And with that, my very first sword was complete.

"Phew."

Looking down at the faint wisps of vapor curling off the steel, I let out a long, satisfied breath. A deep sense of pride welled within my chest. This was a tool I had wrought with my own hands.

Deep down, I wanted to grind the bevels and hone the edge myself, but that was an honor I had promised to yield. The dwarf had practically begged me, saying that just grinding the edge and holding the raw alloy in his hands would be enough to make his life complete.

He sounded so pathetically desperate that I didn't even have the heart to tease him. I boxed the longsword blank into the dimensional trade interface and sent it across.

Aside from sweating a bucket, that wasn't overly complicated.

After gulping down some fresh spring water to rehydrate, I checked the sun. Plenty of daylight remained—more than enough to knock out my afternoon chores.

Wonmo is... fast asleep.

Conveniently, the little guy was curled into a ball, snoring through an afternoon nap. It was the perfect window to slip down to the riverbank and catch the crabs I owed the dwarf.

Before heading out, I mounted the crystal surveillance orb from Princess Chaeng-gu directly above the cave entrance. I tied it up like a hanging block of fermented soybean paste, securing it firmly so the mountain breeze wouldn't sway it off axis.

"Bbarmbo. I'll be back in a bit."

"......"

With a brief parting wave to the silent sloth-beast, I stepped out from the shelter.

Around the same time, in the personal forge of Gareth—the master blacksmith known on the forum as Passing Dwarf.

"Gaaah...!"

A choked, breathless cry tore from Gareth's throat as he stared down at the blade in his hands.

It was a blunt, edge-less slab of cast metal with an unfinished tang and no guard or hilt to speak of. Yet Gareth cradled it as though it were the most sacred relic in existence.

Strangely, the weapon looked entirely different ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from what Grylls had seen back in the cave. To Grylls, the metal had appeared dull, muted, and lifeless.

Shwaaaaa—

In Gareth's calloused hands, however, the blade was anything but ordinary. He stared, completely spellbound, at the ethereal emerald radiance pulsing through the length of the steel.

Drifting across that deep, luminous green surface were countless motes of dusky violet starlight, twinkling like celestial dust caught in an astral current. It was as though an entire galaxy of emerald fire and purple constellations had been captured and forged whole into the shape of a sword.

"This is... fucking magnificent."

Gareth whispered into the empty forge, lost in pure, unadulterated awe.