Hostility
Seojun surveyed the forge interior. Over the past few days, he'd overhauled the equipment and tools on a massive scale. The old anvil was retired, replaced by a custom special alloy one. The pedestal had been reinforced with shock-absorbing special rubber and reinforced concrete. He'd also newly forged or modified large and small tools to match his physical capabilities. The forge had transformed into a perfect space tailored just for him.
"That should wrap up preparations."
Seojun flashed a satisfied smile and raised the shutter. Morning sunlight poured into the forge. It was usually a quiet hour, but not today. No sooner had the shutter gone up than a buzz of voices erupted.
"It's open!"
"I got here first!"
The area in front of the forge was packed with hunters who'd been hovering cautiously. The alley had turned into utter chaos.
"We'll serve you in order!"
Hunters flooded in like a tidal wave, so he quickly formed a line. He handed out numbered tickets and had them wait their turn. The moment the first customer stepped in,
"Anti-kaeyi equipment, please."
He ordered it just like food at a restaurant—clearly expecting a standard response.
"How did you even know about that..."
"The Silver Lining Guild was promoting it?"
"Pardon?"
The customer pulled out his smartphone and showed an article. It was a report from the day before about the Silver Lining Guild clearing a haunted dungeon, lavishing praise on the anti-kaeyi equipment.
"Ah..."
Seojun scratched his head at the unexpected situation. He had no equipment ready, having focused on reorganization.
"Can you do custom gear?"
"...I can't make custom gear without the key materials."
"Then mass-produced ones, at least."
Custom gear relied heavily on kaeyi byproducts, so he couldn't whip them up casually. The issue with mass-produced gear was that it still took time to craft.
"Did everyone come for anti-kaeyi equipment?"
To gauge demand, he asked—and not a single one said otherwise. After informing them that only mass-produced gear was available,
he mentioned the production time, prompting questions.
"How long?"
"Uh, well... five hours."
"Per set?"
"No. About fifty sets?"
Expecting steady demand for mass-produced gear, he'd ordered custom molds. The one-piece maces and steel plates were easy to cast, simple in design, and required minimal finishing. He could push out over a hundred sets if he really tried, but he held back to three figures to maintain quality.
"For safety, please wait outside or come back in five hours with your number ticket."
Leaving the stunned hunters behind, he dove into work. He laid out the molds on the floor and set up a small melting furnace. Gas hissed out, heat surging into the furnace. He loaded crucibles with iron and steel in precise ratios, melting them into molten metal. Carefully, he poured the liquid metal into the mold holes. Repeating the process, he prepped subtasks while it cooled—cutting leather wraps for the mace handles or checking the grinding machine.
By then, the metal had solidified enough to extract from the molds. Pouring consecutively caused warping, so he let them cool in a ventilated spot. Once the castings had set, he removed the burrs along the holes. Normally he'd use a grinder, but he picked up a hammer instead. Gripping the casting with tongs and standing it upright, he struck down.
Clang-!
It snapped off like detaching a model kit part. With the heat still lingering, he proceeded to heat treatment. Maces that were too hard would shatter or transmit shock fully, so he tempered the metal structure for flexibility—briefly quenching in oil before air-cooling. The steel plates, thinner than the maces, were quenched in room-temperature oil to draw out a balanced hardness.
Whirr-!
He took the cooled castings to the grinding machine, smoothing the rough surfaces. Curved parts like mace heads got metal sandpaper treatment. Finally, he applied anti-oxidation oil and wrapped the handles in leather. Done.
"Whoa... he can really do that?"
"It's the era of fast gear now."
"No wasted movement, perfect workflow?"
Hunters waiting outside watched in awe. Five sets emerged in just a couple hours—unbelievable. Various processes ran simultaneously, shortening production time with each batch.
"How's a craftsman like that only C-rank licensed?"
"Maybe he just didn't renew?"
The hunters lost track of time, mesmerized. Seeing techniques usually confined to videos up close added immersion. As mass-produced gear piled up, murmurs turned to checking turns.
"Coming up soon?"
Toward the end of work, Seojun glanced outside at the voice in his ear. Crowds without tickets had swelled into a sea of people—he'd been too focused to notice.
"...First customer?"
"Me!"
The customer dashed forward like he'd been waiting, snatched a mass-produced set before anyone could steal it, paid, and bolted.
"Two sets okay?"
"Too many waiting."
Seojun sold one set per customer. Hunters could be hot-tempered, ripe for tantrums, but the rules held firm—they bought obediently and left. Numbers dwindled, but the crowd didn't; latecomers and word-of-mouth arrivals kept it going. Eventually, the last mass-produced anti-kaeyi set sold out.
"That's it for today! Tomorrow we'll have up to a hundred sets, so come back then!"
Grueling work, but his stamina held—he could match the output again. Sunset loomed, though, and potential kaeyi visitors prompted dispersing the crowd.
"Finally, a breather."
Seojun wiped sweat and slumped into a chair. Stamina remained, but the nonstop grind had worn him mentally. Half-lowering the shutter signaled closing—no more customers approached. The rare silence in the forge felt refreshing.
"And the empty bank account's looking fat."
His balance had jumped a digit in one day. He truly felt like he was sitting on a pile of cash. But for Seojun, the bigger reward wasn't money.
It was knowing his creations helped people. That was a blacksmith's true fulfillment.
"Time to clean up."
He rose to tidy the messy forge—sweeping with a broom, organizing tools. After filling his growling stomach and washing off the sticky grime, a silhouette stood beyond the half-closed shutter in the fading sunset glow.
"Anti-kaeyi equipment, huh..."
The voice grated like scraping metal. The air grew heavy with a palpable presence. Unlike typical kaeyi aura—something coexisting life and death.
"Selling interesting stuff."
A subtle mockery laced the tone. Bending to slip under the shutter, the figure seemed suspicious. A man in a black gat pressed low, worn robe, rusty ring sword at his waist.
"An idiot wielding rules."
He was openly hostile. The rules barely worked—the rusty ring sword loomed threatening. Yet he didn't break them outright, doffing the black hat. Shadows hid his face no longer.
"You're... human?"
"Half-human, half-monster like you. Ah, but you're not even half a proper one, so maybe not."
He looked utterly human, save slightly pale skin—an ordinary man otherwise. Seojun had never met another half-human half-monster besides Sintanjae.
"A monster blacksmith making anti-kaeyi gear... planning to fight kaeyi?"
"Only the foreign invaders."
"To people, they're all the same."
"Kaeyi living on this land follow the natural order. Those defying it clashed with humans anyway."
Seojun didn't yield.
"Pretty words. With Doyokshini gone, you pinning hopes on Haran? She can't protect you anyway—summoned by the elder for defying the monster general."
The man showed hostility but held back. The rules hadn't worked because he wasn't a customer. Still, he had business.
"Tch. Message from the elder."
Grumbling discontentedly, he handed over a bundle. Seojun unwrapped it warily. Inside: a net mask woven from black horsehair and a note.
It will be easier to hide your energy from humans than last time.
Seojun finally understood the terse note. The "elder" was Hahoe Mask; Haran had been summoned for insubordination.
'But why...?'
He couldn't fathom the stranger's hostility. Better than intense interest, though.
"Tell the elder thanks."
"Why me?"
"If you do, I'll tune up that ring sword."
The man glanced at his own rusty blade. Long neglected, its luster faded.
"One slip, and I'll take your head."
"Won't happen."
Reluctantly, he handed over the rusty ring sword. Seojun examined it carefully—a piece with serious age. At least two hundred years, if not more.