Becoming the Dwarf Blacksmith That Hunters Are Obsessed With
After three hundred years of hammering away as a dwarf blacksmith in the Other World, I finally returned to Earth. All I knew how to do was craft items, and I had mostly just been making and selling equipment. Not much else.
But lately, things had taken an unexpected turn. The photos I had taken of my latest creations were blowing up like wildfire.
Title: Selling the Equipment I Made Myself! 1458
Author: Hammering Only 300 Years
Direct photos of the various equipment I crafted.
This time, new swords, armor, and accessories were available for sale.
Grade: A to SSS
□□: Crazy
Someone just took a photo with the emotion gauge and it’s showing SSS level lol lol lol lol lol
□□: Hey, this isn’t a joke. This is national-security-level stuff. Delete the post right now. Guilds are losing their minds.
□□: We offer protection and top-tier compensation for the maker. Please contact us.
□□: Don’t line up. I already got first dibs lol
It seemed like popularity was hitting a whole new level.
I had only been back on Earth for a little over a month, and already the guild offices were completely swamped with requests. Hunters from across the country were flooding in, demanding meetings, threatening to use connections, and even offering me ridiculous amounts of money just for one item. I had never seen anything like it before. I had spent centuries forging weapons for warriors in the Other World, and they had never treated me like this.
But now? Now the world of Earth was obsessed with my work. It was almost funny. Almost.
I glanced at the board where I had posted my new creations. The comments were still pouring in, each one more intense than the last. My inner monologue kicked in with its usual cynical edge.
Of course they were going crazy. These hunters had spent their entire lives chasing power, chasing the next big rank, chasing the next legendary item. And here I was, some random dwarf who could just create things instantly, handing out SSS-grade equipment like it was nothing. They didn’t care how I made it or what my skills were. They just wanted the results.
Crafting wasn’t just about the end product for me. It was the process. The sound of the hammer hitting the anvil. The way the metal would glow and shift under my hands. The little details I would spend hours perfecting—every line, every curve, every hidden rune that only appeared when the right light hit it just right. But to these guys, it was all about the final image on their screens. The flashy status window popping up with SSS rating and a massive health bar and defense stats that made them look like gods. They didn’t care about the years of practice or the calluses on my hands. They just wanted the power.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The workshop was still buzzing with the usual chaos. My regular customers were there, the ones who knew me from before the return. They had come back with me, loyal to the end. They weren’t here for the hype or the fame. They were here because they trusted my hands, because they knew that the gear I made wasn’t just pretty—it actually worked. It saved lives. Mine included.
The door slid open with a familiar creak. My assistant, a short, stocky guy who always wore a perpetual grin, poked his head in. “Boss, we’ve got a line out the door. Five guild reps already waiting to negotiate. And the hunters are outside in the parking lot taking pictures like it’s a concert.”
I chuckled. “Let them wait. Tell them I’ll see them when I see them. And no, I’m not selling any of it cheap. If they want it, they can pay what it’s worth.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, boss! I’ll tell the secretary to hold the fort. Oh, and one more thing—the hunter who keeps coming by, the one with the white hair and the scar on his cheek. He’s here again. Says he wants to talk about that custom sword you made for him last week.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. That hunter. He had been one of the first people to recognize my work right away. Not because it was flashy, but because it actually performed. He had shown up months ago with a broken sword and asked me to repair it. I had fixed it in ten minutes flat. He had left with a grin and a promise to come back for more. Now he kept popping up, always asking for custom pieces, always paying extra. I didn’t mind. He was steady. Reliable. The kind of hunter who understood that craftsmanship mattered more than raw power.
“Send him in,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be right out. And grab me a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar.”
The assistant disappeared, and I stood up, stretching my arms. My body still remembered the old days in the Other World—the endless forges, the sweat, the aches that never quite went away. But here on Earth, with the new system and the hunters chasing me for my gear, it felt different. Less like survival and more like… success. Funny how life could turn upside down in an instant. One moment I was grinding away in a distant world, the next I was selling products that made people lose their minds.
I walked out into the main area of the workshop. The place had transformed since I got back. What used to be a small, dusty forge was now a well-lit space with display cases, posters of my past work, and a small counter where I took orders. My customers loved it. They could see the pieces they were buying, touch them if they wanted, and know that the gear was real. No illusions. Just pure, honest craftsmanship.
The white-haired hunter was already waiting near the counter. He looked exactly as I remembered—tall, lean, with a scar running across his left cheek that gave him a rugged edge. He wore a simple black coat, but the way he carried himself screamed professional. A hunter who had probably seen more gates than most people his age. He was around my height, but the weight of his equipment made him seem even more imposing. I liked him. He didn’t try to be flashy or try to impress me with stories. He just wanted gear that worked. Simple. Straightforward. The kind of guy who deserved the best I could give him.
“Hey, Shinwoo,” he said as I approached. His voice was calm, no nonsense. “I got your message about the new armor set. You said it was coming out today?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s here. And I even added some special runes on the inner lining. Nothing flashy, but they make it lighter and more comfortable during long fights. Figured you’d appreciate it.”
He smiled slightly. “You always think of the details. Most blacksmiths just focus on the outer look. But you… you make sure the gear actually feels right.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve got nothing else to do but perfect the little things.”
He pulled out his wallet and set a stack of bills on the counter. “How much for the full set?”
I named the price. It was steep, sure, but fair. Way better than what most guilds charged for similar items, and the quality was night and day. He didn’t blink. Just handed over the cash and a small nod of approval. “Thanks. I’ll wear it in the next raid. And if you ever decide to branch out… I know a guy who could use a custom hammer.”
I laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As he left, I watched him walk out with that familiar stride. He was one of the few who didn’t treat me like a celebrity or a walking ATM. He treated me like a partner. Someone who knew his craft and was willing to share it. That kind of loyalty was rare these days. Especially when the whole world was chasing after my work like it was some kind of treasure.
I turned back to the counter and picked up the stack of comments again. The hype wasn’t going away. If anything, it was only growing. More and more people were finding my posts, sharing them, demanding pieces of their own. Some were even reaching out through official channels, offering contracts and guarantees. But I wasn’t interested in that. Not yet. My focus was still on the small circle of people who understood the real value of what I did. The ones who didn’t just want the power, but the story behind it. The hands that made it. The years of sweat and blood that went into every single piece.
As I looked out the window at the busy street outside, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. Excitement, yes. But also a little frustration. These hunters were obsessed with the end result, but they didn’t care how it was made. They didn’t appreciate the time I spent tweaking every detail, testing every material, making sure it fit perfectly. They just saw the stats and thought, “This is mine.”
But that was okay. For now. Let them chase. Let them line up and fight over my gear. I had my own path. My own workshop. My own loyal crew. And soon—very soon—I would start expanding. Building something bigger. Something that wasn’t just about selling gear, but about creating a community. A place where hunters could come and know that the items they wore were made with care, with passion, with real skill. Not just some guild’s mass-produced trash.
I smiled to myself as I started putting away the new armor. One day, the whole world would know what I could do. And when that day came, I wouldn’t be just a dwarf blacksmith anymore. I would be something more. Something unstoppable. Something they couldn’t ignore.
But for now? For now, I was just happy to be back home, crafting, building, and watching the world lose its mind over the little things I loved so much. The hammer. The anvil. The perfect strike. It was all I had ever known, and it was all I ever wanted.