3. Souk Wadi Barada's Forge
"Hasim! Don't just stand there spacing out—bring what the teacher asked for, and hurry up!"
At Rashid's thunderous command, the boy Hasim flinched and scrambled into motion. He'd once thought this bizarre foreigner was a madman, but now, with Jinwoo standing on equal footing with his father, awe filled Hasim's eyes.
"Yes, Father! I'll get it right away!"
Under the scorching sun of Souk Wadi Barada, Hasim dashed back and forth between the stable and the warehouse, hauling mud, bundles of straw, and lumber with fine grain.
Jinwoo stood in the center of the forge, rolling up his sleeves. It might not match historical accuracy, but as a practical craftsman who prioritized efficiency, he couldn't leave this crematorium of a workshop unchanged.
To survive, efficiency comes first.
Jinwoo began sketching a blueprint-like diagram on the floor with the powdery ash left from burned charcoal.
The bellows currently used in Rashid's forge was a primitive contraption—a simple leather bag operated by squeezing and expanding a handle to force air through. The airflow was inconsistent, leaking everywhere and failing to concentrate the heat.
"Rashid, from now on, let's drop the formalities a bit. What we're making starting today is a Box Bellows. You get this diagram, right?"
"A box...?"
Rashid stepped up to the sketch on the floor and bent down. It showed an elongated rectangular box with an internal partition like a panel, and strange holes on both sides.
"Isn't this just a wooden crate? How's this supposed to stoke a fire?"
"It's worlds apart from those leather bags you squeeze from both ends. The principle is simple: that panel inside slides back and forth, pushing out the air trapped within. The key is these 'valves.'"
Jinwoo tapped the small holes at both ends of the box with his finger.
"When the panel moves back, one side closes and the other opens. Air blasts out in one direction only. Whether pushing or pulling, wind flows steadily into the furnace without a break—no more 'pffft' interruptions like your current one, just constant, even pressure."
Rashid's eyes narrowed. He'd spent his life stomping leather bellows, enduring the gaps in airflow through sheer grit. If every push and pull produced heat like Jinwoo described, smelting time would halve at least.
"But can a wooden box withstand that air pressure? Air would leak through every gap."
"That's why materials matter. Hasim! Let me see that wood you brought."
Jinwoo inspected each plank Hasim had lugged in with grunts of effort. He scratched the surfaces with his nails, checked the grain, and selected one. The rough texture of the palm wood veered him toward alternatives.
"This won't do. Grain's too coarse. Without constant oiling, it'll warp instantly in the furnace heat. Rashid, got any smooth-grained wood around here? Ideally something with low warp and tight grain. The inside needs to be planed mirror-smooth."
Jinwoo's gaze sharpened.
"And we'll line the panel edges with camel leather—not just slapped on, but soaked in oil. That reduces friction with the interior while sealing air perfectly. If no wood, mix mud with straw, bake into bricks. Let's find something quick!"
Rashid fell silent at Jinwoo's seamless explanation. Dismissing him as a "lucky foreigner" didn't fit—the material choices and design logic were too precise.
"Fine. I've got a bit of well-dried cedar plank stashed deep in the warehouse. Hasim! Fetch that first. Today... we make a box that rewrites forge history."
Hasim's eyes sparkled as he bolted inside at his father's words. Jinwoo rolled his sleeves higher.
The cedar Rashid brought was excellent—well-dried with minimal warp, its fine grain promising mirror-smooth walls after a few planes.
Jinwoo assigned roles: Rashid framed the box exterior, Hasim cut and oiled the leather. Jinwoo handled the precision work—the 'valves' and 'piston panel.'
A strange new noise echoed through Souk Wadi Barada's forge—not the dull thud of hammering metal, but the scrape of planing wood and trimming leather.
"Teacher, does the leather really need this much oil?"
Hasim held up dripping camel hide. Jinwoo nodded.
"It has to slide smoothly inside the box while gripping every bit of air. That's the heart of what we're building, Hasim—be meticulous."
It took half a day flat. With modern power tools, an hour tops—but aligning levels and squares with crude implements was grueling labor.
As the blazing sun dipped behind the Anti-Lebanon Mountains, the odd wooden crate finally stood beside the furnace.
"This... really it?"
Rashid eyed it skeptically. It looked like a crude elongated box with a spout-like exhaust toward the furnace.
Jinwoo handed him the handle without a word.
"Pull it yourself. Forget your old leather bellows."
Rashid gripped the handle dubiously and drew it back slowly.
Shoooo—!
A heavy gust roared from the exhaust into the furnace. Rashid's eyes widened. Just a pull, and this power.
"Don't stop—push now!"
Kwaaaa—!!
The push unleashed even fiercer pressure, slamming the embers. Constant wind on push and pull. Entranced, Rashid pumped the handle furiously.
Shook, kwaa! Shook, kwaa!
The charcoal blazed white-hot, roaring. With far less effort than when Jinwoo had wrestled the old bellows, the heat soared beyond compare.
"This... it's like a storm trapped in a box!"
Hasim rushed over at Rashid's shout, peering into the furnace despite the heat reddening his face. He couldn't look away.
Jinwoo crossed his arms, satisfied.
Energy efficiency upgraded. One improvement down, but damn, it works—finally feels like a real forge.
But Jinwoo didn't stop. He grabbed Hasim's prepared mud mix and headed to the furnace, patching cracks with straw-infused clay and narrowing the mouth to trap heat.
Unaware of the deepening night, the three men pressed on. New tools reshaped processes; new processes transformed the forge's very air.
Dawn next day. As Souk Wadi Barada's merchants stretched and prepped stalls, a clear, crisp ring of metal echoed from Al-Hadid Forge—utterly unlike yesterday.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Thanks to the Box Bellows' steady, intense high heat, the iron yielded like soft clay.
Rashid had never seen steel spread so smoothly under his hammer. And another shock awaited.
"Rashid, enough hammering—time to quench. Watch the timing."
Rashid naturally reached for the olive oil vat in the corner. But Jinwoo snatched the glowing red blade and plunged it straight into the large water trough opposite.
"Wait—that's water...!"
Rashid's horrified shout came too late.
Tsiiiiiiik—!!
A sharper, fiercer sizzle than oil ever produced filled the forge as steam engulfed Jinwoo's face from the tepid trough.
Rashid clutched his head, nearly collapsing. Quenching high steel in water instead of oil was suicidal—self-destructing your work.
"You're insane! You'll shatter that perfect blade! Steel can't take water!"
Jinwoo ignored Rashid's wail, feeling the blade's subtle vibrations through the tongs, timing it precisely.
"Now."
He lifted the blade. Steam cleared, revealing a flawless surface—no cracks. Instead, water-quench pearlescence gleamed.
"H-how...? No shatter?"
Rashid reverently took the blade Jinwoo offered. Icy edge-chill flowed across it.
With trembling hands, Rashid tapped the hammer's poll against it.
Ching—!
A piercing high note resonated, thrilling the eardrums. Rashid shivered.
In over thirty years of smithing, he'd never heard such purity—impurities purged, grain refined to the limit.
"Impossible... water-quenched, yet this ring..."
"Told you—heat it right, it holds. Water cools faster, so plunge carelessly and it bursts. But with Box Bellows for even heating throughout, it's different. Angle and timing right, you get hardness beyond oil."
Ignoring Rashid's shock, Jinwoo gathered whetstones and finishing tools.
As Rashid stared blankly, Jinwoo's heart raced for another reason.
Good—it's starting for real.
Jinwoo wet the whetstone and laid the blade on. Now it was art, not labor.
Sensations from modern die-casting, honing microns precise, revived in his fingertips.
Ssssh, ssssh.
From coarse to fine stones, the edge sharpened. Oxide scale flaked off, revealing water-quench's silvery hamon.
Jinwoo bit his lip in focus. In this 12th-century backwater, with crude tools, this—his knowledge twisted into reality—was his first true creation here.
(211.999), you watching? Whatever you think, look at this—perfectly drawn.
Finally, Jinwoo lifted the blade. He fitted a prepped wooden grip wrapped in leather.
No ornate decoration. But the blade's menace dwarfed any jeweled parade sword.
Jinwoo swung the straight sword lightly through air.
Shyik!
Even the air-slice was razor-sharp. His eyes curved in satisfaction.
A modern historical expert who'd handled countless swords, even factory stamps, he found this handmade one's balance rivaled the best.
"Alright, Rashid—snap out of it and look."
Rashid, breathless beside Hasim, took the sword reverently.
Checking balance, he let out a hollow chuckle.
"Perfect—no wrist strain at all. But this edge... Hasim, look. Human-made, water-quenched."
Hasim swallowed hard, staring at his reflection in the blade beside his father. To the boy, Jinwoo was no longer a strange foreigner—a mystical smith.
"Teacher... can I... make a sword like this too?"
Jinwoo grinned crookedly, flicking Hasim's forehead.
"Master the Box Bellows first, then we'll talk. Enough admiring—our first customer's here. Time to do business."
Jinwoo tamped down strange excitement, setting the sword on the display.
Under 12th-century Levant sun, Al-Hadid Forge of Souk Wadi Barada raised its curtain at last.