Orange Forge (2)
I released my stance and turned to Evan.
"What are you doing here?"
"Me? Professor Mailon said a knight without a decent weapon wouldn't do, so he gave me a voucher for this place."
Oh, right. Forgot about that.
Evan was the protagonist, after all, so people showered him with gifts like this. The Orange Forge voucher was one such example—you earned it by impressing the professor. But it wasn't a high-grade one. The forge's prices were steep; even a professor couldn't hand them out lightly.
"You here alone?"
"Nah, with Veil. He'd been before and offered to show me around. He's down below getting maintenance right now. But what brings you here, hyungnim?"
"Same reason as you."
"Ooh! Hyungnim too...!"
Evan's eyes sparkled. Just then, a bellow erupted from the side.
"Quit bothering me and get lost, you brat!"
It was a dwarf. Evan sidled up to him with a sly grin.
"How can I, with hyungnim here? And you were so nice earlier—now you're all cold. It hurts my feelings, old timer."
"Who's an old timer?! I'm still in my prime at a hundred!"
Dwarves lived as long as elves, so a hundred was young for them.
"By human standards, you're already a grandpa."
"Argh! Get outta here and stop interrupting!"
He shoved Evan away from the straw dummy.
"I'll just watch. Just watching."
"Try interrupting again, and I'll smash your weapon to bits!"
"...Got it."
From that exchange, it looked like Evan had already passed the test and moved on to weapon forging.
Afterward, he approached my group.
"Senior Rana! Sister Elraim! Good to see you!"
"Hey, Junior Evan."
"It's been a while."
I left the three chatting and stepped back up to the dummy.
"Unexpected interruption, but try again."
"Yes, sir."
His tone had softened a bit. I assumed my stance once more and slowly drew up my mana.
Calmly flowing mana. Sword aura gathered on the blade, my senses expanded, and the surroundings came into focus.
First, the dummy's condition. Made of iron, it far exceeded ordinary steel in hardness—likely an alloy of multiple metals.
Next, the sword. This was no good blade. The edge was completely dulled, no keenness at all, and the balance was off—it couldn't even cut wood. A few swings, and it'd shatter into pieces. Whoever made it did a sloppy job.
By my experience and instincts, this sword couldn't cut the dummy. It'd break with even a little force. But I had to make it work. This test was about how well I understood swords.
Indeed, this crude blade had one exquisitely honed spot—just 1cm, but handled right, it could scratch the alloy dummy.
Someone might call it unfair. Fail, and you're sent packing, right? But no. Just getting the test meant you'd earned some recognition—they wouldn't dismiss you easily.
Fun fact most didn't know: dwarves got gruffer with people they liked. Pass the test, and they'd shower you with gifts.
Evan had gone through the same.
I steadied my mind, tensioned my shoulders and arms just right. This test was also about finding a sword suited to me. Dwarves were as good at reading people as appraising items. Show mediocre swordplay, get a mediocre sword.
I hadn't come to the Orange Forge for some run-of-the-mill weapon.
So.
Pour everything into it.
I focused all my attention on the sword, gathering every sword insight I possessed. Then, squeezing out every ounce of power this frail body could muster, I swung.
Whoosh!
The blade traced a single line downward. The alloy dummy split cleanly in half.
Crackle—
The sword, unable to withstand the force, crumbled to powder and vanished.
"Hoo..."
I lowered my arm and exhaled. Applause broke out behind me.
"Ooooh! Hyungnim!"
"Kyle, amazing!"
Evan and Rana reacted first, cheering like it was their own victory. Elraim looked stunned—she'd grasped the myriad principles infused in the swing. But like with magic, she didn't pry.
I turned to the dwarf.
"Satisfied now?"
"Good show. Name's Brand."
"Pleased to meet you."
He extended a hand after introducing himself. I gripped his palm.
"No calluses—soft, but a fine hand."
He fiddled with my hand, praises spilling from his lips.
"Thank you."
His face lit up in satisfaction as he released it.
"Follow me. I'll show you around. Rana, lead 'em well so they don't get lost. We're heading underground."
"Yes, Uncle!"
Brand strode ahead. Short legs, but fast steps.
"Hurry! The path underground's a maze."
And so we followed Rana.
The Orange Forge's furnaces were lit using special stones called "dragon's breath." Base temperature: thousands of degrees. Do that on the surface, and everything nearby burns. In the capital? The dwarves would be exiled—or worse, branded enemies of the empire.
So the furnaces were deep underground, with special designs to control heat flow. The path down was no joke—even regulars got lost. And it got hotter the deeper you went.
"Been here before, but I'm gonna roast."
"Quit whining."
"You haven't been, hyungnim. It's brutal. Ugh, how do you old timers handle it?"
"'Cause you're weaklings!"
Brand bellowed. Fair enough—dwarves were tough as nails. No wonder they chugged furnace booze unscathed. Ten barrels at rest? Insane race.
"Hold up. Can't just walk from here."
He stopped at a point and opened a nearby box, handing out rings one by one.
"Gets real hot below. You sprouts couldn't take it."
He explained the lower levels and warned us never to remove the rings. Magic tools that emitted chill auras to shield from heat—dwarven consideration for frail humans.
"So Kyle, don't take it off. Got it?"
Rana slipped it onto my finger herself.
"Worry about yourself first."
"Uh, okay..."
She did it smoothly, then blushed, embarrassed.
Brand, displeased, yelled pointlessly.
"Alright, stand on this!"
We stepped onto the platform as directed. He kicked the wall hard.
Hummm—!
The floor vibrated faintly, then we felt a floating sensation as it descended.
"What the—?"
"Ugh, still can't get used to this."
Elraim, elevator newbie, startled. Evan didn't love it either.
"Huh? Kyle's fine? First-timers usually freak."
"I'm good. You, Rana?"
"Ridden it plenty—fine!"
Superhumans who cleaved boulders, scared of an elevator? It was obscure tech anyway. Magic existed—why bother? And the descent felt weird.
The platform plunged vertically. About 500 meters? A gap formed, orange light seeping from below. Soon, it filled our vision: a massive furnace roaring with flames.
"Welcome to the birthplace of Orange."
Legend said the god of smithing was born from crimson flames like those—hence, god of fire.
Clang, clang!
Hammer strikes echoed everywhere. Dwarves smithing around the furnace.
"—You old fart! Move that stuff carefully—disrupting work!"
"—Worry about your own damn arms before I chop 'em off!"
Besides metal clangs, brawls rang out. Rough work built lungs like bellows.
Thud!
The platform hit bottom.
"Hey! Quit scrapping and see who's here! Rana's back!"
Work sounds halted as if on cue. Only the furnace bellows remained. Nearly every dwarf turned our way.
Voices exploded in unison.
"Rana, you wench! Thought we'd forgotten your mug!"
"Too damn late! We were bored without ya!"
Harsh words, but the whole crew welcomed her. Us? Ignored.
"Well, if it isn't our Rana."
"No room for you old farts!"
"You wanna fight?!"
Rana, seeing the scuffle, asked Brand.
"Uncle, I too late?"
"Partly, but gear commissions piled up—everyone's edgy. Ignore those idiots, Rana. Let's go."
"But greetings..."
"Later. They're mid-work anyway."
"Mm, okay!"
Brand led us to a building by the furnace.
"Brand, you bastard! Don't leave Rana!"
"Keep working! Iron's cooling, old fart!"
He ignored the desperate cries. They wouldn't chase anyway—failing work was their ultimate shame.
Brand kicked the door open. Bang!
Clang, clang!
Hammers rang from the inner room, separated by a wall.
"Torka, customers! Good day—better haul than that sprout earlier!"
Claaang...
Hammering stopped at Brand's shout. A deep voice rumbled.
"Come in."
No door—just an open wall. Inside was bizarrely tidy: weapons neatly hung on walls, air purifiers on the ceiling, spotless forge. Unlike the outer forge, immaculate.
At the center: a dwarf unlike the others, beard neatly trimmed. Still lush, though.
"Uncle Torka, hi!"
"Oh, Rana. Three months, eh."
He greeted her warmly.
"Don't know the rest, but welcome. Who's the guest?"
"This punk. Called the wastrel of Arden."
"Wastrel... Decal's eldest, right?"
"Pleased to meet you. Kyle Arden."
I bowed briefly.
"Come closer."
I approached at his call. He started kneading my body all over.
"Oho."
Exclamations with every prod. Then he handed me a sword.
"Swing in your normal stance."
I nodded and swung immediately.
Shrieeek!
Air whistled. Enough to shred ahead, but wind pressure stayed precisely in the cut path.
"No wonder Brand raves. A monster beyond Veil's born."
"Right? These sprouts are worth forging for."
Brand slapped our shoulders. Evan grinned at the praise.
"Haha, Kyle hyungnim's the amazing one."
"Don't sell yourself short. You're just as good. But..."
Torka stroked his beard, pondering.
"Not sure what sword to make. Handles every principle like his own, depth endless."
"Same thought. Half-ass it, he'll shatter it quick."
"Unless holy sword. Many options. Waste to specialize. Doesn't have to be a sword even."
True master dwarf insight.
"Tougher than the holy sword."
"Had blueprints at least."
They debated long. Then asked me.
"Any preferred conditions or form? Tell us your usual sword arts."
"Form doesn't matter. Greatsword or katana fine. Sharp and sturdy—anything works."
What mattered was enduring my power. Ego or abilities on the blade? Not my concern.
"Hmm, standard shape then."
"Sharp and sturdy... Ordinary materials won't cut it. Rare metals mostly depleted though..."
"Ah, materials? I can help."
I pulled a stone from my pouch. No longer a stone—inky metal that sucked in light like a black hole, making you question if it existed.
"This...?"
"Hmm...?"
Interest sparked in the two master smiths' eyes.