Glimpsing the Craftsman's Aura
The room lingered with only the cool dawn air and the savory scent wafting from the dry straw mat. It felt like I'd just woken from a very short, intensely vivid dream. But the heavy, cold touch of steel in my hands clearly proved that the fierce battle in the Subspace Forge moments ago had been no illusion.
I exhaled ragged breaths into the darkness, cautiously lifting the object in my grip under the faint moonlight filtering through the barred window.
A hefty steel ring-pommel sword. The top-grade iron ingot I'd received from Master Yeom yesterday was nowhere to be seen. In its place gleamed a long, chill blade—born from my blood and sweat at the bellows and anvil, fused with the system's flawless calibration—absorbing the moonlight with a menacing sheen.
"Haa…."
A sigh of admiration slipped unbidden through my teeth. My callused fingertips traced slowly, meticulously from the blade's edge to the tang that would become the hilt. It was far from a flawless masterpiece or the radiant treasures of legend. There was no sturdy leather wrap or ash wood grip for the handle, no rounded guard to parry enemy strikes. It was merely raw ore forged into a sharp sword's shape—an unfinished product in its primal state. The blade's surface wasn't mirror-polished smooth; faint hammer marks from dozens of strikes rippled across it like subtle waves.
Yet the essential aura this sword exuded was leagues beyond what I'd made yesterday.
Folded and hammered dozens of times to purge impurities to their limit, the iron's grain delivered a profound stability utterly unlike the F-rank dagger I'd scraped together from scrap metal in the dirt.
I could feel in my bones why the system had judged this rough hunk of metal as E-rank, surpassing F-grade. Stripped of all flash, it was a weapon distilled to its core essence: to slice flesh and bone, to guard its wielder's life. For me now, on the path of growth, it was more than enough—hell, with my pathetic Strength of 10, even swinging it properly would be a challenge. A superb result.
"This… is my power."
I gazed down at my hands, blistered and burst from hammering, crusted with dried blood. A sharp pain surged, but a hot, heavy sense of accomplishment swelling from deep in my chest numbed it all.
I gently pressed the cold blade to my cheek. The steel's chill cooled my fevered head.
As tension ebbed, exhaustion from squeezing every ounce from my muscles crashed over me like a tidal wave.
Clutching the freshly forged ring-pommel sword to my chest, I collapsed onto the straw mat. For the first time since plummeting into this mad Three Kingdoms world, I slipped into peaceful slumber.
Morning. The sky over the Mi Merchant Guild's headquarters in Xu Province blazed bright, boisterous clamor spilling through the side room's window.
Rising, my joints cracked satisfyingly. Stamina 52. A mere +2 on paper, but paired with solid rest, that tiny stat boost had thoroughly purged the chronic fatigue and malnutrition scars from my porter days. Each breath expanded my chest smoothly; a decent firmness now coursed through my once-scrawny limbs.
I picked up the silver-gray ring-pommel sword from the table. Bathed in morning sun piercing the bars, its blade blazed with a fiercer, sharper silver than under last night's moon.
Grabbing a ragged, tough hemp cloth from the corner, I wrapped it tightly in layers over the pointed edge and blade, concealing them. Parading a raw, hiltless blue-sharp sword across the guild courtyard would invite needless suspicion or draw the guards' wariness. My weapon was for the eyes of those who needed to know—shown in secret.
Geared up, I pushed open the side room door and stepped out. The guild headquarters buzzed with early-morning frenzy. Porters sweated loading new cargo onto carts; guards inspected armor and honed weapons in one corner. Hard to believe bandits had bloodied this place just days ago—vibrant, organized vigor. This was the might of Xu Province's premier merchant house, the Mi clan, rolling vast wealth even in chaotic times.
Slipping past their gazes, I hurried to Master Yeom's dedicated forge in the guild's corner.
He was already at the massive furnace, thick cowhide apron on, heating a notched ring-pommel sword the guard captain had left yesterday in the crimson blaze.
"Master, I'm here."
My calm voice halted his furious bellows-work mid-stroke. Under his bushy brows, sharp, deep eyes flicked across my face, then stabbed like arrows at the heavy hemp bundle in my hands.
"You're here."
His voice was lower, heavier than yesterday. He'd handed a porter newbie like me—top-grade iron ingots the guild warehouse barely stocked. For a grizzled craftsman who'd lived his life with steel and flame, trusting some rootless punk to handle it overnight was a stretch.
His gaze swirled with thick doubt, suspicion, and the faintest spark of expectation.
"So, didja finish those weird tricks you yapped about yesterday—seein' the iron's grain, balancin' the frame—all through the night? Ya didn't pulverize that precious ingot into dough, didja?"
Saying nothing, I walked over and set the hemp bundle on the steel anvil blocking his path. A dull, heavy thunk reverberated through the forge floor. Master Yeom's thick brow twitched. He'd clocked it from the sound alone—not hollow scrap or botched shards, but the dense vibration unique to a finished weapon packed to the limit with iron's mass. Instinct told him.
"Unwrap it."
To my curt reply, he clanged the tongs down by the furnace. Wiping black coal dust on his apron, he strode to the anvil and slowly undid the coarse knot.
Shrrk—the rough hemp parted left and right, finally unveiling the crouched, beast-like silver-gray blade in the forge's red glow, exposing its chill form starkly.
"……!"
Master Yeom's eyes bulged. His rough lips parted slightly, but no sound escaped. Stifling silence crushed the morning forge.
Not shock at some jewel-encrusted legendary blade. No full hilt even. Crude, brutal steel existing solely to cut and thrust. But to a veteran craftsman who'd spent a lifetime with battlefield edges reeking of blood, this sword's essential 'density of achievement' must have outshone any gem.
Handling it like fragile thin ice, he lifted the blade with his pot-lid-thick hands.
"This… this is really somethin' you hammered out overnight from that ingot I gave ya yesterday?"
His heavy voice trembled, ever so faintly.
"Yes. Just that one ingot from you, heated and forged."
He seemed deaf to my answer, utterly entranced. Fingertips crept from the blade's spine to its razor edge, slow and obsessive over the surface. Each touch of the faint wave patterns from layered hammering roughened his breath.
"Can't believe it… truly can't."
He muttered like a man possessed.
"Overnight, solo—no apprentice—bellows and hammer, purging impurities this perfectly? The grain's flawless, not a single misalignment, woven tight like it was one piece from the start. Just like you said… like you saw the iron's skeleton and pieced it precise…."
He raised the blade horizontally to eye level, then snapped its midsection hard with his right thumbnail.
Tiiiing—a spine-chillingly clear, pure steel ring sliced the air, echoing long with rich resonance. A sound impossible with any air bubbles or dross left inside. Only when iron density was maxed and tempering perfected did steel sing like that—a true strike tone.
"This sound… this insane density! You… you really see the iron's breath!"
Unable to contain his excitement, he lunged forward and clamped my shoulders. His vise-grip crushed like it would shatter bone, but I met his shaking gaze steadily.
"I told you yesterday. I saw the grain, cut out the impurities."
A miracle of the Subspace Forge system and calibration, but I let it pass as my own genius talent. No excuses. In this mad world, to survive unsquandered as slave or porter, I had to inflate my value beyond limits for those in power who needed me.
Master Yeom stared alternately at my eyes and the sword with bloodshot intensity, then thudded onto the rickety wooden stool by the anvil.
"Hoo…."
A long, hollow sigh mingled defeat and awe escaped him.
"I've slaved decades at roaring furnaces, eatin' fire. Begged techniques over shoulders clearin' charcoal for famed master smiths. Seen those arrogant geniuses wield iron with their noses in the air. But…."
He caressed the blade tenderly, shaking his head.
"The form's still rough, crude. Finishing the hilt, fine-tuning balance—polishin's way off. Clear greenhorn work, untrained. But graspin' steel's core nature, compressing density to the extreme… those hammer strikes bear the trace of a true craftsman tempered fifteen years at the fire."
His confession-like rumble made my heart pound.
"Aman."
Setting the sword carefully on the anvil, he fixed me head-on. Yesterday's gaze had pitied a near-dead porter he'd sheltered; now it blazed like a furnace, sharp curiosity excavating my hidden talent and potential.
"Whether that weird genius you spouted is real, time'll tell. But this sword proves it clear. Your hands hold the vicious 'craftsman's aura'—reserved for those born to tame steel."
Craftsman's aura. The old master's romantic spin on the system's Blacksmith job passive. Perfect cover—and the surest ticket to unrestricted iron, tools, and status climb.
"This hideous half-done hiltless thing? I'll finish it myself. Carve a snug ash wood grip, bind it in tough leather against sweat—turn it into a perfect ring-pommel sword to save your life in battle."
"Thank you, Master."
"No thanks needed. Craftsmen speak through their work, rewarded by it. You proved your worth today—claimin' what's due."
He sprang up with a toothy grin. Through his wild beard, irrepressible joy beamed—the thrill of an old craftsman unearthing a monstrous raw gem.
"From today, no more ash-sweepin' or floor-scrubbin'. Start with readin' furnace heat by eye, moldin' casts for pourin' molten iron, whetstone work for keen edges. I'll hammer every basic and trick I got into your bones. When your mad genius fuses with my decades, what monstrous weapons'll pour from this forge—or across the realm—I'll watch with my own eyes!"
"I'm ready. Teach me till my bones break."
I bowed deeply from the waist.