Transformed into a Skilled Blacksmith
In the darkness of the side room, swept clean by a massive storm of light, I stared blankly down at the sword resting on my lap.
The hwandu that Kang Bi had entrusted to me, its central spine shattered. A D+ grade famed sword, reborn by piecing in fragments of black iron to perfectly mend those horrific cracks.
Yet the way my eyes perceived this sword now was utterly different from when I'd hammered it in the Subspace Forge moments ago.
"What... the hell... is this?"
I reached out with trembling fingers, gently caressing the chill blade of the hwandu. It was astonishing. Just minutes ago, this sword had looked to me like nothing more than a 'perfectly repaired chunk of hard, sharp metal.' But now, having advanced my blacksmith rank from F to E-grade Blacksmith, this D+ grade hwandu appeared in my vision as far more than mere metal.
As if peering through it with x-ray vision, I could clearly discern the iron's dense structure, the minute arrangement of carbon atoms, and even the subtle flow of the weight distribution during impacts.
Ah... If I'd twisted the hammer angle just a fraction more when joining the black iron, the boundary between steel and black iron would've meshed far more seamlessly. If I'd quenched at a slightly lower temperature, I could've maximized elasticity at the tiniest cost to hardness.
My mind overflowed with countless calculations, regrets, and answers to 'how could I elevate this sword to perfection?' A shiver ran through me.
Until now, F-grade blacksmithing had been like handing a navigation device to a blind man and forcing him to walk a path. My muscles and bones held no knowledge, but the Subspace Forge's system had forcibly twisted my wrists, corrected my trajectories, and made me mimic miracles.
But this change upon reaching E-grade wasn't some shallow system aid. It was the intuitive experience of a true master craftsman—decades sweating before a roaring furnace, swinging the hammer tens of thousands of times to converse with iron—permanently etched into every cell of my brain and muscles.
Now... I've truly become a blacksmith.
I clenched my fist toward the empty air. Even the flow of air around my grip felt different. With the Subspace Forge's perfect environment and system corrections, plus my renewed baseline skill, every weapon I forged from here on would be at least D-grade.
But the real joy lay elsewhere.
Even outside the Subspace Forge, in reality, I'm no longer a novice fumbling with scrap.
A real-world forge without system aid. The old me could've only produced F-grade brittle junk that snapped at a touch. But the master's knowledge and instincts now ingrained in my mind and muscles assured me I could craft at least E-grade practical weapons using nothing but my pure physical technique, no magical corrections needed.
Evolution from a half-baked awakener reliant on the system to a true monstrous artisan who could thrive in reality.
"Ha, haha...!"
Mad laughter erupted in the darkness. I couldn't stop. My fingertips burned with electric thrill, a frenzied urge to seize metal and pound it surging through my veins like boiling blood. But I suppressed the rising fervor, carefully wrapping the repaired Kang Bi famed sword in its leather sheath and tucking it into a corner of the bunk.
The next morning, before the merchant guild's rooster crowed, I awoke at dawn.
Crack. Rising, a satisfying pop echoed from my spine. Not a speck of fatigue remained; explosive energy coursed through my body.
I strode lightly from the side room to the forge area. The forge lay silent under the dawn mist. Familiarly, I grabbed a broom, sweeping up black charcoal dust and metal shavings, then arranged hammers and tongs perfectly by weight and purpose. Just as I finished cleaning and setup—
"Ahem!"
A fake cough sounded at the forge entrance, followed by Yeom Cheol's heavy footsteps. He scanned the forge—fire already prepped perfectly—nodded in satisfaction, and plopped onto the rickety wooden stool by the anvil.
"Slept well, did ya?"
"Aye, Master Yeom. Thanks to you, every ache in my bones is gone."
As I set down the broom and bowed lightly, Yeom Cheol stroked his bushy beard, eyeing me sharply.
"Told ya to rest, but looks like you went strollin' through the city market yesterday afternoon."
His words startled me, but I kept a straight face.
"Come evenin', a juicy rumor spread through the market. Some young buck runs into a knife-wieldin' thief in broad daylight, pulls a pitch-black dagger that don't reflect light, and shatters a steel hwandu like it's glass in one strike. And his moves were beastly quick—snappin' the thief's bones in a blink."
Yeom Cheol leaned forward, voice dropping low.
"Folks are whisperin' that young buck's an apprentice from our Mi Merchant Guild forge. Aman, you bastard. That stupidly tough black dagger from the market... the one you made from the last top-grade black iron scraps a few nights back?"
No reason to hide it. Better yet, a perfect chance to etch my skills into his mind. I nodded.
"Yep. My self-defense black iron dagger. The thief's blade was crude junk iron anyway, full of impurities and a messed-up structure. So I smashed the center axis with black iron, and it shattered under its own weakness."
Yeom Cheol's jaw dropped at my casual reply.
"You crazy bastard. Black iron's dense, sure, but smashin' metal with metal demands perfect angle and force distribution at the impact point! How the hell'd a cart-puller like you see through iron's weak spots like that?!"
He slapped his thigh in disbelief, stood, fetched a steel ingot from the storeroom, and slammed it onto the steel anvil.
"If the market talk's true, your instincts for shapin' and structurin' metal have grown monstrous since you first made that hwandu days ago."
Grinning, he jerked his chin at the furnace.
"Show me. No bullshit about solo work—right here in this bright mornin', before my eyes, hammer this steel ingot into a hwandu. If that market eye of yours is real, you can prove the miracle right now!"
The moment had arrived. Yeom Cheol's direct challenge, his test. The old me would've panicked and made excuses—without Subspace Forge aid, I was just a newbie. Not anymore. E-grade ascension had fully integrated the master's experience into my body and brain.
"Got it."
Without hesitation, I stripped off my top. Gripped tongs, seized the heavy steel ingot, and thrust it unyieldingly into the center of the blazing coals. Then clutched the massive leather bellows.
Whoosh—! Whoosh—! From the first bellows stroke, Yeom Cheol's bushy brows twitched faintly. This wasn't my old brute-force pumping. Push and pull timed perfectly, rhythm breathing life into the coals for maximal efficiency, wind swirling to embrace and ignite them.
I can see the fire's colors.
The flames in my eyes weren't mere red. Layered by temperature: deep orange, pale yellow, blinding white at the core. The instant the steel ingot lost its bluish hue, glowing cherry-red—
Now.
I yanked the glowing steel onto the anvil. Grabbed the iron hammer in my right hand. No Subspace Forge, no system aid. But—
Claaaang—!! The first strike's dull explosion tore through the forge. Perfect. My muscles, joints, and ingrained instincts controlled the hammer's center of gravity, piercing the steel's weakest point precisely. Wrist snap absorbed the rebound, waist twist added power for the second blow.
Clang—! Claaaang—!! Clang—!! The hammer rang like a precise percussion symphony, steady rhythm filling the forge. I ignored the scattering crimson sparks. My gaze locked madly on the steel flattening, forming the hwandu's spine—its grain, minute warps, expansions.
"Lord almighty..."
A groan of awe escaped Yeom Cheol, watching a step back. He doubted his own eyes. Grip on the hammer, anvil-edge flips for blade angle, even subtle tricks—no way this was a cart-puller who'd first touched metal yesterday. A master's breath emanated from this young body.
No hesitation in strike points. Not thinking with his head—he understands the iron perfectly, body reacting on its own!
As Yeom Cheol reeled in shock, my work raced to completion. Final precise taps on the cooling crimson steel sharpened a straight edge. Tongs seized the forged hwandu, plunged not into the water trough but the pig-fat oil vat beside the furnace.
Siiiiizzle—!!! White smoke erupted violently, oil boiling madly. Slowly withdrew the hwandu from the haze. No Subspace Forge, no golden system window or [Crafting Success!] fanfare. Didn't matter. Silvery-gray, flawlessly set steel hwandu. Set down tongs, trailed fingers over the chill blade. In that instant, my E-grade intuitive sense flashed through my mind, etching its true value clearly.
Not system text—truth felt by my soul.
"Done, Master Yeom."
I wiped sweat from my heated body, sliding the anvil's E-grade hwandu toward him. Yeom Cheol approached like a man possessed, grasping the fresh-forged hilt with his pot-lid hand. Swung it lightly twice through the air—his eyes widened.
"Center of gravity... perfectly balanced."
His voice trembled. Fingered the blade surface, confirming impurities burned clean, iron grains densely intertwined. Flawless compared to his own painstaking efforts.
"Aman, you..."
His tough eyes rimmed faintly red. He gripped my shoulder crushingly tight.
I smiled faintly, wordless. Proof in reality.
We spent the morning joyfully hammering ingots side by side before the furnace.
"Working, are you."
A cool, presence-less voice echoed from the forge entrance. Yeom Cheol and I halted mid-swing, turning. There stood Kang Bi, the guild's guard captain who'd secretly visited my room last night to request the broken sword's repair—arms crossed, face impassive.