A Hammer Forged Solely for Me

A deep night where even the moonlight held its breath. Sitting on the narrow sleeping platform in the cramped, dark side room, I gazed quietly at the three crude iron ingots I'd received as payment from Gangbi the foreman.

Dense, superb lumps of metal. If I melted them down tomorrow to forge a longsword or a sharp spearhead, combining my E-grade blacksmith senses with the Subspace Forge's buffs would undoubtedly birth fearsome masterpieces.

But my thoughts weren't on weapons.

The Subspace Forge comes equipped with perfect tools provided by the system—a cast iron hammer with impeccable balance, tongs sorted by length and purpose.

My eyes drifted to my rough hands.

But the real-world forge is different.

Yeom Cheol's hammers were excellent, but tailored to his massive frame and thick bones. Every time I swung one down on a metal lump, I felt the strike point waver slightly or unnecessary strain on my wrist.

One hard truth I'd learned grinding away on construction sites in my past life: "A craftsman doesn't blame his tools" is bullshit only third-raters spout. True masters—carpenters, rebar workers—never touch someone else's gear. They obsess over tools perfectly tuned to their grip size, arm length, swing arc. Only when the tool syncs like an extension of your body can you produce safe, precise work even in extreme fatigue.

"What I need most right now isn't a spear to pierce enemies or a shield to protect me. It's a 'hammer just for me'—the one that feeds me and accelerates my growth."

I reached my decision and picked up one of the ingots. I planned to compress the whole thing into a head for the perfect cast iron hammer, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made solely for me.

My dantian brimmed with 9 mana, sloshing full.

"Subspace Opening."

Whoosh—! With the command, 9 mana drained refreshingly, and the stale air in the side room churned.

Flash. A blink later, I stood in the heart of my sanctuary, greeted by hard clay floors and the steel anvil.

A red timer floated in the air, counting down generously from 9:00.

Without delay, I clamped the heavy ingot in tongs and shoved it into the heart of the roaring furnace coals.

Siiiizz—! Sizz! Explosive force surged through my pulls on the leather bellows. Perfectly timing the wind's push and pull, I ramped the furnace to hellfire in seconds.

Forging a weapon differs vastly from forging the 'hammer' to forge it. Blades need thin folds for sharpness, but a hammer head demands compressing metal's density to a single point for brutish destructive power and unyielding hardness.

The ingot lost its bluish hue in the flames, glowing blindingly white-hot.

"Hup!"

I snatched the glowing ingot with tongs onto the anvil and gripped the system's heavy sledge hammer with both hands.

Claaang—!! The first strike tore through the forge like a rift. The steel anvil screamed.

In that instant, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hammered the ends, forcing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the metal's molecular structure inward.

Clang! Claaang! Clang!! Sparks flew wildly. A feral grin crept across my lips as I swung. My E-grade upgrade had ingrained craftsman's instincts in my veins and muscles, reading the metal's flow perfectly, guiding every strike.

I wasn't just compressing—I shaped one side into a broad, heavy hexagonal striking face for flattening, the other into a rounded, pointed peen for curves and narrow hits.

And the most crucial, grueling task.

Before the heat faded, I plunged the pointed steel punch vertically into the ingot's center. Perforating the eye for the wooden handle—the socket hole.

"Pierce!"

Clang! Clang! Clang!! I hammered the punch like lightning. Drilling the thick ingot's core demanded immense strength and flawless precision. A crooked or off-axis hole would twist my wrist with every swing, turning it into a monstrous liability.

The red-hot metal bulged, a deep hole slowly forming. Sweat poured like rain from every pore, forearms swelling to bursting. A task I'd never dared in past 5-minute limits. But 9 minutes gave ample margin for a perfect-ratio perforation.

Finally, the punch broke through cleanly, forming a perfect oval socket. I reheated the holed head, set it on the anvil, and showered it with finishing blows to smooth distortions and balance the weight.

I flicked the hammer to level the face, adjusting metal density so the center of gravity aligned perfectly with my swing direction.

As 9 minutes burned low and the head cooled to dark red, my hammering ceased. Where a crude square ingot lay now sat a massive hammer head of overwhelming density and eerie symmetry.

"This is it."

I clamped it in tongs and plunged it into the oil quench beside the anvil without hesitation. A hammer's shell must be brittle-hard, its core tough to absorb shock. Perfect tempering for that.

Szzzzziii—!!! Acrid smoke billowed as oil boiled, metal particles screaming, binding, solidifying. Smoke cleared; I drew the blackened, heavy head. In that instant, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a golden waterfall of system windows flooded my vision.

"Stamina and mana both up!"

Euphoria boiled from my dantian with ragged breaths. Identical to the black iron buffer—dual stat jumps. From a plain steel ingot, no less. Because I'd compressed it to extremes for 9 full minutes, pouring my embodied E-grade instincts to birth a D+ masterpiece tool.

A tingling thrill surged through me. Mana pool expanded refreshingly; stamina hit 54, melting forearm fatigue like snow in hot springs.

Flash. Distortion hit, and I was back on the dark platform. Oil stench faded, but the heavy, cool D+ hammer head rested solidly on my lap.

Catching my breath, I grinned in the dark and murmured to the air.

"Status Window."

Ding. A blue holographic system unfolded before me. I meant to check the new stamina and mana, but my gaze locked on one spot, freezing me.

"Strength... 12?"

A stunned chuckle escaped my lips. I'd expected stamina and mana from the alert, but strength up by 1? No way. The change was recent—today, clearly.

Forged steel ring-swords with Yeom Cheol all day, hammers clashing. Goosebumps rose. Sweat and labor in the real forge already converted to physical stat EXP. But a stat that crept up once every few days had jumped again the moment I grasped E-grade instincts, perfect form and strikes.

Labor efficiency maxed, body growth accelerating exponentially.

Hone bones and muscles in reality by day, boost mana and stamina in Subspace by night. This insane snowball—who knows where it'll roll?

I grinned like a beast, savoring the thrill of double-digit mana 10. From tomorrow, 10 full minutes in Subspace. I knew bone-deep how that extra minute unlocked vast creation potential for a blacksmith.

I shoved the D+ head aside on the platform and lay on the straw mat. Fierce anticipation for tomorrow pounded my heart. Deep, sweet sleep soon claimed me.

Next morning, before dawn grayed the eastern sky. While the guild workers snored, I woke as always. Strength 12 and stamina 54 slashed sleep needs while keeping my mind sharp.

I stepped out, dew-kissed, to the empty forge. Swept metal dust routinely, aligned hammers and tools. Stacked fresh coals pyramid-tight in the furnace, prepped perfectly. Cleaning and setup flowed like water, breath steady.

Finished, I headed to the firewood pile in the corner. Selected a dense, rock-hard oak log. Head done—now for the grip-perfect handle.

Set it on the bench, gripped a sharp hand chisel.

Scrape, scrape. Crisp friction echoed in the quiet forge. Strength 12's firm control and agility 11's finesse carved the oak smoothly. Not just a round stick—calculated for my palm curve, finger joints, centrifugal escape angle on swings. Tapered mid-grip slightly, thickened the end for max hold. Tested in hand, swung in air endlessly, sanding obsessively till no foreign feel.

Finally, a perfect curved oak handle melding seamlessly with my hand. Placed the D+ head on the bench, fitted the fresh handle's end precisely into the oval socket.

Thud, thud, bang! Slammed the base on the floor to wedge it tight. Drove prepared sharp iron wedges into wood gaps atop the head. Expansion locked metal and wood insanely solid, as if born one.

"Perfect."

Gripped my custom hammer right-handed. Weight biased heavily to the face, yet feather-light on the wrist. Swung at air—sharp whoosh, kinetic energy pouring to the tip without a drop lost.

Even before a real furnace sans system buffs, this hammer promised mastery over any rough metal. Lost in the feel, mimicking swings wildly.

"Ahem, ahem!"

A familiar heavy cough from the entrance. Through morning mist, bushy-bearded Yeom Cheol stomped in with massive steps.

"Up before this old man again, yard spotless."

Yeom Cheol smiled at the tidy furnace and bench, then his brows twitched at the heavy, pitch-black iron hammer gripped tight in my right hand.