Will the Bandits Come?
Guan Xue's jade-green skirt hem vanished completely into the crowd of the bustling street. I kept watch through the gap in the half-closed workshop door until it was gone. The warning she'd left behind lingered chillingly in my ears. Those three men reeking of blood. A scout team from bandits masquerading as Liu Bei's volunteer army?
'Matches my thinking perfectly.' The calluses on their hands from earlier, their clumsy grip on weapons, and the sly way their eyes scanned the warehouse stock and escape routes rather than my crafted goods. Everything proved they weren't trained soldiers but vile plunderers.
What if they really came tonight to ransack the workshop? My current stats: Strength 13, Vitality 54. I had the physical prowess to easily subdue a couple of average men. The muscles and reflexes honed from endless hammering weren't for show. Plus, I had a D+ grade chunk of metal with brutal destructive power and a black iron dagger. I could make a ring-pommel saber or longsword, but they weren't familiar in my hands, and I had no martial arts training.
Fighting wasn't a numbers game. In the dark night, inside this cramped workshop, taking on three hardened bandits in close quarters alone? Even if luck let me smash two heads, one thrust from the last guy's sword into my side, and I'd be dead.
I wasn't a warrior. I was a blacksmith who worked iron—and a pragmatist scrambling to survive. I had zero intention of gambling my life on the arrogant "maybe I can win." The answer was absolute safety: maximize my cards, offload the risk to someone else.
'Time to use the merchant guild's power.' The Mi Merchant Guild. The massive beast that had installed me as the nominal head of this workshop. They'd be watching me constantly to ensure I didn't run or skim off the top.
I locked the workshop door and crossed to the opposite side. The dumpling shop across the street. Amid the white steam billowing from the massive steamer, a kindly-faced auntie was kneading dough.
"Auntie, give me a generous plate of meat dumplings."
"Oh, Aman! What's with the heavy look on your face today? You feeling unwell?"
The auntie set a steaming plate of dumplings in front of me with a warm smile. She looked every bit the friendly neighborhood vendor, but her gaze always slyly covered the workshop entrance. Mi So-jeo's spy. I couldn't be 100% sure, but tonight I'd confirm it.
I picked up my chopsticks, bit into a dumpling, and let out a heavy, deliberate sigh meant to be overheard.
"Haa... It's not my body—my mind's the one that's troubled."
"Goodness, what worries could the owner of such a prime workshop in a booming spot have? No one's pressuring you for debts or anything."
"I'd take debt collectors any day. This morning... three nasty uninvited guests stopped by the workshop."
At my words, the auntie's hands paused for the tiniest instant while kneading. I caught the subtle change and pressed on.
"Strutting like they were Liu Bei the Elder's volunteer army, but to my eyes, pure bandit scouts. Reeking of blood, eyes lingering slyly on the iron ore and charcoal piles in the warehouse, and the back door—not my weapons."
"B-bandits? In broad daylight inside the city walls?"
The auntie feigned shock, raising her voice, but her eyes already gleamed sharply.
"Slipped in through lax security, probably. Their looks screamed it: nine out of ten, they'll hit the workshop tonight when the streets empty."
I shoveled the rest of the dumplings into my mouth and stood. I tossed a few coins on the table and dropped the deadliest bait.
"You close early tonight too, Auntie. If they break in, the Mi Merchant Guild's precious iron ore and weapons get looted—but my neck comes first. I'll watch the situation; if it looks dicey, workshop or not, I'm bolting for the city gates without looking back. Gotta live to keep hammering, right?"
"W-what? You're the master smith! It's the guild's property—running off like that..."
"Better to live and get cursed than die praised. Take care."
I left her flustered voice behind and returned to the workshop. I felt eyes boring into my back. The rustle of the auntie hastily untying her apron, like she was sending a runner—frantic movements.
'Bait's hooked.' The Mi Merchant Guild was ruthlessly profit-driven. They wouldn't sit by while their prime custom forge—cash cow and gold pipeline—got robbed. And with word I'd irresponsibly flee? They'd plant hidden guards tonight to protect the workshop, if nothing else. I'd brilliantly hired "free watchdogs" to fend off the bandits.
Afternoon brought the workshop roaring back to life with flames and the clang of metal. Bandits or no, I had to maximize sales and train my body in reality. As I stoked the furnace blaze furiously, heavy footsteps announced a mountain of a man shoving open the door. Flashy silk robe embroidered with silver thread, intricate lamellar armor gleaming beneath. High-end general, dripping money and power. Two stiff-backed aides held spears behind him.
"This the snooty Mi Merchant Guild's custom forge?"
At the general's arrogant tone, I paused my hammering and eyed him coolly.
"It is. You've found the right place. But we don't handle cheap junk. As you've crossed the threshold, even basic repairs start at one gold tael. Can you handle it?"
My bold declaration twitched his brow. One gold tael fed a peasant family for a year. Mediocre customers fled cursing at the price. But this general grinned, intrigued.
"Haha! Gutsy, just like they say. Scared hack smiths would ruin it, so I hunted down the city's priciest, best."
He gestured; an aide carefully placed a long spear on the workbench.
"Family heirloom darksteel spear from my grandfather's time. Cracked fine at the blade-shaft joint in yesterday's sparring. Crucial inspection day after tomorrow—can you weld it perfectly? If it's noticeable, no gold: your head."
I wordlessly lifted the spear. A masterpiece. Beneath the eerie blue-tinged darksteel blade, a hairline crack. No standard furnace or hammer could restore its strength—a fatal flaw.
"Two gold taels."
"What?"
"Darksteel needs special charcoal and flux. I'll make it like new—two gold taels."
The general glared incredulously, then untied a heavy gold pouch from his belt and dumped two taels on the counter.
"Fine. Let's see that famed skill."
I grabbed the spear without a word and headed to the furnace. Bellows roared, heat peaked; as the darksteel glowed red-hot, I slammed it on the anvil. Raised the D+ hammer high.
Kaang-!Klang-!Kaang-! Strength 13 meshed perfectly with the D+ hammer's strike bonus. Not brute force—reading the iron's grain at the crack, twisting the hammer face minutely to grind and fuse from within. E-grade blacksmith job bonus and instinctual mastery. Final blows done, straight into the oil quench.
Tssshhhh-!
"Check it."
I wiped it with a cloth and handed it over. The general took it dubiously, fingered the former crack site—his eyes bulged.
"I-impossible! No trace of the crack! Weight balance even more perfect than before! In under a quarter hour... True ghostly craftsmanship!"
Ecstatic, he swung it through the air. The whoosh tore through the workshop.
"Worth every tael of those two! All my unit's elite gear repairs come here from now on!"
The general boomed laughter, led his aides out satisfied. I stashed the two taels deep in the drawer. This thrill of profit. After guild tithe, plenty left for me. Proving my worth relentlessly meant even skimming later, they couldn't touch me lightly.
Late afternoon, post-general, a man in a deeply hooded sedge hat slipped quietly inside. His steps feather-light, no dust stirred; a weathered scabbard hung unassumingly at his waist. Wandering swordsman or skilled hitman, for sure. He halted before the weapon I'd meticulously forged that morning: [Steel Ring-Pommel Saber Infused with Sharpness (E+ grade)].
"This saber."
His low, dry voice echoed in the workshop.
"Your personal work?"
"Yes."
Without asking, he drew it from the rack.
Shring-! The sharp rasp reflected blue sword qi in his eyes. He flicked his wrist, traced a few arcs in the air, then lightly plucked the edge with a finger.
Ting—diiing— Clear, resonant steel hummed long. A faint smile curved his lips.
"Balance perfect at one-third from the tip. Optimized for slashing over thrusting. Artistic edge angle. Rare piece. Price?"
"Three gold taels."
Aimed for two, called three. Mi guild premium forge. That E+ sharpness outclassed hack masters; he seemed the type to buy. He rummaged, slapped three heavy taels on the counter without protest.
"Bargain for a life-saver."
He buckled the saber securely and vanished without lingering. I savored the cold gold under my fingers, a faint smile forming. This was my reality: overwhelm with skill, repair and forge weapons, rake in gold. No matter the guild's yoke, as their golden-egg-laying goose, they couldn't touch me.
Sunset bled the sky red outside; soon thick darkness crushed Xu Province city's streets. Bustling noise faded like a lie; merchants shuttered early, streets emptied.
I barred the thick front door with a massive iron bolt. Tripled the back door locks.
Clunk, thud. Pitch black swallowed the lightless workshop. I smothered even the furnace embers under ash, lit no lamp.
In the deepest corner of the workspace—blind spot with doors and windows in view—I leaned against the wall. My right hand gripped the D+ hammer, heavier and colder than ever. I slowed my heartbeat deliberately, stretched breaths to silence all noise. If the Mi guards did their job, the bandits' heads would roll unseen. But the world didn't always follow plans. Delayed intel, or bandits overpowering the guards—possible.
'Either way, if the door breaks, I'll smash their skulls myself. Hope it doesn't come to that.'
Time dragged like mud in the dark. Only faint cooling iron creaks and my breath filled the space.
Midnight. Deepest human sleep, world's utter silence. Then—
...creeeak. Faint friction. Not wind. Metal prying into wood cracks, scraping forcibly.