The Sound of the Iron
It happened when Dang Ye-ran was very, very young.
To be precise, she was barely ten years old. Or maybe she hadn't even reached ten yet.
It was so long ago that she couldn't quite remember her exact age.
It was around the time when rumors began to spread that Dang Ye-ran was a prodigy of the Sichuan Dang Clan, and all eyes started turning toward her.
She was evaluated to possess talent that surpassed even her second older brother, Dang Cheon-il, who was already hailed as a genius.
As a result, she began to receive more and more attention.
Back then, Dang Ye-ran was different from how she was now.
She didn't mind the spotlight, and she practiced tirelessly, rejoicing in her own talent.
I will become an outstanding martial artist and support the Dang Clan.
With that determination, her talent began to blossom.
At the time, no one doubted that a dragon would soon rise from the Dang Clan.
But then, a problem arose.
It happened during a sparring match between Dang Cheon-il and Dang Ye-ran.
"I... I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this anymore..."
The young Dang Ye-ran, trembling with hands covered in blood, looked at Dang Cheon-il, who lay unconscious before her as if dead.
"I hate this... I don't want to do it..."
She sobbed, her voice thick with tears.
From that day on, Dang Ye-ran stopped all training required of direct descendants.
Then, one day, out of the blue, she "notified" the Clan Leader that she would learn blacksmithing.
That was barely ten years ago.
Clang! Clang, clang!
A hammer held in a small, slender hand swung from the air toward the anvil.
Clang!
Clang!
The speed and rhythm were constant.
As if determined not to make a single mistake, the woman swung the hammer without even blinking.
Clang! Clang!
Veins bulged on her small body, proving just how much strength she was putting into it.
She was drenched in sweat from the heat, her face etched with exhaustion.
Clang!
"Ugh!"
She slipped for a moment. She almost lost her grip on the hammer, but she squeezed it tight again.
Clang!
She caught the rhythm again just in time.
Fortunately, no disaster occurred, but...
I'm so tired...
She was exhausted. Ye-ran instinctively felt that she was reaching her limit.
How much time had passed? How many times had she swung the hammer?
She didn't know. She didn't even have the luxury to think about it.
If she hesitated or paused even for a second, everything would be ruined.
Clang!
Her hands shook. Even so, she struggled to maintain the rhythm. She had to, because letting it slip meant failure.
It was grueling. If she used her internal energy, it wouldn't be this hard, but once blacksmithing reached this stage, she absolutely could not do that.
If I infuse my qi, I won't be able to control the force.
This required extremely delicate, precise control.
If she infused her qi and swung now, she knew everything would be ruined.
That was why true masters never infused their qi during this stage.
The problem was...
...It's too heavy.
Swinging for so long without using internal energy meant her physical strength was completely depleted.
And the biggest issue of all was the material: Ink Iron.
It was a mineral just as difficult to handle as Cold Iron.
Once finished, Ink Iron possessed incredible durability and extreme sharpness.
Due to the nature of the metal, it was also highly receptive to a martial artist's qi—but that was only if it was crafted perfectly.
Ink Iron was a precious material, but it wasn't impossible to obtain if one looked for it.
It wasn't cheap, of course.
It just meant that it could be bought if one had enough money.
However, the reason there were almost no famous weapons made of Ink Iron in the world was simple.
Because it's too hard to make.
The difficulty of handling the material was so high that very few blacksmiths could do it.
If one did manage to craft a weapon out of Ink Iron, its value and price would skyrocket exponentially, but...
It might actually turn out worse than an ordinary sword.
Ironically, it could end up lower in quality than a weapon made of common metal.
Ink Iron was just that temperamental.
Even if one somehow managed to shape it into a weapon, if it wasn't handled flawlessly, the result would be inferior to a standard blade.
Since it was a superior metal, it would naturally be sharp and durable.
But this was the Murim.
What mattered most to a martial artist was how well a weapon could channel their internal energy.
If even a single mistake was made during the forging of Ink Iron, that crucial property would be ruined.
However.
"Hup!"
Clang!
If one could handle Ink Iron perfectly...
And thereby forge a weapon worthy of being called "special grade" in the Cheolgang...
It would be hailed as a Divine Weapon.
Clang! Clang!
Such was the case with the Cold Iron sword, Man-wol, used by the Sword Saint Yoo Chun-gil.
And such was the case with the other special-grade weapon currently wielded by the Sect Leader of the Mt. Hua Sect.
A Divine Weapon.
In the Cheolgang, they called it "special grade," but in the wider Murim, it was known as a Divine Weapon.
Ye-ran knew.
The broken blade Bang Seong-yeon had handed her, asking her to repair it.
That sword was originally a Divine Weapon, fully deserving of the special-grade title.
She had known the moment she saw it, and she became certain when she touched it.
...Where on earth did he get this?
She had only ever seen Man-wol from a distance.
This weapon was on par with that legendary Divine Weapon.
How could such a sword have been broken so miserably?
And how did Bang Seong-yeon come to possess it along with the Sword Saint's last words?
Ye-ran did not know.
She didn't even know why he had entrusted this task to her.
Clang!
What did he see in her? What had he observed to make him hand her such a task?
Since she started learning blacksmithing, Ye-ran had never successfully crafted a single weapon.
Not even once.
She had always failed to complete them, giving up in frustration.
The pile of her discarded failures was as tall as a mountain.
That was why the blacksmiths of the Cheolgang looked down on her.
A troublemaker who was born into the direct line of the Dang Clan, abandoned martial arts, and entered the path of a blacksmith.
She had barely managed to enter the Cheolgang through the influence of the Clan Leader and the generosity of the Chief Blacksmith, Cheolgangju.
Yet, she was an incompetent fool who hadn't made a proper weapon in years.
That was who she was.
And yet, he had said:
I believe in you.
What did he believe in?
And why did she...
I'll do it.
Even after being told that she would never set foot in the Cheolgang again if she failed, why did she want to do this so badly?
Perhaps because she was so exhausted, Ye-ran felt her mind growing hazy, and she began to lose her rhythm.
Can I really do this?
She had no confidence.
She lacked the strength to tame the Ink Iron.
Clang!
The steady rhythm faltered.
No matter how hard she tried to hold on, her strikes were growing duller.
Clang!
What about her strength? Even though she had trained in the past, her slender wrists were reaching their limit.
She felt like she would drop the hammer if her grip loosened even a fraction.
Clang! Clang!
"Ah..."
A groan escaped her lips. She felt like crying.
It was pathetic of her to be struggling like this after confidently claiming she would do it.
She should have just refused.
She shouldn't have stepped forward yesterday in the first place.
She had endured so well until now.
She had survived her brother's verbal abuse and contempt her entire life, standing firm through it all.
Why couldn't she do the same yesterday?
She asked herself, but she already knew the answer.
She had been angry.
It was fine for them to look down on her, but the Poison Dragon had tried to look down on Bang Seong-yeon.
That had made her furious.
Then...
Why?
Why did that make her so angry?
She knew the answer to that, too.
Just as Ye-ran was about to dwell on it—
Clang!
"Ah!"
The hammer wobbled as she swung it. Dangerous. She barely managed to regain her balance.
"Pant, pant..."
How much longer did she have to do this?
How many more strikes would it take to finally finish it?
She didn't know. Ye-ran wiped away her sweat. She couldn't tell if she was wiping sweat or tears.
Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face.
"Haah."
She caught her ragged breath.
Should she stop? She wanted to stop.
I will never be able to finish this.
That thought dominated her mind.
If she stopped swinging now, if she just gave up, it would be so much easier.
"..."
There was no need to force herself.
No one expected anything from her anyway.
Even if she could never return to the Cheolgang, it wouldn't matter.
Just as she was about to let her hands drop and give up—
My granddaughter. Do as you wish.
"..."
A memory echoed in her mind like a voice.
If you do not want to do it, then do not. Live your life doing what you want to do. However...
If you are doing this just to run away, it will only leave you with regrets. I do not wish to see you live like that.
That is this old man's only humble wish.
"..."
Those were the words her grandfather, Dok-jon, had spoken to her when she was a child, stroking her head as she cried her eyes out.
Clang!
The moment she remembered, Ye-ran moved her hand, which had been about to stop.
"Ugh..."
Tears spilled over.
She ignored them.
Clang!
She let them flow and focused entirely on what she could do right now.
I can do it.
She could do it.
Someone believed she could.
Therefore, she could.
She raised her weakening hand, preparing to repeat the motion, when—
"..."
Perhaps because her body was so exhausted, she thought she heard her grandfather's voice again.
Without realizing it, she relaxed her muscles upon hearing those words.
And then.
Clang--!!
"...!"
A completely different sound resonated through the forge.
She remembered.
Clang--!!
Clang---!!!
Clang--!!
You can do it.
It was absurd how much comfort she found in a voice that was nothing more than an auditory hallucination.
Clang--!!
The changed sound reignited her passion.
Focus returned to her fading eyes.
Clang---!
Ah.
The sound ringing in her ears made her realize.
This was it.
Clang! Clang, clang!
The rules vanished. Her way of striking completely transformed.
Her tears stopped.
There was no longer any need to shed them.
She hammered and hammered for a long time.
Thud!
The hammer slipped from Ye-ran's hand and rolled across the ground.
She had lost her grip due to sheer exhaustion.
Yet, Ye-ran didn't care. She stared only at the object before her.
"Pant... pant..."
Her breathing was ragged.
How many times had she quenched the metal? How much charcoal had she burned?
She couldn't even count.
Looking at the newly formed blade before her, Ye-ran collapsed.
"Pant... pant...!"
Her legs gave out.
So she crawled forward.
"Ha..."
As the red glow gradually faded, a pitch-black blade emerged, perfectly fitting the name of Ink Iron.
"...It's done..."
She had succeeded.
"I... I did it..."
She had succeeded.
"I... did it myself."
As she spoke, Ye-ran smiled brightly.
She clenched her small fists, about to marvel at her work, when—
"...!"
As if reminding her that it wasn't time to celebrate yet, the hallucination stopped her.
Hearing that, she moved immediately.
It wasn't finished. A sword isn't complete until the very end.
"Hurry...!"
She hurriedly picked up the blade and moved.
Right then.
Flutter!
A piece of paper attached to Ye-ran's back fluttered and fell to the floor.
It was a red talisman with mysterious writing on it.
Watching Ye-ran walk away,
Dok-jon laughed sorrowfully from behind.
The laughter was so mournful.
It sounded less like a laugh and more like a sob.
Holding the object wrapped in cloth close to her chest, Ye-ran ran.
"Pant! Pant!"
Her breath, which hadn't recovered from earlier, was ragged and painful, but Ye-ran's expression was bright.
She didn't even realize how much time had passed since she entered the Cheolgang.
"Pant...!"
Without even wiping away her sweat, Ye-ran just ran.
Hurry.
She wanted to show this to him right away.
That was her only thought.
Rather than the elation or pride of having succeeded, her desire to show him as soon as possible was far greater.
Thank you for believing in me.
Thanks to you, I did it.
She wanted to tell him that and show him the blade. With only that thought in mind, Ye-ran ran and ran.
She knew where he was.
Unless something happened, he was always at the training ground.
Hurry!
She had to show him quickly.
With that eagerness, Ye-ran ran to the guest annex and entered the training ground at the back.
The servants looked at her in surprise, but none of them could stop her.
She was simply too fast.
She grabbed the door to the training ground and threw it open.
"Young Master! I...!"
BOOM!
The moment Ye-ran opened the door, a violent sound erupted.
"Huh...?"
The scene that unfolded before her made Ye-ran's eyes widen.
The smile on her face vanished in an instant.
It was only natural.
Inside, as expected, was Bang Seong-yeon, but there was someone else with him.
To her shock, it was the Poison Dragon, Dang Cheon-il.
But that wasn't the biggest problem.
"Argh..."
"You motherfucker, seriously."
The real issue was that Bang Seong-yeon was stepping on Dang Cheon-il's head with his foot, swearing at him.