The sound of metal against stone echoed through the workshop… and, just as I predicted, the blade shattered into multiple fragments, scattering across the floor.
— Durman — ...Hmph. —He bent down and picked up a piece of the broken blade, examining it closely.
— Durman — Well, I'm not going to say it was perfect... but it's the material's fault, not my forging.
I shrugged.
●— I never said your technique was bad. I said the steel was crap. —
Durman grunted, but an amused smile crossed his face.
— Durman — So, lad, if you're so clever... make a proper dagger yourself. —
I crossed my arms, thinking for a second.
●— A dagger? No. I'll do something better. —
— Durman — Oh, really? And what are you going to do? —
●— One Dacian scythe. —
— Durman — Falx what? — Frowning.
●— A weapon designed to shatter armor and cut with ease. —
— Durman — So let's get to work. —
The man didn't wait; he got to work. While a steel ingot began to heat in the furnace, I borrowed a piece of parchment and drew the iron-carbon diagram. I wanted to record the necessary calculations and proportions for creating the best steel.
Durman leaned over my shoulder, watching with a frown.
— Durman — What the hell is that? —
●— The truth about steel. —
I explained each point on the diagram to him, from the ferritic phase, to the eutectic points, to the eutectoids, to the formation of pearlite. I occasionally asked questions, which caused him more doubts than he cared to admit. By the time I finished, the man seemed more interested than he cared to admit.
— Durman — Hmph… Damn, kid. I DON'T UNDERSTAND HALF OF WHAT YOU SAID… BUT!! You've awakened a beast inside me. It wants to try all the steels you've described.
He gave me a good slap on the back. (It probably left a mark.)
— Durman —Take out that ingot and start, show me that you don't just know how to babble.—
●— You'll see the result. —
With the metal glowing red, I grabbed the hammer and prepared to forge a Falx Dacia that would blow this blacksmith's mind. The red-hot metal glowed orange inside the furnace. My hands moved with precision as I gripped it with the tongs and placed it on the anvil. The hammer fell for the first time. The clang echoed throughout the workshop, signaling the start of the process. I knew this was no ordinary sword. The Falx Dacia had an aggressive curve, its edge designed to cut with devastating force. Each impact of the hammer deformed the metal, giving it the shape I had in mind. The process was meticulous: heat, hammer, heat again.
Durman didn't stay quiet for a second. He moved around me, watching every step closely. At first, I thought he was just watching, but soon he started giving me advice.
"Hit closer to the base."
"Don't let the metal get too cold before reworking it."
"That curve needs more tension, otherwise it will lose balance in the cut."
"Straighten your back before you continue hammering."
At first, I ignored him. I knew he was right about many things, but I was trying to follow my own method. The problem was, I couldn't stop.
"That's too thin."
"You're going to need to strengthen your back."
"That temper isn't going to work."
●—Shut up, Durman! —
The workshop fell silent. Finally, I could continue working without interruption. The cycles continued: heating, hammering, cooling. The Falx frame took shape. Its aggressive curves contrasted with the symmetry of the blade. When the frame was ready, I patiently sharpened the edge. Each stroke against the whetstone produced a harsh but satisfying sound. Finally, the Falx Dacia was finished.
I held it in my hands and looked at it closely. It wasn't perfect. The proportions could be refined, the finishes improved, the technique polished.
●— I may not have your talent and I still have a lot of polishing to do… —
Durman snatched the gun from my hands before I could attach the handle. He held it with both hands, examining every inch. His fingers ran along the spine and edge. His eyes held no contempt or mockery. Just pure interest.
— Durman — You're right… It's not the best sword I've seen. —
He raised the Falx with a sinister laugh.
— Durman — But I want to try it. —
I followed Durman out of the workshop, through a stone hallway to a large inner courtyard.
The sky, tinged with orange and purple, announced the end of the day. Shadows lengthened across the stone floor as the last rays of sunlight fell on the city walls. Durman led the way, holding it with one hand. Each step he took caused the blade to reflect the twilight, casting golden and reddish glints onto the faces of those waiting for us. (It took about eight hours, and it was already around 9:00 p.m.)
— Emordis Thalas— SLEEP, YOU DAMN UNGRATEFUL BOY, WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU FOR A LONG TIME! —
— Durman — You wait here. —
I leaned against a wall, watching. Several people were waiting for us there. (I scanned them all with a quick glance.)
-- Durman's wife (Astid), a woman with an imposing presence, watching us with her arms crossed.
--Her niece (Dalia), who seemed just as angry as Astrid.
-- A group of blacksmiths, apprentices and veterans, waiting to speak with Durman.
-- Four servants, both men and women, stopped when they saw us leave. (Peter, Heny, Eliza, and Joan)
Durman entered into a somewhat tense conversation with everyone present. First of all, he apologized to Emordis, who seemed very angry with him. Durman and I exchanged glances; there was no doubt about it. He was about to test the Falx Dacia. With a confident smile, he called over one of the apprentices.
— Durman — Hey, Taron! Go get the last sword you made yesterday. —
The boy, a thin young man, nodded and ran off. (It must be his best work to date.) A few minutes later, Taron returned, panting, with a sheathed sword. Durman took it, drawing it from its scabbard with a clean clang. It was a straight sword, sharp and without visible imperfections.
— Durman — Not bad… Let's see how it holds up to this. —
Durman jammed Tharon's sword into a large oak stump. Then he drew himself up as theatrically as possible, puffing out his chest and rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a colossal effort. The smiths and apprentices held their breath. Tharon, the poor apprentice, clenched his fists nervously. Durman raised the Falx with both hands, pausing briefly, as if gathering all his strength. The air seemed to tighten. And then… He brought the Falx down with a clean, sharp motion. Tharon's sword snapped in two without any resistance.
The metal fragments hit the ground with a hollow sound. Absolute silence reigned for a few moments before Taron's reaction was monitored. (Taron almost burst into tears.)
The others gulped. Durman calmly observed the Falx, turning it over in his hand a few times. Then, with a satisfied smile, he held it up for everyone to see.
— Durman — Not a scratch. Not a dent. Nothing. —
— Durman — This sword is unique. — His eyes scanned those present, his smile widening.
— Durman — Who wants to try it? —
And then the silence broke, and the madness began. All the Herero, including the oldest, ran out, shouting, "My sword is better."
One by one, the smiths returned with their finest swords. The courtyard was lit only by torchlight and the dim light of the night sky. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the stone corridors. Durman waited for them in the center of the courtyard. The first smith plunged his sword into the oak stump. Durman raised the Falx and, with a single blow, snapped it in two. The fragments fell to the ground. A second smith did the same with his weapon. Durman repeated the action effortlessly. Sword after sword, the Falx shattered them without resistance. The crowd watched in silence. Even the apprentices, who had been skeptical at first, now watched with wide eyes.
Finally, a man with gray hair and an imposing bearing stepped forward.
The old blacksmith walked firmly to the wooden stump, holding his sword with the same solemnity with which a priest would carry a reliquary. Without hesitation, he stuck it into the trunk and left it standing there, reflecting the light from the torches.
Durman frowned at the sword. It wasn't like the previous ones. It had no unnecessary embellishments, no exaggerated details. It was simple, but its presence was overwhelming. The silence in the courtyard grew heavy. The night air was cool, but no one moved. Durman snorted and ran a hand through his beard. He puffed out his chest, rolled his shoulders, and raised the Falx with both hands, preparing for the finishing blow.
The blacksmiths watched unblinkingly. Some had their jaws clenched. Taron, the young apprentice, seemed almost to be holding his breath. The Falx rose gracefully. Durman held the position for a second, letting the anticipation build. Then he brought the blade down in a single downward motion. The sound of the impact was distinct.
The edge of the Falx didn't pass cleanly through the veteran's sword. It didn't cut like the previous ones. The Falx embedded itself in the opponent's blade, and for a moment, it seemed as if nothing else would happen. Then, with a dry crunch—I think I could even feel the vibrations—my weapon split in two. The fragments of the Falx fell to the ground with a hollow sound. The veteran's blade was still there, embedded in the stump. Only a V-shaped notch showed that it had withstood the blow. The silence was absolute. Durman blinked, astonished. The veteran smiled slightly.
— Emordis — It seems that neither of them won, that sword is capable of damaging a holy sword. — he said, with the calm of someone who already knew the result before starting. —
Durman burst out laughing, and the other blacksmiths were astonished by the type of sword the old man had brought. (I don't know what holy swords are made of, but they're better than steel.)
— Durman —Damn, lad! That sword held up longer than any other here. But you still have work to do! —
The words seemed to break through the others' mental block. Immediately, murmurs erupted like a storm.
— Blacksmith — What happened? The Falx was perfect! —
— Apprentice — This has to be magic! —
— Blacksmith — If you used magic in the forge, it's dishonorable! —
— Another blacksmith — It can't be normal steel! Where did you get the material? —
— Apprentice — You have to teach us how to do this —
Questions rained down from all directions. Durman raised a hand and roared loudly.
— Don't stop —¡START! —
Everyone fell silent instantly. He looked at me with a proud smile and a sparkle in his eyes.
— Durman — This man forged it here, in my workshop, before my eyes and in a single afternoon —he declared in a firm voice!
The murmurs returned with increasing intensity. But before the conversation could continue, Durman dropped the bombshell.
— Durman — And from now on I declare you my disciple! —
The crowd was in shock.
— Durman — And who knows! —Durman smiled even wider—.
— Durman — Maybe even my future son-in-law. —
All the air seemed to leave the courtyard. The blacksmiths stopped talking. Tharon almost dropped his hammer. Some apprentices looked at me with a mixture of respect and pity. Dalia blinked, as if her brain had shut down for a second. I, for my part, felt a chill run down my spine.
(But what..?)
A dry sound echoed to the right. I turned to see that Durman's wife had stepped forward. Until now, she had been watching with her arms crossed, not intervening.
But now… he had a look that could make anyone tremble.
— Astrid — Enough of playing with swords —she said in a hard voice.
Durman turned to her, opening his mouth to say something, but he didn't get the chance.
— Astrid — Everyone to their homes — without raising her voice, but with unquestionable authority.
— Astrid — If you want to keep hitting metal, come back tomorrow.—
There were no protests. The blacksmiths dispersed as if their lives depended on it. Some apprentices didn't even say goodbye. Durman turned to his wife, hands on his hips.
— Durman — Astrid Woman, I was just sayin—!
— Dalia —Uncle!—
Dalia, who had remained silent until now, approached with a determined stride. Before Durman could react, she grabbed him by the ear and pulled hard. The man let out a muffled groan.
— Durman —Ugh! Dalia, let me go, damn it!
She didn't loosen her grip.
— Dalia — You think it's okay to decide my life in front of half the city, huh?!
Durman tried to get away, but he couldn't.
— Durman — I was just saying… Damn it, let me go!
The few who hadn't yet left watched the scene with their eyes wide open. I, on the other hand, just watched in silence. (Where the hell have I been?)
It's fine that I made a long dagger or a short sword in a few hours, that I outdid blacksmiths with hundreds of thousands of hours of work... That was bad enough. But for the master of the blacksmiths' guild to consider me worthy of being his niece's fiancé... I think I've gone too far.
— Astrid — You're not from here, are you? May I see your ID card? —
His tone was not accusatory, but rather curious and analytical.
●— No. I'm from a very remote village. A very secretive village, we had almost no notion of the outside world. Nothing remained of the village after a landslide. Hunt and I were the only survivors, just because we were hunting at the time.
Or that's the story Hunt and I were going to tell if anyone asked us. The lie came out naturally. It was simple, effective, and hard to prove. Astrid pursed her lips, still staring at my card.
— Astrid — …It must have been tough. And what happened to Hunt? —
●— I don't know, this morning when I woke up he wasn't at the inn anymore. We arrived yesterday, I guess he went out to explore the city on his own. —
For a moment, I felt like he really believed me. Then, he looked at me gently and slid the card back to me.
— Astrid — It's already late. Do you have a place to sleep? The inns are probably closed by now. —
●— It's okay. I'll manage. —
Just then, my interface buzzed with an incoming message.
#■— I'm not going home today, I'm staying over with a friend. —#
#●— Don't do anything that would force me to be an uncle so young… and be a gentleman. —#
#■— I'm not a savage, idiot. —#
Before he could add anything else, Durman burst into the conversation with his booming voice.
— Durman — Bah! You can stay in my niece's room! Let's see if I can become a grandfather once and for all! —
— Dalia — "Shut your mouth, old man!" she shouted as she escorted the Herero to the door.
Astrid sighed and glared at her husband.
— Astrid — Don't pay attention to this brute. We have plenty of rooms. You can sleep in one of the spare rooms if you want. —
I was silent for a moment. It was a good offer. I didn't know inns closed; I could always open the subdimension door anywhere and go to sleep.
But before I could answer, Durman caught me under the arm and dragged me toward the house.
— Durman — Don't overthink it, lad! Dinner first. He raised his voice, calling to the servants.
— Durman — Peter, Joan, we have to set the table! Eliza, Heny, light the fire! Today is a day for celebration, I already have an apprentice! —
The servants immediately sprang into action. Astrid and Dalia, without saying a word, headed into the kitchen with Peter and Joan, while Eliza and Heny headed for a storage room.
Durman patted me on the back and gestured for me to follow him.
— Durman — Come on, before dinner, we have to clean up the workshop a bit. —
He left me no choice. I followed him, feeling that my fate in this house was completely out of my control. The workshop was still warm from the forge, and the smell of molten metal lingered in the air. Durman and I silently cleaned or gathered up the tools, putting everything in order before dinner.
— Durman — Well, lad… do you want to be a blacksmith or were you just hanging around? —
I stopped for a second and put a hammer on the workbench.
●— I don't know. I don't really dislike it. —
Durman gave a low laugh and shook his head.
— Durman — Don't tell me that. I did it because I had no other choice. Don't make me feel like I dragged you into this.
●— No, seriously. I like… machining. —
Durman frowned.
— Durman — What? —
I looked at him for a moment, realizing the word meant nothing to him.
●— I'll show you someday. —
Durman snorted, but did not insist.
— Durman — And tell me, boy, what were you doing in the city before coming here? —
●— Just exploring. It's the first city we've seen since we arrived in this world. —
Durman paused for a moment and looked at me in disbelief.
— Durman — Are you telling me this is the first city you've set foot in? This world? —
I nodded. The man dropped a bag of nails on the table and let out a hearty laugh.
— Durman — Damn, you're lucky, kid! You come here, you trespass into my workshop, and instead of kicking you out, I let you stay. If it had been any other day, I would have kicked you out right away.
I smiled slightly and continued organizing the tools. Durman, still chuckling to himself, found a pair of glasses with a carving on the lenses hidden among the plans on the design table.
I saw them and my analytical instinct was instantly activated.
●— What are those glasses? —
Durman calmly put them on and spoke as he adjusted the frame on his face.
— Durman — An artifact Dalia copied. It's supposed to let you see people's stats. —
==+-+-+-+==
Durman felt his breath catch in his throat.
Numbers and words floated above Neo with overwhelming intensity.
📜 [< Age >]: 29
📜 [< Office >]: Envoy of Tolmas
📜 [< Level >]: 100
📜 [< Life Points (HP) >] : 690
📜 [< Points and Magic (MP) >] : 500
???????
Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error, Error…
The lens of Durman's glasses suddenly shattered, leaving him with no further readings on Neo. Durman fell flat on his ass. The magical lenses began to vibrate on his face, unable to continue reading Neo's details. The glasses began to crackle, releasing streams of mana from the runes, as if the amount of information was too much to handle.
Durman quickly took off his glasses and sat up abruptly, staggering as if the ground beneath his feet had disappeared for an instant. He tried to hide it, to breathe deeply, but his chest refused to follow a normal rhythm. His mind was a whirlwind of recent memories: the jokes, the condescension, the casual treatment... He had been laughing at an envoy of Tolmas. His stomach tightened, icy sweat ran down the back of his neck. His hands trembled, and he clenched them into fists to contain his panic. Neo was envious of Tolmas. He thought of Astrid, of Dalia, of what might happen if he had offended such a being. The weight of the revelation crushed him; it was like looking a god in the eye and realizing too late his own insignificance.
==+-+-+-+==