Finn

Tommy bid farewell to Lex, carrying a glimmer of hope for success and a heavy sense of responsibility, and hurried through the familiar yet dilapidated main street of Jialan Village.

The cold wind was still biting, stirring up dust and withered grass from the ground, and the air was filled with a complex mix of smells: firewood, animal dung, and poverty.

His next target was the Blacksmith Shop located at the east end of the village, near the almost dried-up stream.

The location of the Blacksmith Shop remained unchanged, almost exactly the same as when he left a year ago.

The low, mud-brick houses had thick, blackened thatched roofs. Under an open shed, a stove glowed a dark red, accompanied by the wheezing of bellows.

Even from a distance, the familiar, rhythmic clanging of the blacksmith's hammer, along with the faint, sulfurous warmth emanating from the shop, instantly transported Tommy back to his childhood memories of playing here and watching sparks fly from the iron.

He slowed his pace, quietly approached the open shed, and peered inside.

In the glow of the furnace fire, a familiar figure stood with his back to him, hunched over, vigorously swinging a heavy iron hammer, striking the red-hot iron bar on the anvil again and again.

That was Finn.

He was a bit stronger than I remembered; the muscles in his arms were taut from the continuous exertion, and his bronze skin was covered in beads of sweat that glistened in the firelight.

He had a dirty cloth wrapped around his head, its original color unrecognizable, to absorb sweat and block flying sparks. His thick leather apron was covered in coal dust and burn marks, and was tattered and worn.

Tommy watched quietly, a sense of doubt and emotion welling up inside him.

He originally thought that after more than a year, with Finn's intelligence and diligence, he should have grown from a junior apprentice who could only pump the bellows and hand over tools to a formal apprentice or even an assistant who could independently complete some simple tasks and whose status had been improved, so the work should be relatively easier.

But the scene before him told him that Finn seemed to still be at the bottom of the Blacksmith Shop's food chain, doing the most arduous and basic manual labor.

The monotonous and heavy rhythm of the hammering, the back soaked with sweat—all showed that the hardship of this job had not lessened in the slightest with the passage of time.

Just then, a rough, irritable roar came from inside the shop. It was clearly the notoriously bad-tempered blacksmith Barton: "Finn! You lazybones! Hurry up! Haven't you eaten enough? If this piece of iron isn't finished soon, what will you use to light the way when it gets dark! Want a beating?"

Upon hearing this, Finn noticeably increased the frequency of his punches, but his movements remained steady, showing that he had become accustomed to this kind of reprimand.

Tommy didn't hesitate any longer. He took a deep breath and stepped into a slightly darker area at the edge of the shed to avoid being immediately spotted by the people inside. Then, lowering his voice and with a hint of tentative anticipation, he softly called out, "Finn? Is that Finn?"

The knocking stopped abruptly. Finn straightened up, somewhat puzzled, wiped the sweat from his brow with the rag draped around his neck, and turned around.

The firelight illuminated his face, which was covered in coal dust. His eyes were somewhat dazed from long periods of focused concentration, but when his gaze fell on Tommy's face, that dazedness was quickly replaced by surprise.

Finn's memory was clearly much better than Lex's, who spent most of his time in the mountains and had little interaction with people. He recognized Tommy almost immediately, and an expression of disbelief crossed his face.

"Tommy?" Finn's voice rose slightly in surprise. He glanced instinctively at the fire and the half-finished food on the cutting board, then at Tommy, seemingly not quite understanding at first. "You... how did you get back? I... I remember you weren't... weren't you with that Count's conscription team, going... to that territory beyond the border to serve as a soldier?"

His tone was full of surprise, and also carried a hint of instinctive anxiety from having his work interrupted.

Tommy forced a smile, trying to make his tone sound relaxed and natural, "Yes, Finn, it's me. The war is over, and there's nothing major going on for the time being. The Lord has allowed us to come back to visit our families, so I had some time to come back."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Finn's sweat-drenched appearance and the iron bar on the anvil that needed repeated forging. Knowing that time was of the essence, he cut to the chase. "Do you... have a moment now? Just a little while. I have something for you, and I also want to talk to you about something." He waved the still-full-looking bag in his hand.

Upon hearing this, Finn immediately looked troubled.

He quickly turned his head and glanced into the corner of the shop, hidden by the smoke-stained wall, then lowered his voice and said rapidly, "Tommy, it's not that I don't want to... look here..." He pointed to the chopping board, "My master is watching... I..."

Before he could finish speaking, as if having made up his mind, he suddenly took a deep breath, turned around and called out in a slightly louder but still respectful voice, "Master Barton! I... I have a terrible stomachache, I need to... go take a dump! I'll be right back!"

Immediately from inside came Master Barton's signature impatient and irritable roar, as loud as a broken gong. "Lazy donkey on the millstone, always causing trouble! You're such a pain! Go and come back right now! If you dare to dawdle or slack off, I'll beat you to death when you get back! If you don't finish this pile of work, you can forget about dinner tonight!"

"Yes, yes, yes! I'll be right back!" Finn replied quickly, while simultaneously giving Tommy a wink, signaling him to hurry up and leave.

Then he put down the hammer, not even bothering to take off his dirty apron, and simply wiped the sweat and dust off his hands on a rag next to him. With his head down, he practically ran out of the scorching and oppressive space of the Blacksmith Shop with Tommy.

The two walked quickly, one after the other, behind a dead old locust tree, far enough away from the Blacksmith Shop to ensure their voices wouldn't be heard. Finn then let out a long sigh of relief, as if he had just escaped from some kind of cage.

He leaned against the rough tree trunk, his chest rising and falling slightly, his face still flushed from running and showing signs of lingering tension.

He glanced at Tommy, then warily looked in the direction of the Blacksmith Shop before lowering his voice and saying apologetically and urgently, "Tommy, you heard it too... Master Barton has a terrible temper. I... I really don't have much time. What... what's so urgent that you came all the way back?"

His gaze involuntarily fell on Tommy's bulging backpack, a hint of curiosity flashing across his eyes.

Tommy nodded understandingly; he knew the Blacksmith Shop had strict rules, and apprentices had almost no personal freedom.

He stopped with pleasantries and cut straight to the point, his eyes sharp and sincere. "Finn, besides visiting relatives, I've returned with a mission from the Lord: to recruit urgently needed manpower for Carnford, for the territory that is in dire need of rebuilding."

Seeing the doubt in Finn's eyes, he pointed directly towards the Blacksmith Shop: "What I value is the blacksmithing skills you've honed here! Carnford is currently lacking all kinds of craftsmen, especially young people with potential like you."

Tommy then recounted the preferential treatment in Carnford: craftsmen were divided into three levels, two levels, one level, and so on up to "Master Craftsman." Upon graduation, they were rated as level three, with monthly wages far exceeding those in this place; promotions were based on skill, with wages and status increasing at each level; and in old age, there was a pension with no deductions whatsoever.

He cited his own experience as an example. "When I served in the army in Carnford, I was well paid, had clothes for all seasons, and was provided with three meals a day. If I was wounded, I received medical treatment; if I was disabled, the Lord provided for me; and if I died in battle, my family received a pension. The Lord kept his promises and only respected and cherished the craftsmen more."

Finn recalled his days of sweating profusely by the scorching furnace, the beatings and scoldings from Master Barton at the slightest provocation, the punishment he suffered when he was caught secretly practicing making small items, the meager wages he received, and the bleak uncertainty about the future.

All the grievances and resentment were completely ignited by Tommy's words at that moment.

"Carnford is experiencing a period of great development right now, with everything waiting to be revitalized!" Tommy continued, painting a rosy picture of the future. "They need to build more houses, forge more weapons, farm tools, and ships! They need young craftsmen like you with the skills and potential!"

"There you'll find a fair path to advancement, a respected social standing, and substantial rewards! Your skills will truly shine there, allowing you to live a decent life and even bring honor to your family! This is a thousand times better than being stuck in this small shop, never seeing a chance to succeed!"

Finn's Adam's apple bobbed. He'd been an orphan since childhood, toiling like a slave for Barton, with no one to confide in about his grievances. Now, someone was saying his hammer could build him a better life? Almost without hesitation, his eyes lit up, and he hurriedly asked, "But I signed an apprenticeship contract..."

Tommy patted his chest confidently. "Don't worry! Lord Karl is now the King's brother-in-law, his power far surpasses John's. What's a small contract? Lord Karl has his own way of resolving this!"

Finn clenched his fists. He'd had enough of this cage. Rather than being Barton's punching bag, he'd rather go with Tommy and fight for a future. He nodded emphatically, his voice trembling but firm. "Okay! I'll go to Carnford with you!"

Just then, an even more impatient roar came from the blacksmith 'Barton Blacksmith Shop: "Finn! Where have you been, you brat? Taking so long to take a dump? Get back here right now! Are you even going to get any work done?"