Forging Halted

At dawn, a cold, brilliant light rose from the eastern sky, staining the firmament an iron-gray.

The scent of light stew began to drift from the timber-framed houses on both sides of the street, melting the frost that had condensed on the dark, fish-scale tiles of the roofs; from deep within the alleys came the faint whistling of boiling kettles, followed by the dull clatter of ceramic cups and cutlery hitting tabletops.

It was time for breakfast.

Yet, in the very next instant, a roar like a hammer striking an anvil shattered this tranquility into pieces.

Curtains in several timber-framed houses were pulled aside, and men and women gathered behind their windows, brows furrowed as they looked toward the blacksmith shop on the main street.

That place was already the source of noise on this street, but in the past, they wouldn't start work until eight or nine o'clock; lately, however, they had been starting earlier and earlier.

Word was that this blacksmith shop had been rented to an outsider—did this person not need to sleep?

Amidst this cold morning light, Sally rode a crudely made bicycle, carrying a sack across the street; even though the bicycle lacked a chain, making even turning quite awkward, it still attracted the gazes of many townspeople.

Sally arrived at the entrance of the blacksmith shop, propped up her bike, hoisted the sack, knocked on the door, and walked inside.

The moment she entered, scorching coal smoke, the pungent smell of metal, and the thick stench of sulfur rushed toward her, hitting Sally like a hammer to the face and causing her to stagger.

Lude could ignore these environmental hazards, but she was just a young girl—she couldn't!

Since this blacksmith shop had been handed over to Lude, it had undergone drastic, sweeping renovations, leaving it unrecognizable.

A fierce, terrifying fire roared within the massive forge, and every ember in the furnace glowed with a dark red light; the anvil, forged from an unknown metal, sat beside the hearth, its base already embedded into the ground from the force of violent hammer blows.

On the other side of the room stood a row of iron shelves holding various glass vessels.

These iron shelves were full of seams, and the forcibly twisted and bolted joints still bore finger marks, clearly fashioned by hand from scrap iron sheets.

The glass vessels, however, looked quite professional, though they were filled with things she couldn't understand.

At this moment, Lude was standing before the anvil, raising his hand toward the red-hot metal and slamming it down with a fierce punch.

Clang—!!!

The metal bar in Lude's hand was being reshaped through repeated, wanton folding and forging.

It wasn't that the blacksmith shop lacked tongs and hammers, but those tools clearly couldn't withstand Lude's strength and had already been reduced to a pile of fragments.

However, those tools weren't necessary for Lude; after all, Lude was a master craftsman who could twist a bicycle into shape with his bare hands.

Forging, sheet metal work, sharpening—Lude could complete these tasks with his bare hands as well.

Just then, Lude straightened his back and let out a long, turbid breath.

His breath carried tiny specks of coal dust and sparks.

He looked at Sally, who was standing by the door, and waved at her: "Go wait in the backyard for a while; I'm still busy."

"Oh, right, okay." Sally scurried along the wall of the blacksmith shop, pushed open the door, and ran into the backyard.

When the sun had risen about two feet, Lude followed through the back door into the backyard, carrying a weapon in his hand; he was shirtless, revealing a lean, streamlined physique, and not a single drop of sweat marred his skin, which was as hard and smooth as marble.

Seeing Lude in this state, Sally's cheeks couldn't help but flush slightly.

Lude naturally didn't know she was recalling that fleeting sense of security; instead, he thought of a piece of trivia that wasn't exactly cold:

The more unstable the war-torn era, the more women's aesthetic preferences for men would lean toward muscular, tough guys with a sense of power, while in peaceful times, they would increasingly favor delicate, handsome youths.

After all, there was a saying that in times of war, a sense of power meant a sense of security.

At this moment, Sally also noticed the long, narrow weapon in Lude's hand—it was a greatsword with a straight blade, at least 120 centimeters long, and the heavy, two-finger-wide edge looked incredibly weighty.

Yet, Lude held it high above his head with one hand.

His right hand hooked the hilt with only his index finger, his thumb slightly relaxed, and his other three fingers poised and ready.

The next instant, accompanied by a roar, Sally suddenly felt her vision blur.

With a gust of wind whistling past her ears, Sally finally regained her senses, only to see that Lude had changed his posture.

His body had sunk down at some point, his legs crouched one in front of the other, looking as if he had just completed a slash.

And right in front of him, the sword he had been holding had turned into a pile of parts, scattered loosely across the ground.

"Failed again."

Lude sighed and tossed the hilt into the scrap heap.

It had been a full week, and he still hadn't managed to produce qualified Resist-Steel, let alone forge a weapon.

He even knew exactly what the problem was, but he lacked the proper method to overcome it.

His psionic energy was the issue.

Psionic energy was the energy of the soul, residing within everyone's body.

However, psionic energy that hadn't been distorted by soul fire or other casting catalysts would have no effect on the physical world.

To cast Resist-Steel, one needed to inject pure psionic energy into the steel and then use fire to smelt it into a single entity.

After this process, the pure psionic energy would be converted into the psionic elements within the steel, thus transforming ordinary steel into Resist-Steel—it was such a simple process, yet Lude couldn't bridge the gap no matter what.

There were many possibilities for this situation, and Lude felt the most likely one was that there was something wrong with his psionic energy.

After all, he had been following the records in the ancient texts from start to finish.

Relying on the precision of this body, one could say his movements were entirely methodical. If there were any flaws to speak of, it could only be that his psionic energy was problematic.

As everyone knows, the soul determines psionic energy, but the physical body also influences the spirit.

This body of Lude... at its very core, it was not the same thing as a human at all.

Lude's human content was quite low; he was closer to the offspring of Smaug and Optimus Prime. His body was composed of either alchemical components or Dragon Beast flesh. Because his spine and skull were carved from the remains of a Red Dragon, he was even closer to a high-ranking dragon species than an ordinary Dragon Beast.

His situation... could it actually be considered [Dragonborn]?

Transcendental creatures and intelligent lifeforms follow entirely different paths. Their psionic energy carries unique attributes, which makes them more adept at unleashing innate divine abilities, yet they lack the flexibility of humans.

Lude suspected that this might be his situation.

It was only a suspicion; he had no way to be certain.

He didn't even have a single person by his side who could help resolve his confusion.

At this moment, Lude missed Siana dearly—that young girl whose features were so exquisite they didn't seem mortal. If only she could be by his side—though Lude had no idea how that girl with the heroic and sharp gaze was faring now.

Had her assassination attempt succeeded, and had she retreated safely...

Lude sighed, raised his hand to wave away the distracting thoughts in his mind, and turned to look at Sally with a gentle smile.

"Did you bring something new again? You have truly worked hard."