A Setback in Forging

At dawn, a cold radiance rose in the eastern sky, turning the heavens iron gray.

The faint aroma of stewing food began to drift from the timber-frame houses along the street, melting the frost on their dark fish-scale roof tiles. From deep within the alleys came the faint whistle of a kettle coming to a boil, followed by the dull clink of ceramic cups and cutlery against a table.

It was breakfast time.

But in the very next instant, the thunderous clang of a hammer striking an anvil shattered the tranquility.

Curtains were pulled open in several timber-frame houses. Men and women frowned as they gathered behind the windows and looked toward the blacksmith's shop on the outer street.

It had always been the source of noise on this street, but they usually didn't start work until eight or nine. Over the past few days, though, they'd been starting earlier and earlier.

Someone said the blacksmith's shop had been rented out to a stranger. Didn't this person need to sleep?

Amid the cold morning light, Sally rode a crudely made bicycle down the street, a sack strapped to it. Even though the bicycle didn't even have a chain, making it awkward to steer, it still drew the gazes of quite a few townsfolk.

Sally rode all the way to the blacksmith's shop. She leaned the bicycle against the wall, hoisted the sack onto her shoulder, knocked on the door, and went inside.

The moment she entered, scorching coal smoke, the sharp stench of metal, and a strong smell of sulfur hit her in the face, as if she'd been struck by a hammer. Sally staggered.

Lude could ignore these environmental hazards, but a young girl like her couldn't!

After the blacksmith's shop had been handed over to Lude, it had undergone a drastic renovation and become completely unrecognizable.

A fierce, terrifying fire blazed in the huge forge, every ember inside the furnace glowing a dark red. An anvil of unknown metal stood beside the forge; the force of repeated blows had driven its base into the ground.

On the other side of the room stood a whole row of iron racks holding all sorts of glassware.

The racks were covered in seams. Their connecting joints had been twisted together by force, and fingerprints still marked them. They'd clearly been cobbled together by hand from scraps of iron.

The glass vessels, on the other hand, looked quite convincing. They were filled with all sorts of things she couldn't make sense of.

Lude stood before the anvil. He raised his hand toward the red-hot metal on it and brought his fist down hard.

CLANG!!!

The metal bar in Lude's hands changed shape as he repeatedly folded and hammered it without restraint.

The blacksmith's shop had tongs and hammers, but those tools clearly couldn't withstand Lude's strength. They were already scattered across the floor in pieces.

Still, the tools weren't necessary for Lude. After all, he was a master craftsman capable of twisting a bicycle into shape with his bare hands.

He could forge, shape metal, and sharpen blades with his bare hands.

Just then, Lude straightened up and let out a long breath.

His breath carried flecks of coal dust and sparks.

He looked at Sally by the door and waved her over. "Go wait in the backyard for a while. I'm still busy."

"Oh, all right." Sally hurried along the wall of the blacksmith's shop, pushed open the door, and ran into the backyard.

When the sun had climbed about two feet higher, Lude came into the backyard through the back door, a weapon in his hand. He was bare-chested, revealing a lean, muscular physique. His marble-hard, smooth skin was completely dry.

At the sight of him, Sally's cheeks flushed slightly.

Lude had no idea she was remembering that brief moment of reassurance. Instead, he thought of a not-so-obscure fact:

The more turbulent and war-torn the times, the more women's tastes in men tended toward muscular, rugged men who looked strong. In peaceful times, they tended to favor pretty boys.

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

Just then, Sally noticed the long, narrow weapon in Lude's hand. It was a greatsword with a straight blade, at least a hundred and twenty centimeters long. Its two-finger-wide, heavy blade looked incredibly weighty.

Yet Lude raised it high overhead with one hand.

He held the hilt with just his index finger. His thumb was slightly relaxed, while the other three fingers were poised to move.

The next instant, with a thunderous boom, Sally's vision blurred.

Only after a gust of wind whipped past her ear did Sally finally come to her senses. Lude had changed his stance.

At some point, he had lowered his body, one leg bent forward and the other back, as if he had just completed a downward slash.

The sword he'd been holding now lay in pieces before him, scattered loosely across the ground.

"Another failure."

Lude sighed and casually tossed the hilt in his hand onto the scrap heap.

It had been a whole week, and he still hadn't managed to make proper Resist-Steel, let alone forge a weapon.

He even knew exactly what the problem was, but he couldn't find a suitable way to overcome it.

There was something wrong with his Psionic Energy.

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

But unless it was distorted by Soul Fire or another spellcasting medium, Psionic Energy had no effect on the real world.

To make Resist-Steel, pure Psionic Energy had to be infused into steel, then fused with it through the heat of a flame.

After this process, the pure Psionic Energy would turn into spiritual essence within the steel, transforming ordinary steel into Resist-Steel. The process was simple enough, yet Lude just couldn't get past this hurdle.

There were many possible explanations. Lude thought the most likely one was that something was wrong with his Psionic Energy.

After all, he had followed the instructions in the texts to the letter from start to finish.

The precision of his body meant he could perform every step with absolute accuracy. If he hadn't made any mistakes, then the problem had to be with his Psionic Energy.

Everyone knew that the soul determined Psionic Energy, but the body also affected the mind.

Lude's body... At its core, it wasn't even the same kind of thing as a human being.

There was very little human in Lude. He was closer to the child of Smaug and Optimus Prime: his body was made of either alchemical parts or Dragon Beast flesh. Since his spine and skull had been carved from Red Dragon Remains, he was even closer to a higher dragon than an ordinary Dragon Beast.

His situation... Could he actually be a [Dragonkin]?

Supernatural creatures and intelligent beings followed completely different paths. Their Psionic Energy carried unique attributes, making it easier for them to use their innate abilities, but they weren't as adaptable as humans.

Lude suspected that might be the case for him.

It was only a suspicion. He couldn't be sure.

He didn't even have anyone nearby who could help explain it to him.

At that moment, Lude missed Siana terribly. It would be wonderful to have the girl with the exquisite, almost otherworldly beauty by his side—but he had no idea how that sharp-eyed, striking young woman was doing now.

Had her assassination succeeded? Had she managed to retreat safely?

Lude sighed, waved away the distracting thoughts in his mind, and turned to Sally with a warm smile.

"You've brought more supplies? Thanks for all your hard work."