After rubbing the gorilla's head, Deathstroke used The Force to pull a billet of steel from the lava. He tossed it onto the anvil and had Strangle start hammering it, all while saying:
"Look at how ignorant you are. Isn't it normal for a qualified mercenary to know how to forge? Think about it—if your weapon breaks during a mission, you can't exactly run back to find a blacksmith, can you? You have to repair it yourself."
"If you said you could fix guns, I'd believe you. But cold weapons and armor? Can you really handle that?"
Bobo's curiosity had been piqued. He watched Strangle hammer the metal ingot furiously. With every strike, the metal gradually began to glow with Golden Light, growing brighter and brighter.
"Originally, I wasn't very good at it. I could only repair weapons. But Strangle has eaten a few blacksmiths before, so I'm actually fairly confident." After casually using Vulcan's materials, the nearby workers seemed ready to come over and stop him. But when he flicked out a Lightsaber from his palm to show them, they retreated again.
Those pushing carts went back to pushing carts, and those carrying crates went back to carrying crates. Clearly, they no longer had any objections to Deathstroke.
It wasn't that they could tell how superb the Lightsaber's forging technique was. They simply knew that Deathstroke might kill them without the slightest hesitation.
Their master had plenty of God Metal. Deathstroke had only used a tiny bit of it, so they could probably pretend not to see it.
With that thought, they stopped caring.
After dismissing the nosy workers, Strangle smoothly completed the rest of the process. It had eaten the corpses of several Asgardian blacksmiths before, so its skills were not bad. Amid flying sparks, the armor quickly