With the template secured, Chen Xu endured the pain of his injuries and hurried back to Willis's yard.
He rested for an hour or so, waiting until his stamina recovered before adding coal to the furnace used to melt the iron ore.
With such crude facilities, he chose to make a high-carbon steel sword. It would not necessarily be inferior to swords made of meteoric iron.
Meteoric iron was simply an iron meteor that had entered the atmosphere without burning up completely. Such iron might merely be somewhat purer.
Even the better varieties were only mixed with other metals from outer space, making them a kind of alloy.
As long as the carbon content was properly controlled, high-carbon steel might be slightly less tough, but its hardness and strength would only be better.
He ground burnt charcoal into a fine powder and sprinkled it evenly over the iron ore as it began to melt. Once it had completely melted into molten iron, he poured a thin layer into the mold to cool.
Then came continuous hammering, until fewer and fewer impurities emerged. He cast another sheet of iron, hammered out its impurities, then placed it in the furnace to heat and increase its carbon content.
Only after repeating this ten times did he obtain five thin, pure iron strips and five high-carbon steel strips.
He alternated the ten metal strips in a stack, repeatedly folding and hammering them beneath his forging hammer, heating them, then folding and hammering them again...
Fine, even forging patterns gradually emerged. This was currently the most convenient way to produce pattern-welded steel.
He mixed the pig's blood and cow's blood bought from the butcher with his own urine and the fat-rich Drowner brain taken from a Drowner's corpse to make a new quenching agent, then poured it into a wooden bucket and heated it slowly.
When legendary swordsmiths fed themselves to their swords, beyond the nebulous sacrifice of flesh and soul, there was also a bodyful of hot, salt-rich blood for quenching.
He forged the final sword blank into shape in one sustained effort. This round of hammering was distinctly different. Had a smith of the same level been present, they would have noticed the unusual distribution of force in his blows.
After roughly shaping the edges, he plunged the slightly cooled sword blank into the bucket of murky, warm blood.
Foul-smelling steam shot up. He immediately pulled out the sword blank and tempered it.
Once the sword blank had cooled naturally, he began sharpening its edges.
The blackish-red blade gradually grew bright, and dense, intricate patterns actually appeared out of nowhere. This was where the effect of his mastery of [Forging] manifested.
Unlike the grain of the steel, this was an energy circuit he had deliberately fashioned from the hilt to the tip.
During the final forging process, minute variations in the force of his hammer blows had caused subtle changes in the iron-to-carbon ratio and temperature on the sword blank's surface.
The temperature differences produced variations in density within the very thin outermost layer. Quenching and polishing continually amplified those differences, ultimately creating these perfectly natural patterns.
Even with extraordinary accumulated experience to draw on, Chen Xu had nearly exhausted every ounce of his strength to forge this entire energy circuit intact.
Halfway through sharpening, he nearly collapsed headfirst onto the ground. But stopping halfway would have felt worse than being killed.
"What stinks so badly?" Willis got up and gathered the thick beard on his chin to use as an air filter.
Seeing Chen Xu sharpening a sword and looking half-dead, he seemed to have finally found something to mock:
"Haha, lad. Just a few swords wore you out this badly? Back when I was your age, I could make a dozen of these in a day!"
Make them, my ass. Chen Xu did not even have the strength to roll his eyes. Through sheer willpower, he persisted until he had polished the final bit of the edge. His vision went black, and he passed out on the spot.
"Lad!
You're so weak..."
When Chen Xu slowly came around, he was already lying in his dilapidated little hut.
"How do you feel, Pro?" Under the dim yellow light of the oil lamp, Willis caught the faint gleam returning to his eyes and hurriedly handed him a cup of water.
"I'm fine."
Overexertion always crept up unnoticed. Chen Xu pushed himself upright, took the cup, and swallowed a large mouthful before asking with feigned casualness:
"Master Willis, where are my swords?"
A complicated look entered the eyes of the old dwarf, who had spent his entire life working at an anvil. He turned and fetched two swords in leather scabbards from the table:
"I made you two scabbards... Pro, your talent is unimaginable. Both these swords are masterworks the likes of which I've never seen in my life."
"Especially this steel sword." Willis's rough, callused fingers brushed over Gram's blade, feeling the steel's texture and patterns.
"I can hardly imagine how you forged such a fine weapon using nothing but my crude tools and materials."
"As far as I know, only two master smiths in Temeria have this level of skill. One is at Crow's Perch in Velen, and the other is in Novigrad.
You've already reached their level."
A lifetime of pursuit had amounted to less than someone else's afternoon. If someone could not properly accept that disparity, the jealousy it bred would be terrifying.
Chen Xu could hardly tell him outright that he was using cheats, so he comforted him sincerely. "No matter how talented I am, I still owe you for getting me started. My master will always be Willis of White Orchard."
"Willis of White Orchard?" Dwarves were a race with a naturally hearty culture. Willis repeated the title twice, hid the desolation in his heart, and chuckled foolishly.
"Good. Maybe, thanks to you, my name will spread throughout Velen someday!"
The Nilfgaardians had already arranged a new home for Willis. Unable to persuade him to stay, Chen Xu lay back down.
For some reason, his stamina was recovering extremely slowly this time, and his body could not return to peak condition.
Still, it was not too serious.
He picked up the steel sword he had poured all his strength and effort into forging and examined it closely. Everything was as he had envisioned.
The sword was 4.1 chi long and weighed 2.6 jin, with clear, clean patterns.
He had left three rune slots, positioned exactly like those on Moonblade. But unlike Moonblade, its center of gravity lay closer to the hilt, making it suitable for swinging.
As everyone knew, steel swords were for cutting people, so they demanded greater maneuverability.
Candlelight shone on the blade, reflecting a chilling edge.
Since it was quenched in salty, reeking blood, why not call it the "Crimson Salt Sword"? Chen Xu shuddered inexplicably. Forget it, forget it. I'm really getting carried away.
When in Rome. Let's call it Gram.
[You have crafted a fine-quality item: [Gram]. Your [Forging] has improved slightly.] -------- Item: Hand-and-a-half sword · Steel sword · Gram Quality: Fine Attack: 27 (slashing) Durability: 22/22 Equipped with a complete energy circuit and three rune slots. The hollow hilt can be filled with spiritual materials. Depending on the quality of the inserted runes and spiritual materials, there is a chance of upgrading it to rare quality. Forged by Chosen One Chen Xu with mastery-level craftsmanship. Made of carbon steel and quenched in a mixture of animal blood, human urine, and monster brain tissue. Combines hardness and toughness. A pinnacle fine-quality weapon. Sale price: 89 points Can be taken out of this world after grid conversion. --------
Good stuff! By comparison, the steel sword he had forged was actually a cut above Moonblade in quality.
With skills like these, he need not worry that the White Wolf would refuse to take him along.
Witchers had extremely demanding equipment requirements. Sword blades needed maintenance, armor needed repairs, and every alchemical item used meant one less remaining. Yet without using them, they could not defeat monsters.
Even their horses needed good saddles, horseshoes, and quality fodder.
They seemed to earn hefty bounties, but in reality, they had no choice but to spend their days scrambling to make a living.
Geralt could only be considered an exception. Born to a sorceress, he had an innately extraordinary ability to withstand the alchemical potions used in the Trial of the Grasses, which qualified him for trials with fiercer, more powerful mutagens.
Among all surviving witchers, his degree of mutation was undoubtedly the highest. His striking, pigmentless white hair was a direct result.
His work included, but was not limited to, bruxae, manticores, and even taking on gangs and armies single-handedly.
Ordinary witchers, meanwhile, could only kill minor monsters such as Drowners and Foglets, occasionally challenging something on the level of a Grave Hag to earn a little hard-earned money.
The Witcher world was likewise ruled by bloodlines, not some hot-blooded fairy tale. Another famous sorcerer's son was Vilgefortz, the pinnacle of human combat power.
As for Ciri, who carried the Elder Blood, even less needed to be said.
Chen Xu closed his eyes and tucked both swords into his arms like treasures, planning to seek out Geralt tomorrow to learn swordsmanship.
[Armed Combat] not only sounded bad, it was weak. A thug who spent his whole life brawling was still a thug. It really was only good for dealing with ordinary people.
For genuine killing techniques, he would have to turn to the White Wolf's whirling sword dance and New Year's greeting swordsmanship.