The Master of Uradan

The shrill noises of the hammer falling on the piece of iron echoed in the forge. The heat and effort made the clothes of Rohan soaked with sweat stuck on his skin. Horim, on the side with a critical eye, kept yelling at Rohan each time he was doing something he didn't like. Which was pretty much every time he was lifting the hammer.

Rohan had already achieved the 4th folding and was now trying the 5th one. But it was much more complicated as the foldings increased and it made the future blade much more difficult to hammer.

Of course, since he was way too slow, he didn't have the choice but to put back the iron in the furnace in between each folding. But it couldn't be helped, he wasn't fast enough, not precise enough and was obliged to take a few seconds to know where to hit.

Actually, for someone who had been near a forge for only two months or so, it was definitely impressive. But that was all. Compared to what Horim was expecting, he felt a little disappointed.

"Okay stop here, you will not be able to make more folding."

Hearing these words, Rohan stopped after he had finished the fifth folding and put for a last time the iron in the furnace to molten it a bit more. Then, as the color was back to a bright orange-yellow, he hammered it again. This time, it was to form the real shape of the blade.

Now was a bit easier than before, and Rohan struck the hot iron at constant speed. He was starting to feel soreness spreading over his muscles as the weight of the hammer was beginning to make him struggle.

Suddenly, as he was feeling tired, it came to his mind that he was a rank 3 Beginner Warrior. The normal blacksmiths, how the hell can they do it? As he was thinking if they could possibly have more strength than him, who had almost a constitution five times superior to a normal human, Horim snarled at him.

"Concentrate! Who do you look so puzzled, dummy? Is it because you're too tired? Ha, speed up these movements right now, grandma!"

Rohan let a groan leave his throat as he was hitting with all the strength he had, until the piece of metal before him was the form he wanted it to be.

Once the blade was formed, there was still a last thing to be done: the tang. It was the part that hid under the hilt when a knife or a sword was finished. To form it, all Rohan had to do was to hit again and again, as blisters on his hand bursted under the friction of the handle.

The heat of the forge began to drill a hole in his head. How could anyone work in this place? Who the hell decided to forge near a furnace while being in the middle of the earth? Was Horin that mad?

Rohan kept yelling questions in his mind as he repeatedly hit the iron under the exhausting heat coming from the forge.

Before long, Rohan ceased his movements to look at the piece of iron before him. It was a long one, with a length of 30 cm and a width of 3 cm for the blade and only 1 for the tang. He felt excited to see what would be the final result, but also anxious, as the next step would determine the quality of the blade. But before he could think anymore, the thunder of Horim's loud voice echoed beside him.

"What are you waiting for, you mudhead! Put it in the fucking water already!"

Rohan snapped back to reality, and rushed to put the orange blade into the bucket of cold water near him. 

The bright, nearly yellow, hot iron entered the clear water as a hissing and bubbling sound entered through the ears of Rohan. A sea of hot smog floated in the air as Rohan was maintaining the blade inside with the tongs. Through the smoke, the bright color of the metal could be seen to decrease, to a light red, to finish on a dull grey.

He took it out of the water after he sensed the iron had cooled down, and as he was going to take a closer look, Horim snatched it from his hands at lighting speed.

He examined the blade which needed only to be sharpened while rotating it on all sides. He glanced at each part with a critical eye, he stroked everywhere with his experienced fingers, he felt the whole creation before him with his years of blacksmithing.

He then looked back at Rohan. A rank 3 Beginner Warrior who was only 15 years old. Less than two years of training, and already three ranks. But even that was nothing. Nothing compared with the fact that he had a special relationship with the mana. Why? Horim didn't know, but what he understood was that Rohan was unique in this world. He even guessed that if Rohan could better use this capacity, he would be able to transcend everything the human race had done until this day.

He even thought back to the mountain in the middle of the Barren Lands. Maybe, just maybe there truly was a secret. And perhaps Rohan would be able to reveal it.

But this blade before his eyes? It was truly nothing but a piece of junk. The quality of the metal was bad, nothing more, nothing less. But still, he would let Rohan finish this dagger.

It was still a 5 foldings weapon, it wasn't complete garbage. But a good blacksmith was able to make a 20 foldings weapon, and that was when he wasn't a mana user. Of course he will take quite a few days before being able to finish it, and the quality would be far worse than a 20 foldings blade made in a single day.

Actually, the best iron or steel weapons that can be made were 20 foldings ones made in a single breath. Which meant without putting back the metal even once in the furnace.

Overall, with a little hindsight, it was possibly the best weapon made in the world by a 15 years old boy. But for a rank 3 Beginner Warrior, it was below average.

Rohan was a little bit annoyed to see such an obnoxious expression on the face of his master as he gave him back the blade. But even though he wanted to slap him, his intermediate rank made him think if his death would be worth it.

Now there were only two steps remaining. The first one was to clean the blade, then make a hilt and install it while the second and last one was to sharpen the blade.

Without wasting more time, Rohan began to clean the dark grey metal to give it a clear mirror appearance that everyone knew. He had already seen Horim make it tens of times, and as it wasn't a complicated task, he didn't encounter any hindrance. Even Horim had stopped to bomb him with interjections.

After an hour or so of precise work, the shiny blade appeared before his eyes. Rohan could even see his distorted reflection on it. The blade was flat with a pointed tip and the edges were slightly inclined before stopping with a smooth surface. It was truly beautiful.

Even Horim didn't say anything at this moment. After all, it was the first creation that Rahon had forged.

But it wasn't finished, and Rohan hadn't made the hilt yet. But for this one, he couldn't really do it alone since it was a bit delicate to do. So for this once, Horim decided to help him to make it.

It was a classic hilt with a handle made of plates of wood wrapped with leather and wire, and a small hand-guard made of iron.  At the end of the handle, a small sphere of iron served as a pommel. After installing it around the tang of the dagger and definitively fixing it, the last thing to do was to sharpen the edges of the sword.

For sharpening the blade, Rohan used the sharpening stone that was waiting there, with a bucket of oil in the side.

The oil was there to aid the sharpening process by lubricating the edge and the tool used. That way, it would be easier to not rip off and break a small piece from the blade. It can also prevent an excessive hit to further fragilise or deform the metal by cooling the friction created.

Grinding noises of iron against stone shrieked continuously in the forge, making Rohan grimaced as he was crouching above the sharpening stone. He whetted the dagger in his hand in even and rhythmic strokes while scraps as small as dust fell on the ground.

It took a long time, and even though Rohan attempted to do his best, he knew that the whetting he had done was simply mediocre. However, he was still feeling happy. And that was because the dagger in front of him was finally achieved.

A long double-edge blade, an iron hand-guard, a brown leather handle, and a small iron pommel. The quality of the metal was substandard at most and the sharpening was roughly made. It really was a piece of junk. But it was Rohan's piece of junk, and it was probably one of the happiest moments he had ever experienced.

Even Horim couldn't help but smile softly at this sight. He would never dare to sell such a barely functionable piece of scrap in his shop, but the first work of a blacksmith always meant a lot.

Of course, he knew. He knew that Rohan never aspired to become a blacksmith in the first place. But he didn't mind it. And he was feeling happy to have taught him the way to forge the metal.. Who knew, maybe it would serve him during his future journey.