Chương 75: Blacksmith

Four buttons lined the elevator's control panel. Gozen reached forward and pressed the one marked 2.

"The junior members train in the basement," he explained.

"The lobby is where we entered. The first floor houses the regular training halls, and the second is reserved for the craftsmen." The ascent lasted only a few seconds. When the metal doors slid apart, Gray stepped into an area that closely mirrored the ground floor. Another identical, pretentious chandelier dominated the ceiling, bathing the room in a harsh glare. On the far wall hung the familiar brown banner, though this one displayed only the emblem of an anvil.

Beneath it, a wide archway opened into a long corridor lined with wooden planks and evenly spaced ceiling lights.

"I'm guessing that's where we're going?" Gray asked, gesturing toward the archway. Gozen grunted in confirmation and took the lead, with Gray falling into step beside him. The corridor was broad enough for four men to walk side by side. Heavy reinforced-steel doors stood at regular intervals along both walls.

Above each entrance hung an engraved nameplate identifying the blacksmith inside and their specialty, while a glowing three-dimensional projection hovered beside it, showcasing an example of the smith's craftsmanship. Gray slowed outside one workshop, his attention caught by the hologram of a black blade with a flame-shaped crossguard.

"What's the purpose of these projections?" Gozen glanced over his shoulder.

"They display each smith's finest work. Think of them as a visual resume and advertisement." Gray hummed in understanding, then his gaze dropped to the center of the heavy door. Beneath a reinforced glass viewing window, a sleek digital tablet had been embedded into the metal. Two simple words glowed across its screen: Make Reservation. He stepped closer and peered through the glass into the workshop of a smith named Haganezuka, whose plaque listed his specialty as Katana.

Inside, the blacksmith sat with his back turned, repeatedly bringing a heavy hammer down on a glowing length of steel. Sparks scattered with each ringing strike while a massive furnace roared beside him, radiating waves of intense heat. Dark smoke poured from the forge's chimney. Gray glanced upward, expecting to find a standard ventilation shaft cut through the ceiling. Instead, the exhaust funneled directly into a flat white plate protruding from the plaster.

The device swallowed the smoke completely, without allowing so much as a wisp to escape into the workshop.

"What is that thing?" Gray asked, pressing a finger against the glass and pointing upward. Gozen stepped beside his disciple and followed his gaze.

"Filter plates," he said.

"Forged from silversand. They trap impurities the moment they come into contact with the surface, keeping the air breathable without requiring massive ventilation shafts through the exterior walls. You can tell how much life they have left by the color. They start pure white, gradually fade to gray, and eventually turn pitch-black. Once they reach black, you replace them." Gray watched another plume of smoke disappear seamlessly into the white plate.

He understood the mechanics easily enough, but the concept struck an unexpectedly familiar chord. Gray turned to Gozen with a faint smile.

"Do you think it could filter out my smoke?" Gozen clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I've never tested it, but for your sake, let's hope a common-tier trinket isn't the ultimate counter to your class." Gray let out a dry chuckle.

"Right. By the way, this place is completely silent. Why can't I hear him hammering the steel?" Rather than answer immediately, Gozen pointed toward a small metallic half-sphere mounted on the ceiling.

"Another trinket. That one's rare-tier—a sound container. It does exactly what the name implies. Once installed, you can establish a precise perimeter that isolates all sound within its range. We have one in every workstation to contain the noise from the forges." Gray absorbed the explanation, but his attention snagged on a term Gozen kept using.

"These trinkets, what exactly are they?"

"Everyday utility enchantment tools," Gozen replied.

"Only Awakened with the Blacksmith class can craft them." Gray frowned, trying to piece together another layer of this world's mechanics.

"Does every crafter in the Forge have that class, then? How does that even work? Was there some Blacksmith Primordial who passed the class down to everyone here?" Gozen gave a low, rumbling laugh.

"No, nothing like that. Everyone has a primary class, whether they inherited it genetically or received it through the Natural Selection. But in certain cases, the System will grant someone a secondary class—such as Blacksmith—if it recognizes a strong enough aptitude for the craft." He folded his arms.

"I received the class because of my background, alongside my primary Mistveil class. Secondary classes follow the same general progression system, except you don't gain experience by hunting Riftborn. You level entirely through practicing your craft." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Gray nodded as he processed that.

"Then what's the difference between an ordinary person swinging a hammer and someone with the actual Blacksmith class?"

"A monumental one." Gozen's gaze settled on the katana smith beyond the glass.

"There are unawakened artisans who practice the craft the old-fashioned way, hoping the System eventually recognizes their dedication and grants them the class. But making a living without it is nearly impossible. The advantages are simply too substantial to compete with." Gozen raised a hand and counted them off on his fingers.

"For starters, you gain absolute control over your forge. You can visually perceive the exact temperature of the flames and make minute adjustments at will. Your Identify skill is also enhanced, allowing you to analyze equipment in far greater detail than the standard spell permits. And at higher ranks, you can even break finished equipment back down into its raw materials." He jerked his chin toward the blacksmith. Inside the soundproof workshop, the smith abruptly stopped hammering.

His shoulders tensed with visible frustration before he hurled the heavy tool across the stone-walled room. The hammer struck the far wall hard enough to chip the stone, then clattered to the floor without producing a single sound. Taking a slow breath to compose himself, he hovered a calloused hand over the cooling, red-tinted blade. A pulse of white energy suddenly enveloped the steel. Before Gray's eyes, the weapon began to warp and compress, shrinking in on itself until its shape collapsed entirely.

When the light faded, the sword was gone. In its place, a fist-sized chunk of raw crimson ore rested on the anvil.

"Bloodstone," Gozen said, regret creeping into his voice.

"A beautiful material, though rarely used for combat. It's almost entirely ornamental. Most likely, some noble commissioned a vanity piece just to let it collect dust on a display." He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Commissioned?" Gray pointed toward the digital tablet embedded in the door.

"Is that what this is for?" He tapped the glowing Make Reservation button at the center of the display. The screen transitioned to a simple two-column spreadsheet with the headers Date and Reserved. Gray swiped down. The left column listed dates in chronological order, beginning about a week and a half earlier. Today's date was highlighted in yellow. His eyes lingered on the year. It matched Earth's. The coincidence sent an uneasy prickle through him.

Just how deeply was this unfamiliar planet tethered to the world he had left behind? The adjacent column displayed color-coded boxes—green for available, red for booked. Every slot from the previous ten days was solid red, along with every opening for the next twenty. Haganezuka was apparently in high demand.

"Simple, right?" A proud smirk tugged at Gozen's mouth.

"I conceptualized the interface, and Quantis Corp brought it to life." Gray rubbed the back of his neck, thoroughly unimpressed.

"I guess? I can't say I know much about modern booking software back on Earth, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't this basic. How does the actual reservation process work?"

"The whole point of technology is simplicity, boy. Here, I'll show you." Gozen leaned closer and squinted at the glowing display. He extended a rigid index finger, pressed it firmly against the glass, and dragged downward. The spreadsheet shot straight back to the top. Gozen cleared his throat into his fist, carefully avoiding Gray's deadpan stare.

"I haven't had to use one of these tablet things in a while." He tried again. This time, he pressed his finger against the glass and dragged it upward in stiff, mechanical motions, lifting his entire hand between every swipe. Slowly but surely, the old man worked his way down to an open green slot and jabbed it with unnecessary force. A prompt appeared on the screen: Deposit 1, 000 Quants to place a reservation. Beneath the message pulsed a blue square etched with pixel-like symbols.

Gozen hovered the back of his hand over the scanner. For a brief moment, a matching blue geometric pattern glowed beneath his skin. Then the display flashed red. A glaring X filled the screen alongside two bold words: Insufficient Funds.

"And that," Gozen said, recovering with a bright smile as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, "is exactly what it looks like when you don't have enough money for the deposit." Gray stared at him.

"But," Gozen continued quickly, "assuming the transaction goes through, the slot is yours. You return on the scheduled date, sit down with the blacksmith, and work out the details of your commission. Once the design is finalized, they give you an alert device—similar to the one Eugene handed you during the last level. Quantis Corp manufactures those as well. It notifies you the moment your equipment is finished and ready for pickup."

Gray gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, though his attention lingered on the back of his mentor's hand. He remembered the blue light that had briefly glowed beneath Gozen's skin.

"Sorry for holding us up with all these questions," Gray said, "but can I ask one more before we keep going?" Gozen waved away the apology.

"You don't need to worry about holding us up. What is it?" Gray gestured toward his hand.

"How does the payment system actually work? And what's the currency like here?"

"They're called Quants," Gozen explained.

"The System named the currency after Quantis Corp to honor their contributions to civilization. Transactions are processed directly through the System, and you can check your current balance on your status page." Curious, Gray summoned his interface. Tucked into the upper-left corner beside the time and date was a small readout: Quant Balance: 0 He stared at the bold, unforgiving zero.

"The System also simplified the exchange rate by loosely basing it on Earth's dollar," Gozen continued.

"For perspective, a basic lunch in the city will cost you around fifteen Quants." Gray nodded slowly, absorbing the economics of his new reality. Then his expression soured as he dismissed the holographic display.

"There's one glaring problem here." Gozen raised an eyebrow.

"My balance is sitting at exactly nothing." Gray turned fully toward his mentor and extended both hands, palms up.

"You wouldn't happen to have a solution for that, would you?" Gozen answered with a sharp slap across both palms. Gray hissed and immediately yanked his hands back, rubbing the sting against his shirt.

"Even if I had money to spare, I wouldn't be giving you an allowance," Gozen scoffed, folding his arms.

"I'm not going to spoil you like that. You need to earn your own wealth if you want to understand its value." Gray let out a bitter grumble.

"Now," Gozen said, turning on his heel, "let's go."