Chương 4: The Forge of Passion and the Gift of Fire

The call of Lae had come like thunder. It pulled us away from the quiet struggle of the mines and thrust us into the heart of a nation preparing for war. The fifteen days of cruel boot camp had forged our bodies and wills, turning exhaustion into resolve. Zatta's relentless drills, running with heavy packs before dawn, sparring until our arms burned, and marching in formation under the merciless sun, had left us stronger. Yet the true test still lay ahead.

On the 16th of July, the caravan finally reached the biggest stronghold I had ever witnessed. It was the mighty capital of the Bener Region, Lae. A colossal castle rose before us. Its walls were so vast they seemed to embrace the horizon itself and harbored approximately 72, 500 citizens within their protective embrace. The gate of entry alone halted us in awe. Its sheer size left many of us speechless. I could hear countless "woahhhs" rising from both the front and the back of the line.

Most of us came from the countryside and had never stood before such a grand structure. It touched the heart with its mighty reach and unyielding strength. As we stood mesmerized, Zatta raised his hand and told us to wait while the gatekeepers and regulators checked our hauls. Then a mighty voice boomed from the top of the gate. It belonged to Reggente Sentrix, the Bastion of Survival against the mighty Metia forces.

"I hear and declare you welcome to Lae! ALL OF OUR HEARTS ARE THE REASON WHY I STAND HERE PROUD AND CALL YOU IN FOR OUR TIME OF GREAT STAND FOR SURVIVAL! THE ENEMY DARES TO STEP INTO OUR LAND AND RUIN IT WITH THEIR UNJUSTIFIED RIGHTS TO CALL IT THEIRS! NO! WE STAND HERE IN THE WAKES, WAITING TO CRUSH THEIR BOOTS IN OUR REGION TO ILLUSTRATE HOW POWERFUL WE ARE TO THAT BASTARD HIMMEL!" The speech ignited something fierce in all of us. No one spoke of resting, even in our exhaustion from the long ride.

The temperature of action rose hotter than anyone had thought possible. A leader of the Merchantry immediately called for all wagons to be stripped bare. As that happened, we were summoned to the Main Square. There, eight stern men stood waiting. They knew we would be thrown straight into the workforce. The job descriptions remained hidden from us. One by one they pulled us indiscriminately into lines, forming units. We stood there in pain and exhaustion, yet ready for whatever tasks awaited.

As the lines formed, I noticed Quadi being directed to a different group on the far left. Our eyes met across the square. We had grown closer during the short but intense time on the road, laughing, tussling, and sharing dreams of helping our region. Now we were being separated. Quadi gave me a disappointed smile and a small wave.

"For now… bye, friend," I called regretfully.

"Yeah… for now," he replied. His voice carried the same regret.

"Stay strong, Erumes. Be well." I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. We had become brothers on the road, and now the war was pulling us apart. At that same moment, Zatta stepped forward with a group of selected units. His voice rang clear.

"I am riding back to Samae with these men to reinforce the defense. The battle there grows fiercer by the hour. Ventrix is already returning to the front, and Exodus General Sacrume now leads as temporary commander. Samae holds firm with minimal losses thanks to its great army, but every extra sword counts. We leave at once." I watched Zatta and his reinforcement column depart, carrying my silent hopes for my father's safety with them. Our new superior stepped forward. He was a bald-headed man with a bandana.

His face was filled with scars that would scare a baby away at first glance, and he wore a nasty, knowing smile. He clearly understood the workload he was about to dump on us would be more annoying than anything we had faced before.

"My name is Aubara and I am your Shiftlead. Now follow me, young'uns. We gotta work. We are behind!" We followed him through widening streets where the heat increased until it felt almost unbearable. Finally the street opened into the great Smithy of Lae, the armour maker's domain. The moment the doors swung open, the heat hit us like a living wall. Dozens of half-naked, sweaty men rushed in and out, carrying materials in a chaotic yet purposeful dance.

Before we could even comprehend the scale of the building, we were called to the Headman Cornus. He was hammering at the forge with such powerful swings that wind flew past us. He struck the armour repeatedly without even looking at us, as if we had no right to exist in his presence.

"Carry the material boxes and barrels from the foremen and craftsmen and bring them to the crafters around me at the forge." Both sides were instantly annoyed with each other. We lacked momentum because everything came too fast, and the workers had to "play house" with what they saw as unworthy newcomers. But I could not care less. The moment I saw Cornus's strikes on the armour, I knew that was what I wanted to do. My soul burned with the same fire.

Exhausted as I was, I pushed the first barrel toward the crafters. The others, seeing my eagerness, jumped in too. They did it not out of cooperation, but because they refused to let me outshine them. While Aubara moved to the craft sector, I followed. I finished piles of boxes and delivered them to the rightful foremen. After two hours of huffing and puffing, I had moved three barrels and twelve boxes. Cornus finally took a break. He sat in his chair and drank ale.

I hastily ran toward him, eyes sparkling with excitement. The others saw my move, stopped me, threw me to the ground, and whispered angrily, "Because of you… because of you we had to work so much! How dare you ask for more?!" They held me down. Even when they punched my back, I could feel their punches lacked real power. Their arms were already overworked. I stayed quiet, not wanting to stir the pot hotter than necessary. Drembus, the self-appointed leader of our group, shouted, "Youuuuu!

Because of your bullshit we had to work so much! That was not our plan here! Don't you get it?" More coworkers dog-piled on me. I realized the pain they gave was on the low end. They simply had no strength left. I stayed silent, enduring, while they vented their frustration.

"Don't you see? War is encroaching closer with each day toward us! That's why so many orders are coming in! Everyone sees that this will not last forever and the push will come to us. That's why they sent us and so many more from the miner camps and villages here to establish a greater chance of survival. Yet you come here to overwork us like a fool and push us toward the hellish path! We already accepted the state of affairs, yet you still see a spark of optimism here. Why? What is wrong with you!?"

When the accusations finally halted, I answered calmly. I pushed the goons off me with what little strength I had left.

"We will survive. We have strong soldiers at the front, such as my father, who are not well known around here perhaps but he and others are truly strong. You may be right that the work is hard, knowing our enemy could push here. That's why we need to push to the limits and not settle for the bare minimum or halfhearted measures. With that I will say: I saw an opportunity to witness the passion the Head foreman has for his creation.

Did none of you see that, rather than his dismissal of us and the politics behind it? I wanted to try that too, to understand the might of creating and the love for his occupation. Or are you all pebbles, blinded by your own weakness?" Drembus and the others frowned, then angrily kept punching.

"Don't hold back! Punch that arrogant dog!" They continued, but I knew they were cowards deep down, afraid to embrace the passion required. After some minutes, all exhausted, Drembus looked at his own shadow and at the young man on the ground. I was beaten but my eyes still glared into his soul. Drembus turned around, walked out of the tent, and minutes later returned with a food cart. He gave out dishes to everyone, then sat down beside me.

"I am still angry at you for creating so much work for all of us," he said quietly, "but… you are right. We all are passionate about our work here, be it a farmer or miner. We should also see the Head foreman's passion and try to understand his vision instead of being so dismissive. It's only been one day and you, young one, are much brighter than most. So thank you, you rowdy fella." Everyone laughed with me. I could only muster a tired grin, breathing hard.

And so the evening ended with me covered in bruises on my torso and back. The next day we all started watching the Headman Cornus hammering the tools of freshly made armour. We saw how each hit carried his soul. Then we observed all the other workers and finally realized the true passion carried in this place. We went back to the same business, but since everyone had gone overboard yesterday, we could only do our tasks half as well. This pissed off the workers who needed new tools and materials.

They made shitty remarks about us. Drembus came to everyone and personally apologized.

"The next day will be different. We need more time to adjust to this new workplace. We take this place seriously." While I tried to hide my shining eyes, holding the gleam and glamour of the Headman's hammer swings deep in my soul, the impact was so heavy that I wanted to do it too. But the pain from the beating had weakened me, and I knew I would not be able to hit like he did yet. So I withheld that approach and went to work. That stayed the same for a couple of days.

Until, five days into being in this place, I took the initiative.

"Sire Head foreman," I said, stepping forward, "I would also love to try to hit the hammer like you." At that point Cornus turned into an angry oaf. His beard parted as his mouth opened.

"You swine! You want to hit with our hammers and do OUR WORK that we put years into getting right? And you, a boy who doesn't even have a beard growing… want to hit it? Do you really have no respect, boy?!"

"No, that's not what I want!" I replied quickly.

"You have to understand, when I saw and see the passion you and your colleagues put in, I also feel that heat reaching my soul. I want to hit that too… to understand what my soul is responding to and why it seems so badass. No malice intended." Cornus sighed.

"That your soul is being hit by our passion may be true. Since you want to experience it, boy… but let me tell you, this is not the right time for games. We are on a tight schedule. If you really want to do it, I will give you our old tools and you can hammer during the after-work hours at that old forge and anvil on the far end."

"Thanks! I can't wait for this!" I replied with sparkling eyes, already eyeing the tools.

"Now return to your tasks. We got a lot of barrels today to unload and carry to the armory." A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The day went with no issues. My mind was fixed on the old forge and crafting my first real piece, a breastplate. Nothing fancy, just something useful. That evening I sat at the old forge using the discarded materials. I took discarded silver ingots, heavy rectangular bricks of metal so bright white they almost glowed.

When I picked one up, it was shockingly heavy for its size and felt icy cold in my palm, like it was pulling the heat right out of my hand. I melted them into the casting form and began hammering the mold thinner, cutting the bad spots as best I could. After cooling it in water, I had a breastplate in my image of acceptable quality. The next day I showed it excitedly to Drembus during a break.

"Tadaaa! Look at this, my recently crafted breastplate!" Drembus looked uncomfortable.

"Ehh… Erumes, you know?! Everyone here can see this is lousy quality creation. I mean, it won't even hold my punch." He pierced right through the plate with little effort. I stood dumbfounded that my work was destroyed so easily, but that only made me more determined to create it sturdier.

"Thanks," I said.

"I will use this to improve it. You shall see." Drembus grinned, happy that he could destroy something of mine without feeling bad. A good deal for both parties had been formed. Work continued, but I kept my eyes on apprentice Sulamo, a young boy who had already worked here for a year. I watched how he used a nickel ingot through a rolling mill for flattening, then infused a second layer of fresh hot nickel into the casting form to give it a stronger layer. There I realized I needed to do the same.

That evening at the old forge I copied the technique. I put my silver casting into the rolling mill to flatten it, added a new fresh silver layer on top, and started hammering. I realized a second layer made it heavier but gave better handling and reach. The next day Drembus demolished my plate again. Curious about my failures, I took my chance at the end of the day before closure. Cornus was busy talking with other men, so I switched my target to Aubara, our shift lead.

Aubara burst out laughing when he saw my pierced breastplates.

"BAHHHAA! Well… it has the shape of a breastplate, but it lacks integrity of real armour. It's lopsided and dull in its shine. I can tell you this: your materials are discarded goods, meaning you have to cut the ingots from the black spots away. It deteriorates your work. Second, you have not found the right heat for the materials. They are brittle in their structure. If you work alone on those two things, your quality alone will drastically improve. So that's that. Keep at it."

For someone who looked like a scarred battlefield ox with all those scars and his bandana, he knew truly a lot more than one would expect. I thanked him for his great analytical insight, went eating with the boys, and returned to the forge. To my surprise, my tools had been replaced by newer ones. I appreciated the silent gesture and went back to work with a slower, more careful approach.

I found ingots with the least black spots, cut them off, put the good parts into the mold, and heated them from 1000°C to 1400°C. After water dunking, it felt sturdier and more reliable. With a second layer, everything went better. The next day Drembus had to take three fully loaded punches to pierce it. I was so happy with the result. How much I had improved in such a short time was astounding to me and made me eager to continue. I continued this way for two weeks.

My breastplates slowly reached an adequate level to hold real value. Then, on the evening after creating my breastplate number 26, Cornus appeared from the back. He took my plate, judged it, and said, "Boy, you made a good product… but you can make it better with this." He handed me a hammer with a sigil on the side. It was an Engraver Hammer. It boosts material, making them sturdier. I could not believe it. Cornus stood there with an accepting smile.

"You… I have to apologize, boy. I truly saw many people in these times come in saying 'oh' and disrespecting our work, thinking creating honey is easy. But anyone, even a beekeeper, that wants a good reputation has to go beyond the zenith, and that takes a lot of time and effort that many do not see. They just value the end product and see it as easy, while not imagining the time and sweat put into it. Shallow bastards."

"No," I replied, "I really am happy that you gave me a chance in the first place. As selfish as my presence here was, I wanted to create something for someone like my dad who is at the warzone. When he returns, I want to gift him that, to show him I am more than I was back then…" Cornus smiled.

"Now that I have this, I will give it an overhaul free of charge. And if you want to design it, what should it look like?"

"I want the helmet of my father on it. It's a Hoplomachus helmet with a plume on top that turns to fire on his Vestuto!"

"Impressive father ya got, boy!" Cornus said happily, shocked that such a father was a User. He even thought it might be a young boy's delusion. And with that, Cornus got busy, hushing us away from him. The evening without work felt surreal, almost alien. I sat reminiscing about the forge and my battle with it. Going early to bed once in a while was actually a good thing.