Chương 394: Chapter 383 - Tempering and Summons

Imani caught the scent before he saw the forge. Hot iron and old coal. Burned oil. The sharp tang of flux biting at the back of the throat, mixed with the earthy smell of wet stone and ash. The forge itself sat at the edge of a street, slightly far from the town's center, its stone walls darkened by the constant smoke. From the outside it looked like any medieval smithy, wide doors thrown open to let heat escape, a heavy anvil visible just inside.

Yet there were differences that became obvious the moment he stepped closer. Thin copper channels were carved into the stone around the forge mouth, faintly glowing as they carried controlled EM flow. A pair of catalyst pylons stood beside the main furnace, their surfaces etched with magnetic grooves. Even the bellows were reinforced with conductive frames, pulsing softly as they fed air into the fire in controlled blows. Imani paused at the entrance, eyes lingering on the rhythm of the forge.

"Oi." The voice came from inside, loud and rough. Imani looked up to see a burly man straightening from the anvil. A thick moustache sat proudly above a crooked grin, and his apron looked like it had survived a small war. The man squinted at him.

"You plannin' on starin' all day, or you got business?" Imani smiled faintly.

"Just appreciating the setup." The smith snorted.

"That so? Most folk don't sniff this shitty air like a bloodhound unless they're after somethin'. Weapons, armor, repairs, or trouble."

"Smithing," Imani said simply. That got a pause. The man's eyes flicked over him again, slower this time.

"Smithin', eh? You here to buy, or…" He tilted his head.

"Don't tell me you're lookin' for an apprentice spot."

"You have one open?"

"Aye," the smith said, jerking a thumb toward the back where a half-finished blade rested in a clamp.

"Had one. Lost him to the Guild last month. Decent hands, terrible patience." He studied Imani for a moment longer, then shrugged.

"So? You come beggin' for it?" Imani shook his head.

"Not exactly. I just… know a thing or two about working metal." The moustache twitched.

"Oh?" The smith's grin widened, amused now.

"That so?" Imani met his gaze without flinching.

"I won't waste your time." The smith held the look for a second, then laughed.

"Alright then. I like that answer." He stepped aside and gestured toward the anvil.

"If you truly know your way around iron, prove it." When the smith gestured him to the anvil, sceptical but curious, Imani picked up the tools and went to work. No wasted motion. No hesitation. He fed the billet to the fire, adjusted the flow, waited for the colour rather than the time. The first strike rang clean. Metal moved where it should. Not forced. Guided. The forge fell quiet except for the rhythm of hammer on iron. Each correction came before the flaw could exist.

The blade emerged smooth and true, shaped by intent as much as strength. Behind him, the smith stopped pretending to be unimpressed. Thing or two, my arse! The smith coughed into his fist and straightened.

"Aye," he said slowly.

"It's… it's good. Decent work." He cleared his throat again, moustache twitching.

"Truth be told," he went on, waving a hand vaguely toward the forge, "I might have a more suitable position for someone of your talents." Imani met his gaze calmly.

"I cannot stay long-term," he said.

"I will soon travel with my companions. But while I am here, I would be glad to help in the smithy. Small wages are fine. In return, I would like to learn about tempering."

"Tempering?" The middle-aged smith studied Imani again.

"What exactly are you after with it? Tryin' to push toward Grade 2, Grade 3?"

"I'd like to start with the basics," Imani admitted. The pause that followed was heavy. The smith stared at him for a long moment, then grunted and let it pass. Some questions were better left unasked.

"Right," he said at last.

"If it's temperin' you want to learn, we'll start from the basics. D'you have a piece on you? Somethin' simple. And the temperin' material to match it." Imani placed the Stonebite Hammer on the bench, along with several of the tempering materials they had kept. The smith explained, and Imani listened.

"Each piece of gear can be tempered five times. Each pass gives a 10% lift to its benefits, while also sharpenin' the core traits like density and conductiveness, when it matters. But every temper is harder than the last. Needs more care, more focus, and more material." He picked one of the tempering materials and held it to the light, turning it slowly between his fingers.

"Cloud-Iron scrap. That's exactly what the Stonebite Hammer wants. First temper only needs one piece. After that, the cost goes up." He lowered it and fixed Imani with a firm look.

"And mind this well. Some materials work on many items, but each piece only accepts one or two kinds. Try the wrong one and you won't just waste the scrap. You'll scar the gear itself, sometimes beyond repair." He gestured toward the forge.

"Come on then. Give it a go yourself. I'll guide you." Imani stepped closer to the forge, the heat pressing against his skin as he took in the hammer and the scrap laid out before him.

"First comes the Opening," the smith said, tapping the anvil.

"You're not tryin' to soften the metal. You're loosening it. Heat it just shy of flow, then keep it under tension. Too much and you weaken the core. Too little and the temper won't take." An information-packed EM pulse brushed Imani's awareness. Temperature range. Stress window. The feel of the lattice when it was ready. Imani nodded once and moved. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He brought the hammer toward the fire, adjusting the airflow as instructed. The heat built slowly. He felt the shift through his grip before he saw it, a subtle give beneath the iron, like a breath drawn in.

"Hold it there," the smith said quietly.

"Aye. That's receptive." Imani withdrew the hammer and steadied it, muscles engaged to keep the tension even.

"Next is Resonance," the smith went on.

"You don't touch the scrap to the gear. You let them speak. Your job is to guide the conversation." Another pulse followed. Direction. Depth. How much to allow in, and when to pull back. Imani lifted the Cloud-Iron scrap and held it close to the hammer's head. The air between them tightened and began to hum. He guided his EM carefully, matching the rhythm the smith had shown him. The scrap dulled, its nature bleeding into the hammer in a controlled flow. His focus narrowed.

"Easy," the smith muttered.

"Don't rush the sink." Imani adjusted, and the vibration settled.

"And now the Lock," the smith said.

"Cool it slow. Seal the pattern. If you shock it, you crack what you just built." Imani drew the hammer away and cooled it in stages, letting the resonance settle rather than collapse. He waited until the piece felt whole again before setting it down. When he lifted it, the change was unmistakable. It felt slightly heavier, and most of all: Stonebite Hammer Physical aptitude +1. 1% Pillar aptitude +1. 1% Its stat benefits had indeed gone up by 10%.

He knew Alonso would be able to see the Grade and Tempering State thanks to his Observer status. The rest of them could not. Still, it was clear the locals had their own way of reading a piece through feel and experience. A skill worth learning. He released a slow breath, calm satisfaction spreading through him as he examined the work. The second phase had felt less like labour and more like alignment, as if the process were built into the world itself rather than forced through craft.

Compared to the intricate internal patterning he had dealt with in the previous stage, this felt almost… too easy. Yet, something told him this ease would vanish quickly with higher-grade gear and deeper temperings. The smith watched him for a moment, then gave a low grunt.

"Not bad at all," he said.

"Most take weeks to feel that. You did it on the first go!" He tapped the anvil once with his knuckles and grinned.

"Now then. Let's see how quick you progress." Imani nodded. Since Alonso had mentioned the existence of tempering, he had marked it as something he could contribute to the group as a whole. In a world where coin mattered, being able to save resources while sharpening an important skill was no small thing. Everyone was fighting in their own way… and so would he.

Ayu and Leonie drifted through the town centre without any clear destination after the others split off. The square was alive. Stalls ringed the open space, canvas awnings fluttering as merchants called out prices and favours. Fresh bread cracked as it cooled on wooden racks. Children darted between legs, chasing a floating toy that hovered and dipped as its owner guided it with lazy EM pulses. Invisible currents brushed against Ayu's perception as people worked.

Coins slid across counters without hands touching them. Crates lifted just enough to be stacked cleanly. A woman adjusted the temperature of a stew pot with a focused glance rather than a ladle. Ayu rolled her shoulders, taking it all in.

"Huh," she muttered.

"They really use EM for everything." Leonie nodded, eyes scanning the crowd.

"It's integrated in their society. You can tell it developed organically." They walked in silence after that. Ayu stopped at a stall selling skewered meat, bought two with a flick of her wrist, and handed one to Leonie without comment. Leonie accepted it, equally silent. They ate while walking. After a few steps, Ayu spoke.

"So," she said, her tone casual.

"You like Alonso." Leonie's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before the reaction vanished. She took another bite, chewed, then swallowed.

"Yes," she said. Ayu glanced sideways at her and studied her face. No flinch. No evasion.

"Hm. You're honest." Leonie gave a small shrug.

"You asked." They walked on, boots tapping softly against the stone.

"I'm not trying to take anything," Leonie said after a while.

"I know," Ayu said, rather calmly. That answer caught Leonie off guard, but she didn't say anything more, and they simply kept walking. Ahead, a man strode toward the centre of the square, chin lifted, shoulders back, a long scroll unfurling from his hands. His voice had not yet risen, yet people were already turning. He stepped onto the low stone beside the well and cleared his throat." Hear ye. Hear ye. By word of Baron Edric Hoggs of Highwall, sworn protector of these lands and keeper of the Western Pass."

Murmurs rippled through the square." Men of strength and standing are called to service. His Lordship gathers arms for a campaign beyond the Greywood, where beasts and raiders have taken ground and trade roads lie broken. Coin, rations, and protection of family lands are sworn to those who take oath." Ayu and Leonie slowed to a stop, their attention shifting."

Any soul whose Internal Conditioning stands above the First Mark and who has reached the Second State may present themselves at the garrison hall by first light tomorrow. Trials shall be given. False claimers shall answer for it." That drew a louder stir. Some men straightened. Others studied the dirt." Further notice. A levy upon iron goods begins at week's end. Smiths are to…" The crier continued, but the rest carried less weight."

Internal Conditioning seems to be their measure for Stage Progress," Leonie said through a private pulse." No idea how it maps to percentages."" Second State is rather weak," Ayu muttered." Doesn't sound worth the trouble."" They'll probably sort tasks by strength," Leonie replied." Maybe that's just the lower threshold." When the crier finished, a young man in decent mail stepped forward and nailed fresh notices onto a broad wooden board beside the market stalls. Curiosity pulled them closer.

The board held a scatter of postings. Help wanted at a tannery. An apprentice sought by a cooper. A harvest feast announced. But the upper corner bore the newest notice, sealed in red wax with the baron's crest, a boar's head beneath a split tower. The script read: By Order of Baron Edric Hoggs of Highwall Let it be known that arms are called for service beyond the Greywood. For those of Internal Conditioning above the First Mark and confirmed in the Second State: Soldier's post granted.

Pay of 150 Coppershards per day. 4 Silvermarks upon completion of campaign service. For those of Internal Conditioning above the Second Mark and confirmed in the Third State: File leader post granted. Pay of 1 Silvermark per day. 25 Silvermarks upon completion of campaign service.

Rations provided under command. All able souls may stand trial at the garrison hall by first light. Adventurers are welcome to apply. Under seal and oath.

"The pay doesn't look bad, though the lack of a time frame is a bit concerning," Leonie said. She saw the advantage in aligning, even briefly, with the governing power, and trusted their strength to handle whatever this campaign involved.

"We should wait for Alonso," Ayu said.

"Adventurer sounds a lot more fun than fighting under restrictions with some random people."

"Fair enough," Leonie agreed. They scanned the rest of the notices, found nothing worth their time, and drifted toward the market stalls. A short while later, murmurs stirred across the plaza as heads began turning, some discreetly, others not at all. Ayu looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, then she broke into a grin.

"You have to be kidding me."