Kaminalda took him to the edge of the town, towards a thatched hut, its chimney ejecting plumes of smoke into the air. “Look! My ma must be makin’ dinner, let’s go!” She ran ahead of him, likely to announce his arrival. Hephaestus was in no hurry, however, instead taking the time to look at the forge next to the house; a burly man wearing a heavy leather apron and gloves was working a piece of metal on an anvil. When he lifted the piece, Hephaestus saw it was an arming sword.
Curiosity got the best of Hephaestus, and instead of heading towards the girl’s house, he decided to visit the smithy first. He walked towards the place, watching the man working on his piece. When the blacksmith noticed him, he said, “Greetings, traveler. Took a fancy for my forge, have you? I make the best weapons and armor in town.”
“Quite a coincidence,” replied Hephaestus, “I am searching to work some metal myself.”
“Truly? Well, I do need a little help around here, why don’t you lend me a hand?” This was, Hephaestus mused, the virtual space’s introduction to the mechanics behind blacksmithing. He agreed to help, and the man said, “Here, take this iron ingot, smelt it at the forge, pour the metal into that mold over there, and make me a dagger, will you?”
Pouring into a mold? He wondered. That’s not how daggers are made! You need to elongate the metal, shape it, give it a tang, temper it and then add the hilt! He said nothing, however, wondering where the tutorial was going; Hephaestus took the iron to the forge, a prompt appeared in front of him:
Do you want to craft?
“Uh... yes.”
A menu followed, showing him a number of crafting options, all in iron as it was his currently available material. He saw a number of weapons—daggers, maces, axes, swords, polearms, spears, knives—and as many pieces of armor—helmets, pauldrons, vambraces, breastplates, faulds, poleyns, greaves, gauntlets and sabatons. Seeing as the assignment was to build a simple dagger, he chose the weapon. Another prompt appeared:
Craft iron dagger?
He accepted and, immediately, a message popped into his view: Added Iron Dagger.
“Well, that’s neat. Now how do I—”
He was interrupted by a message saying:
To open your inventory, merely reach towards your pockets, carrying bags, or backpack.
Hephaestus did so, finding a full body view of his character, what he was wearing, and the items he possessed. He saw he was wearing a villager’s tunic and breeches, no shoes, and no weapons. In his inventory, he saw he had fifty gold pieces, and the dagger. He reached towards the dagger, bringing up a display with its description:
Iron Dagger (grey hue)
-common-
Attack: 1-5
Value: 10 GP
He equipped it, feeling it appear on his right hand, together with a scabbard—god knew where that came from—on his hip. Hephaestus closed the menu, seeing the weapon in his hand; at first, he regarded it with curiosity, then with confusion, then with horror as he realized the type of weapon it was: Unnecessary jagged edges forming a “cool, edgy” crossguard, more likely to hurt than protect him; a blade, too broad and too heavy to be of any use; a tiny pommel offering no rest for the lower part of his hand, and no counterweight to balance the stupidly large blade.
“Ah,” said the blacksmith, “you did a good job of—”
“What the hell is this crap!?” yelled Hephaestus.
The smith, taken aback, said, “Well, it’s the product of your handiwork, of course! Why, don’t chide yourself, it’s the first time you’ve worked with metal, I’m sure.”
“No,” he said, trying to keep calm, “it’s not the first time I’ve worked with metal. Before I... er, where I come from, I’m a master blacksmith.”
“Truly?” asked the smith, “well if that’s so, why don’t you try to manually make a dagger?”
“Manually?”
A square of text appeared in front of him, reading:
Manual Mode – Intended for players who prefer a truer, closer to life experience, where their own knowledge, abilities, skills, etc. are translated into the game, regardless of their ATTRIBUTES and SKILLS, as well as those of others. Rules change EXCLUSIVELY for Manual Mode users, providing SEMI-REALISTIC reactions to their actions, offering a much higher challenge. The challenge of truly learning how to do, along with much greater rewards.
The description of Manual Mode seemed enticing enough to Hephaestus. Besides, he was certain of his own capabilities, feeling confident that it was the best course of action. “Sure, why not?” replied Hephaestus, making another square pop up in front of him:
WARNING! If you choose to enable Manual Mode, THIS CANNOT BE UNDONE! (Unless you create a new avatar.)
Hephaestus shrugged. “I accept.”
Manual Mode Engaged – Enjoy a True Challenge!
“Huh, alright then.” He reached his hand forward to interact with the forge, letting out an expletive when he burnt his hand. His skin was slightly reddened, as it hadn’t been a bad burn, and the redness faded away in moments. Still, the forge had behaved differently than it had at first. The smith chuckled next to him, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, stranger? Seems to me you’re surprised to discover that a forge is hot!”
“Oh shut it!” replied Hephaestus. So he could now manually use the forge, then? In that case, he mused, he could get to work. Before working, he took an apron and a pair of gloves—they fit him comfortably, as if they had been made for him. He took an iron ingot and placed it by the furnace in the forge, letting it heat up until it could be worked with; meanwhile, he took to a nearby workbench with various woodworking tools, and began carving chunks off of a block of hickory, thinning it until it took the shape he wanted for the weapon’s handle. When he saw the ingot was sufficiently hot, he fixed a metal wedge on the anvil, before using the tongs to take the red-hot ingot; he placed it on the wedge, and using a hammer, he cut two small pieces off—to make the pommel and crossguard, he would need to heat them again later, but it didn’t matter, for now, his priority was making the blade.
Since the weapon was a dagger, it wouldn’t be too large. Thirty centimeters would suffice, of those, sixteen belonging to the blade, two for the crossguard, ten for a comfortable grip, and the remaining two to set the pommel in; its width would be nothing at all like the dagger crafted by the virtual-space—it served more as a paperweight than an actual weapon. Instead, it would be no more than two and a half centimeters wide.
Hephaestus took the larger piece of the ingot back into the furnace to heat it up some more—as it had already cooled down—before setting himself to work on it. Using the same hammer, he began pounding on the metal, slowly drawing it towards its intended length. Whenever it cooled down, he heated it up some more, until it was workable again, never letting it cool down too much, or heating it up for far too long.
When he had reached a length he assumed to be thirty centimeters, he let go of the tongs, and took another, handheld wedge; he used it to cut two thirds of one end’s width, leaving one third in the center as its tang. When he was done, he took the piece to a nearby grindstone, grinding it into its desired shape—a slightly tapering metal triangle ending in a wicked point. When he was satisfied with the shape, he took a metal chisel and began hammering out pieces of metal from the blade’s center, shaping a fuller on either side of the weapon. Content with his craftsmanship, Hephaestus heated the full blade once more until it was red-hot, before quenching it in a nearby vat of oil. The oil sizzled and bubbled as it tempered the metal sunken into it, sending plumes of white smoke out of it.
Hephaestus took out the blade, examining it. The metal was perfect, there were no impurities, and its shape was stellar. He cast the blade aside. Later he would go back to it for sharpening, but for now, he placed one of the remaining bits of metal in the forge, and returned to the workbench and back to his block of wood; he shaved more pieces off of it, until he had a quasi-cylindrical shape. It looked as a flattened
cylinder, tapering on both ends. Hephaestus used a clamp to set it firmly on one end of the workbench, before taking a hand-drill to it, and drilling a hole through it, so the tang could be inserted.
The metal was hot once more, and Hephaestus returned to work on it. He held it with the tongs once more, hammering it evenly until he formed an elongated bar of metal, leaving two and a half centimeters in its center, and five centimeters to each side to form its quillons; he took another metal chisel and began carving metal out of the center, so the blade would slot into the crossguard; he made a groove half a centimeter deep, before using a drill to bore through the metal, forming an entrance for the blade’s tang. He heated the crossguard once more, taking it to the horn of the anvil, hammering it to give it a slight upwards curvature—he had seen idiots before giving it a downwards curve, which was fine, he mused, if they wanted to have their hands chopped off.
He left the crossguard, placed the last piece of iron in the forge, and returned to the workbench. He sanded the grip piece until it had a slightly rugged texture; he took it in his hand, determining that it currently needed no more work. It felt comfortable and natural as he took it, easily molding itself to the shape of his fingers and palm.
Once again, he checked on the last bit of metal, taking it out of the forge and back into the anvil’s body. He hammered it into a hexagonal shape to form the pommel of the weapon, taking care in keeping its shape; he turned it over time and again to evenly spread the force of his impacts, giving it a symmetrical shape. When he liked the hexagon, he took a drill and began drilling a slot for the tang.
With all the pieces ready, he would assemble the weapon for the first time. He took the blade, inserted the crossguard, followed by the grip, and pommel. He was satisfied to see that all the pieces fit in perfectly, but there was a kink in the blade: As he held it assembled in his hand, he could feel that it was imbalanced, its pommel too heavy for its blade. He confirmed his suspicions as he thrust his hand forward, setting his palm sideways before placing the dagger on his finger.
Well, he thought, been a while since I’ve done any decent works. It was an easy mistake to fix, however. He took a metal chisel and began shaving metal off of both sides of the pommel, making it much lighter. The remaining indents made him think that something could fit in. “Excuse me,” he said to the blacksmith, “Do you happen to have any stones, or crystals around here?”
The blacksmith’s eyes widened, and he pointed towards a nearby barrel, “You can find some crystal beads in that barrel, mysir.”
“Thank you.”
Hephaestus rummaged through the beads by feel, rather than looks, until his hands felt one he thought could fit in the slots of the pommel. He took it out—a deeply azure bead of some stone unknown to him. It works, he thought, before sitting in front of the workbench. He took a thin diamond file, and began working on the bead, slowly forming a groove in its middle, before cleanly cutting it in half. He took both halves to the pommel, satisfied that his instinct had proven true—they fit perfectly. Hephaestus took the pommel to the grindstone to quickly polish it into a gleam; he took a brush, covered it in glue, and placed a thin coat in the pommel’s slots, before setting the stones into them. After assembling the weapon once more, he was satisfied with it. It was perfectly balanced, as every weapon should be.
It was time, he decided, for the final assembly. He pieced all parts together, before taking a drill, and using a thin bit, he drilled two holes in the crossguard, going through the blade and tang, two more holes through the grip, and one from the bottom of the pommel. From the workbench, he took a handful of bronze studs slightly larger than the holes he drilled, and hammered them in. They pressed the pieces together, refusing to ever move again. Good, he thought, knowing that the weapon wouldn’t come apart at the worst time.
He took the assembled piece to the workbench, coating the grip with a thin coat of glue, before taking a leather strip and slowly coiling it over the piece of wood, covering every bit of it. When it was covered, he pressed it together, sealing it in place before cutting off the excess leather. Finally, he took the blade back to the grindstone, grinding its edges to form a tapered edge. Hephaestus picked his weapon, admiring his handiwork. It was a simple, functional weapon, scarcely adorned, but perfectly fit for battle. At any rate, it was much better than the pointy crap from before. In his inventory, the weapon’s description read:
Handcrafted Iron Dagger (golden hue)
-unique-
Attack: 10-15
Value: 1,500 GP
Crafted by Hephaestus
After he closed his inventory, a new popup appeared in front of him:
Weapon (Dagger) Handcrafted – 100 EXP
A loud fanfare was heard, followed by another message reading LEVEL UP. A menu followed suit, showing Hephaestus what he had gained after progressing to level two. Thirty skill points were available for him to distribute. He did so, evenly, among his six main skills, neglecting any combat abilities. At the end, a prompt appeared, asking him to confirm his choices:
HP: +30
MP: +30
Skills
Mining – 20
Smithing – 20
Crystalwork – 20
Leatherwork – 20
Handicraft – 20
Craftsmanship -20
Confirm?
He felt satisfied at seeing his skills increasing. He didn’t fully agree with what they represented, however, as he knew his actual skills to be much higher, but he didn’t mind. As long as he could make use of his own knowledge, things would be alright.
When he accepted the changes, however, another message appeared: Manual Mode on – Skill leveling disabled. “Huh,” he said out loud, “so much for that.”
“My,” said the blacksmith, “I haven’t seen a handiwork like that in many years! What is your name, stranger?”
“Ang— er, Hephaestus.”
“Hephaestus, huh? Isn’t that the name of the god of fire and metalworking?”
“The same.”
“Fancy that. You do honor to your name, friend. That weapon is magnificent. Say, would you happen to want your own forge?”
Hephaestus’ curiosity was piqued. “I would like that, very much. How would I go about that?”
“It’s easy. You need to travel to Arken, the capital city of our realm, and request for a plaza permit. Then, you can set up shop as a smith, a cobbler, a mason, anything you want, really. But I must say, my friend, you have a true talent for working with metal.”
In reply, Hephaestus chuckled, “What can I say? I have some experience in the field.”
Before the smith could say anything else, a girl’s voice came from the house: “There you are! Where were you, mister? Ah, you were with pa!” Kaminalda came running towards the forge, embracing the blacksmith. To Hephaestus, she said, “You couldn’t wait to see the forge huh? Guess you’re feeling better after all!”
“More than that, Kami,” said the smith, “look at the piece this stranger made!”
Hephaestus lifted the weapon, seeing Kaminalda’s eyes widen in awe. “That’s a beautiful dagger, mister! You made it yourself?”
“I did,” said Hephaestus, realizing what he was saying. “I made this weapon, myself.” A strange sensation took over him then. A sense of calm, of wholeness. He had worked a forge in a way he hadn’t done in years, he had been focused, accurate in his times and measurements, but more importantly, his arms hadn’t ached, his fingers didn’t clamp, his legs didn’t shut down. He had worked a masterfully crafted dagger on his own. He didn’t feel exultant as he had when he had first walked on his own, nor amazed as when he saw the lush beauty of this world. Instead, he felt at peace. Hephaestus felt complete.
“Well,” continued Kaminalda, “that’s amazing mister! You should try your luck in Arken, I’m sure you’d become famous!”
“Now, now, Kami, no need to rush ahead. This stranger does have the potential, but
it’s up to him to exploit it. Anyhow, you wanted to tell me something?”
“Oh yes, pa, ma said to call you in for dinner, you too mister!”
“What do you say, friend? Would you join us at the table?”
Hephaestus grinned. He had earned himself a meal, after all. “Of course, gladly.” He paused, thinking, “By the way, I haven’t heard your name yet?”
“True! Forgive my manners, friend. Working the forge tends to absorb one’s thoughts. My name is Angus Thompson.” Hephaestus’ eyes widened, before he threw his head back and began laughing heartily. “What is so funny, friend?”
“Nothing, it’s just... I know someone named Angus, is all.”
The smith shrugged. “I guess it’s a common name. But let’s not tarry, I can feel my stomach grumbling!”
Hephaestus followed Angus and Kaminalda into the house, the smell that wafted from its kitchen made his own stomach grumble. He didn’t notice he was hungry until he smelled freshly baked bread and mutton chops. A woman came out of the kitchen, wearing a white apron over a green wool dress. She looked as an older version of Kaminalda, beaming as she said, “There you are you two! And you too, stranger. Kaminalda told me about you, fancy having a seat with us?”
“Of course,” replied Hephaestus, sitting down at a square table. “Thank you,” he said.
“No need to thank us, stranger.”
“His name is Hephaestus, Alva” said Angus, “And would you know it, he’s a master blacksmith!”
“Truly? Well, he can tell us everything about that over dinner, yes?”
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 3