Chapter 5: The First Craft (1)

Unaware of Blake’s reflections, Vargar interrupted his train of thought.

He asked, “What do ye want to craft first? A weapon, I wager.”

“Yeah,” Blake nodded.

“Which one? A sword, ye?” Vargar asked with an odd smirk.

It was a knowing smile that suggested even youngsters in the fantasy world favored swords over any other weapon. Despite being primarily wielded by nobles, swords attracted even those of humble origins, including players.

Blake shook his head. “A katana.”

His reply elicited an unusual reaction from Vargar as the old dwarf’s face twisted. He looked like he’d swallowed a sour lemon.

But Blake wasn’t interested in picking up another weapon.

Choosing the craftsman occupation was already pushing him out of his comfort zone. The katana style he’d learned—or rather absorbed like a sponge—during his beta tester days was too dear to him.

It never felt like he’d worked hard to learn katana stances and techniques. They were so enjoyable and intricate that Blake yearned to wield the same weapon as before, but perhaps with a different element than fire.

“What’s with that expression?” Blake asked.

Vargar harrumphed. “A katana, ye? Demanding! It’s such a demanding weapon! The arduous process aside, steel is the weakest metal required for this weapon to be functional! Any weaker metal like iron or copper will cost ye your life. Ye’re going to skip a few steps!”

Blake recalled his guild’s craftsmen sighing whenever he approached them with his katana low on durability and on the verge of crumbling. His weapon back then was precious, imbued with rare ores and enchantments that allowed it to endure his fire skills.

Didn't that mean his blacksmiths had even more work to do?

As Vargar elaborated on the difficulties and precise forging required, Blake unconsciously lowered his head and stared at the floor in shame.

He realized he hadn't appreciated his guild members' skills and efforts at all. It hurt him, even though those days were in the past.

When Vargar noticed that something was bothering Blake, he stopped talking and simply watched him.

Sensing his gaze, Blake met the dwarf’s eyes and said, “I’ll forge my katana, even if it means skipping easier materials.”

“…I like yer spirit,” Vargar smirked.

Without wasting time, they got to work.

Vargar donned his personal apron, gloves, and goggles, while Blake found similar items hanging near the tools and put them on to protect himself from injury.

“This furnace has everything we could ask for in the steel-making process. It’s advanced enough to handle iron smelting and steel refining,” the old man said, admiring the cold furnace, which he’d love to take home.

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After admiring the furnace, Vargar proceeded to guide Blake. “We shall heat the iron ore, coal, and limestone flux. This will produce molten pig iron and slag. The latter will fetch ye good pocket money as the quality of resources here is great.”

Blake loaded the furnace with the materials, and its mouth lit up in flames.

Using his game system, he checked the resources and found that everything here was rare—third grade, after uncommon—which meant the ore itself was one rank higher than the jacket he'd worn to survive the harsh winter.

As Blake gazed into the tongues of flame, Vargar smacked him on the back.

He shouted, “Work those bellows! Keep the heat optimal!”

“Yeah,” Blake gripped the bellows’ handles with both hands, squeezing hard.

This process required considerable strength, which Blake lacked since he was only a level one player.

Even so, he could see something forming within the furnace, bubbling to the top of the molten iron.

It was dark and bubbling.

"That must be the slag Vargar mentioned. I can see it clearly, and there’s a system window next to it with a percentage... ninety percent? Which means I should skim off that slag at one hundred percent!" Blake thought.

It was one of the passive skills of The Spiritual Blacksmith—The Hearth’s Spirit (legendary)—which allowed Blake to connect with the furnace and perceive its process in the finest detail. If he were more experienced and knowledgeable, he’d be able to see much more, but that would surely come with time.

What Blake didn’t know was that skimming off the slag was an advanced task that required precision, experience, and timing. It needed to be done quickly and within the proper time frame.

Unaware of these nuances, Blake grabbed a slag rake and thrust it into the furnace’s mouth, aiming to skim off the slag on his own.

All he could tell was that it was orange and bubbly, and that was precisely what he needed to remove.

Vargar fell silent when he saw this and swallowed his words upon witnessing Blake taking matters into his own hands. The old dwarf stepped back and observed the young man’s actions.

As Blake leaned in, his face reflecting the raw flames and perspiring profusely, he strained his arms, trying to skim off the slag, but to no avail.

He knitted his eyebrows and bit his lip, refusing to give up.

Vargar harrumphed. “Enough. This molten iron is ruined.”

Walking a few steps away from the furnace, Blake dropped flat onto the ground and glared at the furnace with a mix of confusion and anger.

He had definitely seen the percentage indicating the state of the iron and slag.

How did he fail? What was the reason?

Vargar harrumphed. “Ye’re naive!”

“Oh, shut up!” Blake inwardly shouted.