The repairs barrel had a few final pieces of equipment I wanted to restore before I was occupied with appraisal tomorrow. Donning my leather gloves I veered into the storeroom. The haft of a glaive had snapped, and while the owner had managed to collect most of the splinters, replacing it would be both simpler and yield a better result. Even in a normal case, gluing something back together would create a weak point, but this glaive had clearly seen plenty of action before it had broken. The haft was filled with chips and gouges where attacks had been blocked. As much as many people didn’t show weapons the care they deserved, others formed a deep connection with them. Sometimes this was simply that they had kept them alive so often, other times they were a gift from a family member or friend, and finally, some even received benefits from their class for using a particular weapon. If the latter was true for this individual, he hadn’t mentioned it. He had however mentioned he was a qi user. While Argat still had plenty more to teach me about classes and resources, knowing my interest was crafting he often approached the topic from that direction. Qi flowed most easily in living things, but failing that, something that had recently been living and maintained a similar structure was the next best thing. Hence, I began browsing through the various timber options in the storehouse for something to turn on the lathe, desperately hoping one of my skills would give me a nudge in the direction of a block about the right size that would handle qi well.

Unfortunately, while there were plenty of planks - although far fewer than the space allotted would accommodate, which turned my mind briefly to the builders once more - the selection of wooden beams and blocks was somewhat more limited. If I thought there wasn’t a good chance the wood glue would inhibit the flow of qi through the glaive I’d try to put the shattered haft back together again, but my limited understanding from Argat’s descriptions, and more importantly my instincts, were screaming that was a bad idea. So here I was looking at wooden beams, not quite sure past general size what I should be looking for. Maybe the wood grain? That sounded like the sort of thing that could impact qi flow... Not like I knew which way I wanted it if it did. I just squeezed a wooden beam, what exactly did I think that would tell me? It’s hard, go figure. Just as I was thinking I might need to try using a few appraisals I saw it, a little long with the perfect width nestled in a big pile with all different shapes and sizes. A miracle shoot.

One of the few things I knew about the plant was it naturally utilised qi. Sliding the bamboo-like rod free from its less usefully shaped kin, I evaluated it critically. This shoot had grown tall to seek light and had been cut down before it could fully widen, the remains of shoots where leaves had begun to grow still visible, but easily trimmed. The hole through the middle of the shoot to draw up water appeared slightly smaller than the tang of the glaive. That the glaive even had a tang felt slightly off to me, though the word naginata echoed softly at the back of my mind. The tone more of a question this time, rather than the usual confidence. Still, only comparing the tang and shoot side by side would lend certainty that the tang would fit, so I returned to the workshop, noting how my hand curled comfortably and securely around it’s girth. The length did make doorframes something of a challenge though.

Setting the shoot down beside the broken staff, I confirmed it was about half again as long. The original shaft felt a little short, just under 6 feet by my guess, which may have contributed to it taking so much abuse. Lacking the reach to keep foes at a distance, the wielder would be forced to block strikes with the shaft more often, using the weapon more like a quarterstaff when foes closed. Following this train of thought I looked to the base of the old staff noting that it wasn’t butted but a ring of discolouration and sheared wood suggested it may once have been. Still it wouldn’t do to make the new shaft overly long either. If the owner of the glaive was used to a shorter haft, adding too much length could throw off their fighting style.

Carefully picking up the separated blade I was able to confirm I’d judged the diameter of the shaft for the tang nicely. My care when handling it wasn’t purely a respect for the blade, I’d already sharpened it’s edge. Gripping the tang rather than dealing with the long haft made the sharpening process much easier, but added complications now. In retrospect I wasn’t sure it was a good trade-off, but I could offset it somewhat, grabbing strips of scrap leather to wrap the blade.

To my knowledge metal wasn’t particularly good at allowing qi to flow through it, but unlike the shaft there were precious few good options that could hold an effective edge. Sometimes it was just more effective to use the best material for the job, the gains lost from resource efficiency more than made up for by material quality. Mages had it rough in that regard. Apparently, there were a small handful of metals that truly hampered the flow of mana, but one was iron, and by extension steel. At least cobalt and nickel didn’t seem so common, though who knows what applications I’d forgotten.

Returning my mind back to the project at hand as I finished wrapping the blade, I recalled the jet of sparks it had thrown on the grinding wheel. I didn’t remember why but more sparks correlated with better steel in my mind. Maybe it sparked more because it was harder? Something to do with a difference between iron and steel perhaps? It felt like the answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t quite find it. What I did find however was that my appraisal skill wanted to activate on the blade.

It was perhaps not my wisest move, but it tantalised with an answer to a niggling question, so I gave in and let appraisal activate. I’d be using it plenty tomorrow anyway, so once today couldn’t hurt? A circular clay pillar radiating fire flashed into my mind. A bloomery. I was inside it. Scouring flames melting iron and charring bone. So many bones. Yet somehow, even as the bones powdered, the iron was becoming steel. I could feel with certainty that when it cooled it would be harder and that qi would flow slightly easier within it, even if I didn’t know why. Then with a gasp, the vision was gone.

I could feel the sweat running down my face and back. The heat hadn't hurt, but I’d felt it, felt something absorbed by the blade in the smoke and flame. There was something missing from the bloomery but I couldn’t remember what, and yet the bones felt out of place. Had they replaced what was missing? My skill tickled at me, tempting that there was still more to learn if I used it once more. I was still breathing heavily, the sweat stopped pouring but I felt unpleasantly damp and shivery. I’d be a fool to press further, but I was oh so tempted. I wanted answers. If I could only remember what I had forgotten.

No. I could work this out. I had enough information, I just had to fit the pieces together. The fire burnt the bones and the iron... became steel! That was it. I was missing what apart from the heat made iron steel, unless it was down in the blazing coals? For now I’d assume the bones replaced whatever it was, they had to be doing something. That would explain why once it cooled the metal would be harder, but steel shouldn’t be any better than iron with qi flow. Bones were once living and so qi would flow easier in them, but in their charred state that hardly mattered. They certainly hadn’t become an integral part of the glaive before me. Perhaps it would come to me later, at least I’d solved one mystery, and confirmed qi should indeed flow a little better in the blade than regular steel. Though as I thought back to that certainty of the blade’s hardness, something felt a little off. Not wrong per say, but like it was a little too focused on one thing. Whatever it was, I didn’t know enough to mess with it right now, particularly on someone else’s weapon. But someday I would.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

For now though, I was measuring. String, ruler and charcoal in hand as I marked out a length a little over six feet in the middle of the miracle shoot. A bit longer than before but hopefully not too much. Setting the measuring tools aside after double checking once more I put saw to wood, hewing off either end to leave a haft with a consistent cross section. Sharp as the saw was, it still took some effort to cut through the miracle shoot. A smile stretched across my face, I wanted this to be durable. There was some flex in the shoot which I suspected was less desirable, and made keeping the cuts straight more awkward, but I managed.

Now for the trickier part. Measuring the dimensions of the tang and marking out the position of a slot for it. I also took note of the position of the two holes for pins within the tang for later. The gap in the centre of the shoot for the flow of water would make beginning to carve the slot slightly easier, but also meant the wood either side of where I carved would have to bear more load. With the dimensions marked, I locked the shaft in a pair of vices. I took a deep breath, lifting a tiny chisel and small hammer. Slowly I began carving way sliver after sliver of wood, being careful to stay within my marked guidelines. I needed this to be straight and precise, otherwise the blade would be loose or at an angle. Only once I had one side carved did I take another deep breath, allowing my hands to shake for a moment. It looked good I thought, maybe a fingernail too thin or deep but either of those would be better than the alternative. Then I began mirroring it on the other side. Tiny ribbons of wood falling with each blow of the hammer upon the chisel. Each producing a jolt of panic as I wondered it this one had strayed, then satisfaction as I confirmed I had not. In my periphery I thought someone came to the doorway, but this required all my focus. My strokes seemed cleaner, more controlled. I dared not stop. And then it was done.

A critical eye compared each side of the slot, identical, straight and aligned. Concern faded to contentment, only for me to realise now was the real moment of truth. I lifted the blade and pressed it to the slot. It didn’t fit. I brought my eye close; it was only a hair off. But If I carved further, would it be central? I probably should have intentionally cut it a little small then adjusted after a check in hindsight. I didn’t want to make it too loose, could I just force it? Trusting the leather wrapped around the blade and my thick gloves, I aligned it as best I could and applied some pressure. It wasn’t working! Keeping up the pressure I shimmied it very slightly and saw fibres on the edge of the slot begin to roll underneath. Then it slammed home.

I jumped back feeling a prick of pain. Glancing down I saw the very tip of the glaive had worked itself free and managed to pierce my tunic. For a moment I thought Id gotten away with only a minor wardrobe malfunction, before, barely visible through the hole, a tiny crimson blob began to bead. I sighed, it wouldn’t be the worst stain, but I’d need to get it cleaned up before anyone overreacted. By unconscious instinct I glanced by the forge to where a thick leather apron hung. Yup, that would have been useful, but I’d know for next time. For now though, I wasn’t going to let a small prick of pain stop me from enjoying the sight of the tang fully sheathed within the haft. Now I just needed to get it pinned. Deeply glad I’d had the foresight to note down how deep along the tang the holes were, I began to carefully mark the spots that needed drilled. Truthfully, the head may be tightly enough affixed that this wasn’t strictly necessary, but having seen damage accrued by adventurers’ weapons, erring on the side of caution seemed prudent.

With how well stocked the workshop was, I was surprised to only find three sizes of bit for the u-shaped hand drill after rifling through several drawers. I suppose the theory may have been that I was capable of making more if needed. Not that I had any confidence of managing that particular feat right now. Still, it did make the choice of bit much easier, simply choosing the option that was neither obviously over nor undersized. Careful to locate the tip precisely on the marked point perpendicular to the wood, I applied pressure and began to crank the handle. Wood flaked and yielded easily making me wonder if there was more to those drill bits than met the eye, even as I savoured the intensifying fresh scent. It felt oddly... nostalgic? Something to unpack later as the tip broke through the wood into the gap before the tang.

Cautiously removing it I took a moment to inspect. The hole was thankfully straight and aligned well with the hole in the tang. Unfortunately, it seemed the bit I had used was slightly larger than that hole. A cylindrical pin straight through clearly wouldn’t quite work, but perhaps something slightly tapered? Unfortunately, the only smaller drill bit was truly miniscule, so I doubted I could have it pass through both sides. Or at least if I did it might be more of a weakness than a benefit. With a plan in mind I drilled the other hole, finding to my relief that it was likewise aligned.

As I was about to look for something to make the pins with, I noted some of the smaller fragments of the original haft. The wood didn’t prick at my appraisal skill like the miracle shoots or head of the glaive, but it appeared to be a robust hardwood which made the haft’s final state all the more remarkable. Finding a couple of likely sized pieces, I trimmed some of the extraneous material with a knife to get a flat section on either end before bringing them over to the lathe. Where the trimming had been slow, the lathe was fast. I barely had it set up and put my feet to the treadle before I’d carved off a ribbon of material to reveal the cylinder, then added the taper with another pass. Frustum? Much as I’m glad for the knowledge that sparks back to mind as I do things, sometimes I wish it had a little more context. I wasn’t sure if that was the name of the peg, the process, or something else altogether. Whatever it is, I had my second peg made in short order. Ready to finish the assembly, or so I thought.

I had just confirmed at the glaive that the pegs were indeed about the correct size and was about to pick up a hammer when the sense I was forgetting something hit me. Taking a moment to think of the steps I was about to take I couldn’t think of anything obviously wrong. Hopefully that meant there was something that would yield a better result rather than me missing a necessary step. There was still a small gap visible where the rectangular tang didn’t fill the circular opening of the miracle shoot but that could be covered later if needed. I already felt I was taking quite a few liberties with this repair. If the pegs were the wrong material or the wrong general shape, I felt like I would have been prompted earlier. Did they need to be treated in some way before insertion perhaps? But to what end? Increasing grip would obviously be beneficial and I could add glue to help it bond to the haft but that may interfere with the qi flow. Also, then the pegs couldn’t be removed making any later replacements of the haft or maintenance more difficult. If the alchemical method wasn’t the solution, perhaps there was a mechanical one? Greater surface area would provide more grip.

Not entirely sure I had found the correct solution; I took my knife and began carving small grooves along the pin. I tried to keep them as straight as I could though I wasn’t sure if there was a better pattern or if that even mattered. I was halfway around the first peg when I considered that I could have simply abraded the surface to make it rougher. Ah well, too late now. Deciding to try hammering in the first before repeating my efforts on the second, I wasn’t sure whether to be relived or worried that my instinct didn’t flare up again as I lined up the peg. On one hand it might mean I’d found the solution. On the other, maybe I’d already got my one warning, or whatever combination of skills and memories gave me these prompts decided that the risk of whatever I might try next wasn’t worth it. Either way, some controlled swings lodged the peg in securely with only a small amount left protruding. It seemed as good a result as I could hope for and the only thing dampening my mood was the earlier unease. Still, with that result I replicated the grooves on the second peg and carefully hammered it home.

Some personalisation was still possible, but the glaive was complete and functional. It wasn’t as far as making a whole weapon yet, but it gave me confidence that I could do it. I released it from the vices and savoured the satisfaction of a job well done.