Chapter 27: No Time For Romance

“What the…?”

I wake to the sound of footsteps and the loud clanking of hammer downstairs. In my half-asleep half-awake condition, I feel my backside soaked in sweat. I know it’s summer and all, but this warm feeling is quite different to what I’m accustomed to. Dragging myself upright, a small lead weight clings to my back. Looking behind me, I notice…

“Poppie?”

My eyes widens in surprise. I know I shouldn’t be sweating this much unless I’m working in the forge. So this much liquid pouring on my backside is “that” after all? Damn not again.

“Hey, Poppie! Use the bathroom, dammit!”

“Uweee? Uncle told me to wake you up…”

“Look, Poppie, you need to stop wetting the bed. You’re like what? Nine already!” I grumble, frowning at the sight of my wet bed sheets.

Still drowsy, Poppie detaches herself away from me and looks to the space I’m pointing at. Her cheeks reddens, as if she’s feeling shy of what she just did, however this is something I must point out.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” she whispers, rubbing her drool away.

“I’m not angry, but I want you to learn. Just look at me, I’m dripping wet.”

“I’m sorry about your bed sheets, your back, and your clothes,” she whimpers.

Closing my eyes I take a deep breath, and when I open them I soften my expression.

“That’s fine.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No. Just go and clean yourself up. Also I got you some clothes,” I nod my chin to the items resting on top of my dresser, letting her gaze wander over there. “Take a bath and take those clothes with you, okay?”

Poppie nods, and seeing her face flooded with shame makes my lips curve into a smile. I slap her back and she scrambles out of the door, leaving it wide open. After digressing myself with a sigh, I strip to my waist, leaving my hammer attached on my hips, and drag my stained bed sheets with me downstairs.

“Oh, a pleasant morning to you, Master,” addressing me with respect, August greets me on the way down.

Like Poppie, he’s a young boy who lives in the orphanage. I believe he just started to be on his teens last month. Keeping his coarse hair short, he has a round face and a button nose, maybe a little chubby for his own age, but the guy’s working on it. It seems like he just came out of the smithy since he’s wearing a crude leather apron on top of his overalls, and he has soot and dust all over his face and his clothes.

“Morning to you as well, August. Where are you headed with that handcart?”

“This? Grandmaster ordered me to pick up some coals, so I’m on my way out to the marketplace.”

“Ah, then off you go. Don’t allow me to keep you any further.”

“Sure thing,” August brings his head down and steps out of the door, the bright sun rays streaming inside the shop on his way out.

Even from this distance, I know I woke up late than I normally do. I trudge to the kitchen and notice food is served on our dining table. August must’ve prepared breakfast this morning. Soft and runny yolk—just like how I want them on the inside—I devour my plate of poached eggs along with some thick slices of bread. Taking one big gulp of this refreshing herb tea, I continue out to our backyard and hang my bed sheets to dry.

I smack my thighs and sprint towards our tree. Using that short momentum, I leap and grab onto its tree branch, pulling myself up in repeated efforts to wake every single cell in my body. The memory of last night hits me like a giant boulder falling off a high cliff. In my incompetence, I begin to wonder. How many times did I avoid getting laid these past few months? Sure, training with this heated old man, my opportunities are endless. But whenever I realized that Celes left me because of that gap in our relationship, I can never bring myself to touch another girl. After all if she ever did the same and cheated on me with some other random guy, it would upset me to no end. Just the thought of her embracing another guy makes me sick.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my mind to go blank, but it won’t. Dammit. In this certain times, when the morning sunshine washes over my body, the memory persists in my head like a weed. I want to hear it from her own voice, from her own mouth, from her own two lips—that it’s over. Until then, rain or shine, I will continue to hope.

Once I’m done I meet the old man inside the smithy. Using a pair of tongs the burning blade responds as he dips it inside a tub filled of oil, creating a rising inferno in its wake.

“Reimuz, stop lazing and go to work,” he says a few words and my consciousness is back on its feet. When the light of the furnace is on, there’s no messing with the old man in the forge. That’s how much he takes his job seriously.

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“Yes sir,” wearing my apron and leather gloves, I double over.  

“Come here. I need you to hammer this side of the blade after me,” he says, taking a piece of metal out of the furnace, and placing it down on the anvil for us to draw. I’m not sure what, but there’s something about shaping this sword that is so romantic.

Feeling mesmerized by this beautiful piece of craftsmanship, my thoughts redirect me to that time.

That time when I absorbed his skills and knowledge as a blacksmith……

On a regular sunny day, the old man called me to his room. His room is nothing fancy except for his balcony and some potted plants to go with it. He also has a small bookshelf containing books he’s written in his juvenile age.

“This is what I wanted to show you. It contains pretty much everything I know about smithing. I want you to read it when you have the time,” he hands me a thick book.

Pertaining to what he just told me, this book was a journal he kept on his younger years. A book that contains his blood and sweat. Couldn’t contain the excitement seeping through me in the form of a smile, I open the book and read the contents.

Everything is hand-written, and each and every entry has a detailed explanation. Proper temperature to refine ores, the right type of material needed to heat up a furnace, various liquids used for quenching steel, repeated cycle of tempering, and so much more. The premise is very simple, and with the help of a blueprint, nothing can go wrong. In a nutshell, this book is a mix of trial and error, and whether or not I have the right materials in hand.

In a fast forward motion, all of this knowledge flowed inside my head, in front of my eyes, and the same monotone voice reminded me that I had learned a skill.

You learned the skill: Blacksmith Mastery [Frederick Berthold]

Shaking in excitement, I could hardly suppress my emotions. Holding a hammer felt so natural. Heck, everything felt so natural, just as if I’ve been doing these actions for years. However having the knowledge alone could only get me so far. That’s why, day after day I started to seclude myself in the forge. I built a habit, a routine, and ever since then, I’ve climbed new heights as a blacksmith myself.

“Grandmaster, I left the coals beside the entrance, would you like me to do anything else?” August’s voice brings me back to the present. I shake my head a little and continue my work, sweat flowing in between my eyebrows.

Since the old man is too concentrated to give a response, I answer the question directed for him.

“Who’s watching the store?”

“It should be Lepus’s duty today…” his voice trails off.

I breath heavily. Hitting the point once, then pulling back and hitting it again. The art of drawing is endless, but that’s what makes it so good and refreshing.

“Let me guess, that brat ran away in duty again?”

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case. There’s a huge line of customers the moment I came back.”

“Perform punishment level B,” I breathe, staring at the anvil.

“Understood. Also you have a visitor, Master.”

“Hmm? Who?”

“Miss Emily Ramburg. She’s currently waiting in the dining room.”

Suddenly, upon hearing that, the old man stops, and I do the same. He’s quiet, not moving an inch for a few seconds, then gestures me to go. Since in this household, women comes first. ALWAYS. That is our one and only rule set in stone.

“Gahaha!! It’s fine, I got this. Go and greet this lovely maiden,” the old man smirks at me. He’s like a child now. I scratch my head and place my hammer on his worktable. Before I can continue my walk, August leans closer and murmur some words only for me to hear.

“Oh, and a word to the wise, Master. I hope you don’t mind this rambling, but some flowers for Miss Emily wouldn’t go amiss. Would you like me to head out and pick the finest flowers in season?”

This damn shit.

“Shut up and man the store,” I say as I surprised him, shoving two fingers inside his nose. August writhe on the ground, but I walk over him with a sigh.

These two just can’t mind their own businesses, huh?