You are suffering from minor mana overdose.

L opened his dreary eyes to the disgusted face of the blacksmith.

“What in the Desolate Lands hells did you create?” A gruff voice resounded from his thick lips.

“Rope,” L said, without as much as flinching.

The blacksmith snatched the whip from L’s numb fingers, lifting it up. While L could see a darker shade of black, enabling him to see the shape and form of the Whip, the blacksmith couldn’t, or shouldn’t have been able to.

Yet in his hand, he closely observed the shape and form of the Whip. L was slightly surprised that the blacksmith was not repelled by the dark arts, and especially those types of dark arts. Instead, a wide, vicious grin overtook his face, revealing a surprisingly clean set of teeth. His eyes sparkled in excitement, the glee in his movement clear.

“Feels like a limp penis, doesn’t it?”

The blacksmith did not appreciate L’s astute observation. His face blanked, and the heavy pressure of his gaze focused on L’s numb figure.

“You are weak, yet able to create. You shouldn’t be able to create. You’re no simple human, yes?”

“Yes I am no human, or no, I am no human?

L could see the nerves surfacing upon the blacksmith’s bald skull. It was petty, and substantially doltish to mock the man whose assistance L required, but sadly, the mana overdose had put L into a groggily, drunk like state.

“Both mean same, foolish human.”

L laughed. Loudly. He crumpled into his stomach at the irony in the sentence.  At the corner of L’s eye, as the tears ran, L could see the blacksmith's mouth turn into a wolfish smile.

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“You like wordplay, yes? Not human, yet foolish human?”

“O-oh yes, god yes I do. Especially so when it comes from unexpected sources.”

The blacksmith frowned dramatically, one hand at the hip, the other stroking his chin.

“Judging blade by its scabbard, are we?”

“Well yes,” L stretched his limbs, feeling the tension on his Mana Circuits lessening, “If you were to pick up a scabbard and pull the blade out, wouldn’t you be surprised if you found a bow instead?”

The blacksmith smiled. The scars along sides his cheeks did, too.  “Shame you have no patience. Could have made fine weapons,” the blacksmith said, glancing at the thing in his hand. He tossed it back at L, cracking a minor laugh.

L stared at the blacksmith for a moment, then rummaged the smithy with his eyes: farmers tools, household objects, pokers, ornaments, jewelry, and decorative objects littered the place. He cracked a smile full of wonder, hopping up, dismissing the dizziness swamping the back of his eyes, and skipped towards the clutter of jewelry. He lifted it up a necklace, a coating of silver combined with cheap iron, above his head and let it reflect the light. “What a fearsome, shiny weapon you have here!” L tilted his head towards the frowning blacksmith. “What does it do? Do you throw it at someone, and a stampede of middle-aged women crush your foes?! Unprecedented genius I say!” yelled excitedly, waving around the necklace. “How do you activate it? Is there a magic word yo-”

The blacksmith snatched the necklace from L’s hands, and hurled it into the smoldering fire. “Yes, I no make weapons no more. Cowards. Stupids! Buy one sword or stick with knife on end. Then won’t buy more. Too scared. No fight. No weapons.” The blacksmith said, throwing his hands up in the air. He sat down on his cooling anvil, facepalming.

L’s tone fell flat, his eyes narrowing. “And why don’t you fight?”

The blacksmith threw a sharp glare at L. “Because I am bow, not blade. I need arrow.”

L beamed back at him.

The blacksmith glanced at L’s blatant lack of stick with knife on end, scowling. “I no make…free weapons.”

“Oh, of course!” L nodded, and searched his non-existent pockets for non-existent copper. He looked back with a shrug “Oh, looks like I have a major case of not having any fucking thing to give you...except if you want to have…” L let the last words hang in the air, as he held up the oversized Whip towards the blacksmith.

The blacksmith spit to the side, leaving no doubt in his answer. “I teach you iron. You teach me dark art.”

L grimaced. He knew that it was going to come to this. Here was another gamble “I’m not strong enough to teach you…”

The nerves of the blacksmith pulsed. He was not amused.

“...yet. Help me become stronger. Teach me iron, and I’ll combine dark and iron,” L said, pulling his hands up for a handshake. The blacksmith stared at it, and then so did L, finding he was still holding the whip. He tossed it aside, resuming his bright smile.

The blacksmith spent a couple moments of intensely staring into L’s eyes. Before L could blush, the blacksmith shook L’s hands with an irked look on his face. "I got nothing to lose. You help work. You fail to make art, I fail you.