A piece of parchment lay unfolded before the blacksmith Cys, and a wiry young man pointed anxiously at the item diagrammed, "This part here—can you make it just like it's drawn?"

"Sort of, maybe…" Cys hemmed and hawed, unable to give a straight answer.

"What’s with the mumbling? I’ll take my business elsewhere, you know?"

The young man's tone irked Cys who swore that if it weren’t for the two hulking men behind him, he'd have shown this cheeky youth a thing or two with his hammer.

"It’s not about whether I can make it or not," Cys said, flailing his arms to explain to the layman before him, "I can make the shape, sure, but the drawing says it has to be seamless. Who in blazes can do that?"

The young man turned to one of the burly figures, "What did the boss say for this sort of situation?"

"Contract number two," the bruiser replied.

"Right, number two," the young man nodded confidently as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"By the book, considering you might not read, we'll go over the contract first," said the first thug as his bald companion unfolded another piece of parchment, reciting in a steady voice, "In the presence of the human champions who defeated the Demon Lord, the omnipresent source of magic, and the gloriously sacred Goddess of Victory, hereby (Alaric) commissions the blacksmith (signee's name) to engage in high-intensity short-term metalwork, with payment of fifty silver coins per day, to be disbursed at the end of the working period. Anyone who successfully improves the current technology will, upon verification, receive an additional bonus of ten gold coins."

Cys's mind buzzed with images of gold coins so much that before he knew it, his signature and thumbprint were on the contractor's line, and the contract shimmered with the light of activation—a bad omen.

"Not too shabby," the young man nodded approvingly, slapping three gold coins on the table, "A down payment."

Cys swallowed hard, looking at the lean young man, "When do we start?"

The youth waved to the unarmed bruiser, "Now."

A black sack was pulled over Cys's head.

Although scared, Cys thought of the generous two-gold-coins-a-day offer from the Chamber of Commerce chairman and could not help but ask, "Where am I to work?"

"No concern of yours."

"My hammer!"

"I got it."

"What about my wife and kids…"

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"We'll notify them."

For the blacksmiths and carpenters of City of Gath and the surrounding towns, it was an evening filled with surprise and adrenaline.

---

Cys opened his eyes to find himself lying in an unfamiliar place, his back telling him it was probably a wasteland.

A strange man was perched atop him in a bizarre posture, "Hey there, you awake? Move around a bit."

After that, the stranger hopped off Cys and onto another person, bestowing a couple of hearty slaps.

Only then did the burning pain on Cys's face reach his brain.

Looking around, Cys saw blacksmiths from City of Gath sprawled all over—no wonder that young man had said he'd move on to the next one.

The man awoke every blacksmith in the room, over ten of them, then stood in the center and announced, "From today till the end of the contract period, you'll eat, drink, go about your business, and sleep in this very room."

"Whether it's necessities or your trustiest hammers, or even anvils, everything's prepared."

"Mealtime thrice a day, deliveries right to the door—no need to fret. Your job is to craft the parts drawn on those papers in front of you. Get it wrong, or too far off, and we dock your pay."

"Alright, everyone," the man strolled to the door, "you can get started. After all, to earn a month's salary in a single day requires some elbow grease."

He left, and the blacksmiths checked out their surroundings, indeed finding their beds, supplies, and diagrams with pipes drawn on them.

And there, impossible to ignore, was a small mountain of iron ingots.

Over the next few days, Cys and his roommates had three things on their agenda: eating, sleeping, and an endless rhythm of forging. None noticed the watchful eyes always peering from the beams above.

Cys wasn't confident in his physical strength like he was in his skills—after all, an aging blacksmith couldn’t match the vigor of those in their prime.

So he mulled it over while working—if he collapsed, would he still get paid?

Luckily, Cys wasn't the first to break.

His trademark hammer beat him to it.

As wood splintered, the hammerhead declared its independence, landing in the pile of ingots several meters away. The incident lasted a whopping two seconds.

Ignoring his sorrow, Cys held his hammerhead up at the door to the guard in the hall, hinting at his broken equipment, hoping for a respite. He soon received a brand new hammer.

Carrying on like this was unsustainable, thought Cys. He wasn't even halfway through the six days, and quitting now meant forfeiting part of the down payment.

So, Cys pondered another issue: was there a way to improve the pipe's design, to minimize or even eliminate that seam up top? If he could manage that, perhaps there was still profit to be made.

Fueled by thoughts of gold, Cys racked his brains for days until he devised an exasperatingly complicated method.

Come dinner on the second day hence, Cys presented a pipe he had crafted during spare moments to the meal deliverer, hoping for a verdict.

The delivery man, clearly knowing nothing beyond his immediate task, passed it up through the ranks until it reached Murphy via a teleportation circle.

---

"Master, whatcha looking at?"

"A seamless pipe."

"That gap's humongous! How's that seamless?"

"Double layer. The thick one covers the thin one, offset the seams, and then fasten them tightly—heat them up again."

"Ugh, looks rough. I'm off to practice summoning."

---

When ten gold coins lay before him, Cys felt like he was dreaming, brought back to reality by the envious stares of his peers.

A stranger approached Cys to sign contract number one anew, promising long-term validity, ensuring that even after the work period, any ideas that could improve mass production of metalwork would be verified and handsomely rewarded.

Word of an old blacksmith earning a ten-gold reward quickly spread from Cys's room, and every smith and carpenter began to see themselves as unparalleled geniuses. In the following days, innovative ideas emerged daily, and the craftsmen's enthusiasm for creation soared, each one eagerly awaiting their turn for recognition.