Deus Necros

Chapter 684: The Master And The Fire.

The disciples, and workers were all stunned to see Ludwig in nothing but his white inner garments cleaning up rust and iron residues from the floor.

Their stares followed him the way stares followed a scandal. A few looked offended on Andre’s behalf, as if the forge was being disrespected by a noble touching dirt. Others looked offended on Ludwig’s behalf, as if Ludwig was humiliating himself by choice. Ludwig ignored all of it. He didn’t sweep to be admired. He swept because Andre told him it was the first step.

He didn’t have pride in his motion, nor did he have anger in his temperament.

The broom scraped over stone, gathering filings that glimmered faintly in forge light. Ludwig paid attention to what Andre said and what the floor showed him. Some dust was darker, heavier. Some was bright and sharp. He watched the way the particles caught light, the way they clung to the broom’s bristles, the way they scattered when his motion wasn’t careful.

He continued sweeping while Andre gave orders to the rest of the disciples to continued their work.

The forge returned to its rhythm. Hammers rang in different tones depending on who swung them. Bellows hissed. Water buckets sloshed. Someone cursed quietly when a piece fell wrong. Andre moved through it all like the center of a machine, voice cutting through noise with short commands.

Once one of them spilled something, Ludwig would rush in and mop it or sweep it away, and whenever he had a free moment, he’ll stare. Look and watch.

He watched hands more than faces. How one guy hammered was different from the other. One struck with wrists loose, letting the hammer rebound naturally. Another forced the blow, wasting effort. One rotated the steel at precise intervals, keeping heat distributed. Another hesitated, and the metal cooled unevenly.

How fast one placed the steel into the forge, how one of them decided that it was better to quench his blade before he placed it back in the fire for more treatment.

The timing differences mattered. Ludwig saw a blade warp slightly when someone returned it too late. He saw a faint crack line appear when someone quenched too aggressively, the sound of it subtle, almost like a sigh. He saw pieces tossed aside and reheated, mistakes recycled rather than mourned.

How many blades warped, how many of them cracked, how much material was wasted and discarded or melted again to be used later.

The waste wasn’t lazy. It was the cost of learning. Even Andre’s workshop accepted loss as part of the process, and Ludwig understood that instantly. In his world, loss was permanent unless the lantern rewound it. Here, the rewind was the fire itself.

Hours went by while Ludwig did cleaning and watching.

His arms didn’t tire the way a living man’s would, but he still felt the passage of time in the repetition. Sweep. Gather. Move. Watch. Adjust. The forge’s heat rose and fell in waves. The workers’ voices grew hoarser. The street outside darkened fully, and the lanterns in the shop became the only sun.

And soon, everyone left the forge.

Tools were hung. Coals were banked. Water was poured in controlled amounts. The last workers filed out with tired shoulders, hands stained black. The workshop didn’t become silent. It became quieter, the way a beast became quieter when it slept.

“Lad, you’ll be staying the night here. It’s good to be by the fire. But tell me did you learn anything from watching?” Andre asked.

“I learned how to avoid some mistakes, not how to forge properly.”

Ludwig didn’t pretend he’d mastered anything. He’d seen patterns. He’d learned what not to do. That was still something, but it wasn’t skill yet.

“I’m surprised you even learned that, but I suppose since you didn’t have pride in your heart. Your eyes were able to see. We’ll meet tomorrow. There is an empty room on the top floor, use it. Rest for the night.”

Andre’s tone softened only in the sense that it became less confrontational. It wasn’t kindness. It was acknowledgment that Ludwig had passed the first test: willingness.

Ludwig nodded and went upstairs after Andre also headed out.

The upper floor was colder, quieter, smelling of old wood and faint forge smoke that had seeped into everything over years. An empty room waited, plain and functional. Ludwig didn’t need comfort. He needed time and proximity to learning.

Alone in the dark Ludwig couldn’t help but remember the actions the workers were doing.

The movements replayed in his head the way combat did, the small differences in technique that created big differences in outcome. He thought about heat and timing and how much of it came down to reading what you couldn’t see. He thought about Andre’s words, grain loosening, carbon waking, and how that sounded like magic even when it wasn’t.

He wanted to see how Andre himself forged but that wasn’t possible today. Maybe tomorrow things would change.

The forge below had gone quiet hours ago, yet in his mind it still breathed. Bellows sighing. Iron hissing. The sharp crack of a blade surrendering to cold water too quickly.

He lay on the narrow cot and replayed every motion.

The man at the far anvil struck with rhythm, three light blows, one heavy. Why? The younger apprentice quenched too soon; the blade screamed when it met water. A mistake. But another had reheated after quenching.

Why harden it only to soften it again?

Near dawn, Ludwig rose.

He descended the stairs quietly, expecting embers and silence.

Instead, the forge was alive.

Andre stood alone at the central anvil.

No apprentices. No chatter. No orders.

Just the master and the fire.

Andre did not look up. “If you’re going to watch, stand where you won’t cast a shadow over my steel.”

Ludwig adjusted immediately.

On the anvil lay a narrow billet, layered. Patterned faintly along the edge.

“You’re making a blade,” Ludwig said.

“I’m correcting one,” Andre replied.

He lifted the billet with tongs and placed it back into the forge. The coals glowed brighter as he worked the bellows with his foot.

“Yesterday you asked why some blades shatter in winter.”

“Yes.”

Andre pulled the steel free again. This time it was brighter, not orange.

“Tell me what color that is.”

Ludwig hesitated. “Yellow.”

“Wrong.”

Andre set it on the anvil and struck. Sparks burst outward.

“It is critical,” Andre said. “A moment before it becomes ruin.”

He hammered in measured blows. Not fast. Not slow. Controlled. Ludwig’s eyes turned blue as he used [Trace] to memorize the move itself.

“Steel changes inside long before it changes outside. Grain grows. Carbon moves. Structures shift.”

He paused and glanced at Ludwig.

“You see yellow. I see a lattice loosening.”

He reheated the blade.

“You saw one apprentice quench early yesterday.”

“Yes. His blade cracked.”

“Why?”

“It cooled too quickly?”

Andre nodded once. “Uneven contraction. The edge shrinks before the spine. Stress builds. It chooses the weakest path.”

He plunged the blade into oil this time, not water.

The sound was different, a low hiss instead of a violent scream.

“And why oil?” Ludwig asked.

“Because I do not want it as hard as glass. Oil cools slower, water cools faster. And you need to know when to use each.”

Andre withdrew the blade and held it up. Darkened now.

“Hard is easy,” he said. “Hard is brittle. The art is strength without fragility.”

He set the blade back into the forge, but only briefly.

“You noticed someone reheating after quenching.”

“Yes.”

“That is tempering. After hardening, the steel is full of tension. We relieve it. Carefully.”

He handed Ludwig a small file.

“Test it.”

Ludwig dragged the file across the edge. It skated without biting.

“It’s hardened,” Ludwig said quietly.

“For now.”

Andre placed the blade on the anvil again , but instead of striking, he watched it as residual heat crept along its surface. Faint colors bloomed: pale straw… then bronze.

“Metallurgy,” Andre said softly, “is understanding that color is not decoration. It is heat making the metal speak and you should listen.”

Ludwig leaned closer.

“Straw,” Andre continued, “gives you a blade that keeps its edge. Purple gives you resilience. Blue gives you softness.”

The bronze hue deepened toward straw.

Andre quenched it again, gently.

Silence settled.

“Why teach me this? This sounds far more advanced than mere metallurgy. This feels like the soul of your craft.” Ludwig asked at last.

Andre did not answer immediately.

Instead, he handed Ludwig the tongs.

“Hold it.”

Ludwig did. The steel was still warm.

“You swept without complaint,” Andre said. “You watched without judgment. And when something cracked, you did not flinch.”

He met Ludwig’s eyes.

“Most nobles want weapons. You want understanding.”

A pause.

“That is more dangerous.”

Ludwig did not smile.

“Good,” he said.

Andre’s mouth curved faintly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “you will ruin your first blade.”

Ludwig looked down at the tempered steel in his hands.

“And when it cracks?” he asked.

Andre turned back to the forge.

“Then you will finally begin to learn.”