Chapter 29: C-Grade Equipment

Chapter 29: Chapter 29: C-Grade Equipment

The morning sun streamed through the vaulted glass windows of the Sol-Aethel Academy canteen, illuminating the bustling breakfast hall. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked honey rolls, smoked meats, and steamy herbal teas.

Rowan spotted Barney sitting at a corner table near the tall arched windows, a plate stacked high with sausages and eggs resting in front of him.

"Mind if I join?" Rowan asked, setting down his tray of poached eggs and warm whole-wheat toast.

"Rowan! Sit, sit!" Barney grinned, wiping a bit of grease from his chin before taking a huge bite of bread. "Man, you missed the early morning line by ten minutes. They almost ran out of the smoked ham."

"I was over at Dome Gamma checking on Plot 36," Rowan replied, pulling out a chair. He picked up his fork, took a bite, and leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "So, how’s the progress on the custom gardening equipment I commissioned? Have you managed to start on the molds yet?"

Barney paused, setting his fork down with an unusually serious look on his face, though a proud grin quickly broke through.

"About that..." Barney scratched the back of his neck, leaning over the table. "I actually had to hand the blueprint over. As you know, my current Blacksmithing skill level and mana output capped me at E+ grade items. I tried laying down the initial matrix for your core hoe and shears, but the density you requested was way too unstable for my forge setup. If I forced it, the metal would’ve cracked during the quenching process."

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "So who’s working on it?"

"My grandfather," Barney whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Old man Ironforge saw your schematics on my workbench last night. At first, he was going to scold me for taking on a contract beyond my tier, but when he looked closer at the elemental balance and practical weight distribution you requested, his eyes lit up like a furnace."

Barney leaned in even closer, tapping the table for emphasis. "He took charge of crafting the entire set personally, Rowan! A Master Blacksmith taking a personal interest in civilian-tier farming tools! He said the design had ’soul’ and spent all night at the main magma-forge hammering out the base alloys."

Rowan smiled, genuinely impressed. Having a Master Blacksmith handle his Grade-C equipment meant the structural integrity and rune conductivity would be far superior to anything standard market vendors offered.

"That’s incredible news, Barney," Rowan said smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. "When can we go take a look?"

Barney scarfed down the last sausage on his plate and wiped his hands on a napkin. "Right now! He told me to bring you over to the Ironforge main workshop the second you were finished with breakfast."

Rowan cleared his plate and stood up, stepping into stride with Barney as they exited the warmth of the canteen into the cool morning air. The path toward the academy’s eastern forge district sloped gently downhill, marked by the faint, rhythmic thrum of heavy mechanical hammers echoing in the distance.

"Your grandfather taking over is huge, Barney," Rowan said, adjusting his coat against the breeze. "I know the Ironforge name carries weight around the academy, but how far does his reputation actually go?"

Barney let out a sharp chuckle, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets as he looked over at Rowan. "Farther than this whole district, to be honest. Old man Brokk Ironforge was a frontline Grand Smith for the Third Vanguard Corps back during the Border Wars. If you’ve ever seen a B-Grade warhammer or a Tier-3 guardian shield in an academy textbook, there’s a good chance his crest is stamped into the pommel."

"A military vanguard smith," Rowan mused, impressed. "How’d he end up taking commissions in a school district?"

"Retired after a rift beast tore up his knee," Barney explained, slapping his left thigh. "The High Council tried to give him a cozy pension in the capital, but he gets restless if he isn’t smelling coal and hot metal every day. So he moved here, took over the main workshop, and spends half his time supervising academy supply contracts and the other half yelling at me for over-quenching my steel."

They turned onto the cobbled avenue of the Ironforge District, where the ambient air grew noticeably warmer and smelled faintly of sulfur, hot oil, and charcoal.

"So when he saw your schematics," Barney continued, a wide grin returning to his face, "he didn’t just see agricultural tools. He saw a design that didn’t waste material. He told me most modern agronomy tools are either over-designed glittery trash for rich kids or flimsy scrap iron that snaps on a hard root. Yours had clean weight distribution and direct channel lines for mana flow. He called it ’honest craft.’"

"High praise from a frontline Grand Smith," Rowan said with a slight smile.

"High praise indeed," Barney laughed, stopping in front of a pair of massive, iron-reinforced wooden doors bearing a heavy anvil emblem. "Just be prepared—he talks loud, he doesn’t care about polite civilian titles, and if your hands look too clean, he’ll probably tell you to go lift a sledgehammer."

Barney pushed open the heavy iron-reinforced doors, and a wave of dry, searing heat hit them immediately.

The workshop was colossal. High vaulted ceilings were lost in plumes of rising white steam and soot, while giant magmatic furnaces glowed with intense orange light along the back wall. Anvil racks lined the stonework, covered in glowing tongs, heavy sledges, and intricate runic chisels. The rhythmic CLANG... CLANG... CLANG of steel on iron resonated through the stone floor beneath their boots.

Standing over a central anvil was a broad, iron-bearded dwarf whose silver hair was tied back in tight leather braids. Brokk Ironforge swung a heavy ball-peen hammer with terrifying precision, sending bright showers of white sparks flying over his heavy leather apron.

"Grandpa!" Barney shouted over the noise of the forge, waving his arm. "I brought him! This is Rowan Vance!"

Brokk brought the hammer down one final time, the ring echoing off the stone walls, before quenching the red-hot metal bar in a trough of dark liquid with a loud, hissing roar of steam. He wiped his sweat-sheened forehead with a thick forearm and turned his piercing, steel-gray eyes onto Rowan.

He walked over, his heavy boot thudding against the stone, and paused inches from Rowan, looking him up and down. His gaze lingered briefly on Rowan’s calloused hands and steady posture before a gruff grunt escaped his beard.

"So you’re the kid who drew up these specs," Brokk rumbled, his voice like grinding millstones. He turned and picked up a heavy wooden crate resting on a nearby iron workbench, setting it down between them with a solid thud. "Most soft-handed civilian sprouts who come through here ask for silver-plated trowels that break on a pebble. But these... these have purpose."

Brokk flipped back the leather padding inside the crate, revealing three pristine, dark-iron tools gleaming under the fiery light of the forge.

Rowan stepped forward and reached out, his fingers closing around the ash-wood grip of the Geo-Core Hoe. The balance was absolute—the center of gravity sat perfectly where his leading hand rested. As soon as his fingers touched the grip, his mana circuit hummed in response. Etched along the spine of the dark-iron blade were fine, glowing runes that smoothly absorbed his ambient mana, making the heavy tool feel almost weightless in his hands.

"Deep-forged star-iron alloy," Brokk grunted, pointing a thick, scarred finger at the runic lines. "Resistant to corrosion, self-sharpening under soil friction, and I embedded an Earth-Resonance matrix into the socket. When you push your mana into it, it’ll soften stubborn dirt like butter and slice through tangled roots without losing its edge."

He tapped the pair of heavy shears nestled beside it. "The pruners have a Flow-Rune. Smooth cut every time—won’t bruise the stems or spill valuable sap from delicate alchemical crops."

Rowan lifted the hoe and gave it a small, controlled swing, feeling the air whistle cleanly through the blade’s edge. He looked up at the master smith, genuine appreciation clear in his eyes.

"The weight distribution is flawless, Master Ironforge," Rowan said respectfully. "This is far beyond standard Grade-C quality."

Brokk let out a booming laugh, slapping his knee. "Hah! Hear that, Barney? The boy actually knows how a tool should feel! Not like you, always trying to balance steel with your eyes instead of your hands!"

Barney rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "I told you he’d like them, Grandpa."

"Aye, he does," Brokk smiled, his eyes glinting with professional pride as he crossed his thick arms. "Now then, Rowan Vance... let’s talk about the bill."

Rowan set the hoe back down in the padded crate, looking directly into Brokk’s sharp, steel-gray eyes.

"Master Ironforge, I want to propose a payment plan," Rowan began, his tone calm and steady. "I don’t have the full sum in gold upfront, but I am currently cultivating enhanced, high-grade crops on a small plot of land. I can pay off the cost of these tools in weekly batches of fresh, nutrient-dense produce."

Brokk raised an eyebrow, folding his broad arms across his chest. "Crops? Boy, the Ironforge family runs a forge, not a grocery store. We need gold for coal, refined star-iron, and mana cores."

"High-grade produce is liquid currency for a forge like yours," Rowan replied smoothly, leaning in slightly. "Workplace fatigue, mana depletion, and physical strain are the biggest bottlenecks for master smiths hammering at a furnace all day. The crops I’m growing—like mana-rich soybeans, vitality-boosting produce, and stamina-recovering reagents—can restore physical stamina and replenish mana far better than standard food."

Rowan paused to let the words sink in before laying out his terms.

"I am willing to dedicate 80% of my entire production output to the Ironforge family every week until the full bill is settled. The first batch will be ready starting this very weekend."

Barney looked at Rowan, then back at his grandfather, nodding eagerly. "Grandpa, I’ve seen the quality of the samples he brings. If his yield matches what he showed me, our apprentices won’t be collapsing from exhaustion halfway through their forge shifts!"

Brokk stared at Rowan for a long moment, calculating the trade value in his head. A steady supply of high-grade, vitality-boosting produce for his furnace crew could cut down on costly health potions and increase overall forge output by a noticeable margin.

A slow, grin crept through Brokk’s thick beard.

"Eighty percent of your production, weekly... Starting this weekend," Brokk rumbled, bringing a heavy fist down onto his palm with a loud CRACK. "You’ve got yourself a deal, kid. But if the quality drops below Grade-D, the deal’s off and I take the tools back."

"Fair enough," Rowan smiled. "One last detail, Master Ironforge. Since the crops need to stay at peak freshness, could you bring a cold-storage transport vehicle to the district farmer’s market this weekend? You can inspect the first shipment on-site and pick it up directly from my booth."

Brokk let out a hearty laugh, slapping Rowan on the shoulder with enough force to rattle a lesser man’s teeth.

"Deal! I’ll have Barney drive the heavy iron-chilled cart down to the market myself on Sunday morning. Don’t disappoint me, Rowan Vance!"

Rowan carefully lifted the wooden crate containing his new Grade-C tools, securing the latch. With his custom equipment secured and a solid trade agreement forged with one of the most reputable smithies in the district, his agricultural operation was ready to expand to the next level.