Forging Tomorrow

“Waaah...! Waaah...!”

The women wept.

Their cries echoed through the settlement as they clung to the bodies of their fallen husbands, sons, and brothers. Some screamed their names through trembling voices; others could only sob, their tears falling silently onto bloodstained clothes.

“Why... why did you have to die...?”

The children were also present, seeing the corpses of the brothers who had patiently guided them, played with them, and always protected them. They were subjected to grief that no child had any business feeling.

Anastasia stood at the very front of the gathering. She wasn’t sobbing like the others, but the silent tears and pale face made it easy to see that she was the most affected by the deaths of her family.

No matter who they married, she considered every person in this tribe her child, so each death hurt just as much.

This was not the first time warriors had left with vigor and returned as corpses. But the pain never lessened, nor did anyone ever get used to it.

Even the other warriors were barely holding back their tears as they hung their heads.

The only one whose face remained impassive was the patriarch of the tribe, Adam.

Whenever it was a happy occasion or a painful one, he never showed much emotion in a public setting. The only times he let himself go were when he was alone with his wife or holding his children.

“Enough.”

Eventually, his weary voice echoed through the clearing.

“Prepare to bury the deceased. Start processing the beast corpses and send the meat and skin to the storage rooms.”

Everyone moved according to his orders despite the situation.

It was always like this. No matter what happened, they had to keep moving, and he had to be at the forefront.

Because he was the patriarch.

Little by little, the gathering thinned until only two people remained: Adam, who had never moved from his standing place, and Ashen, who had observed everything from start to finish with a face that wasn’t much different from his father’s.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t feeling hurt.

The men who had died were people who had lived with him for years. They had laughed with him, trained with him, eaten with him... they had the same blood running through their veins as him.

They were his new family.

Seeing them die felt like a part of him died each time.

It was just that staying outwardly stoic was the method he had learned to deal with grief.

So he was curious...

Did his father not feel the same?

Slowly approaching the man, he asked, “Did you become numb to it?”

Hearing the question, Adam acknowledged his presence. He looked at him and asked dryly, “Numb? To what?”

“Death.”

Ashen did not shy away and looked him directly in the eye.

“There mus’ve been hundreds of cases like these. In the last two years, we’ve lost more than fifty. All of them are family.”

He paused.

“...but I’ve never seen you shed a single tear, nor did you look particularly distressed by their deaths. So I’m asking you... are you numb to it?”

“...”

Silence stretched.

The atmosphere felt like it was suffocating, but Ashen never broke eye contact.

Sigh.

“...I’m not numb, son. I am strong.”

With those words, Ashen felt the oppressive air melt away, but he did not relent.

“Strong?”

“Yes. It is strength.”

Adam looked down and smiled lightly, a smile that Ashen somehow found sorrowful.

“And being strong doesn’t mean I feel less.”

“Grief, fear, anger... I feel it all. But real strength is not allowing these emotions to decide who I become or how I act.”

He reached for his son’s head and gently caressed it.

“Emotional control doesn’t equate to emotional suppression, son.”

“It’s feeling everything, honoring those emotions, and continuing to live according to your own values.”

“When you swing your spear, keep this in mind. At least then, you will not die an ungraceful death. Do you understand?”

“Yes...”

“Alright. You are still young; it’s enough that you keep my words in mind as you grow up. For now, follow me. You wanted to learn blacksmithing, right?”

“Now?”

“Now. We must not let the sacrifices of our family be in vain. Every death is for us to continue living to the best of our abilities and resist the erosion of Darkness with everything we have.”

“You can grieve and hit the metal at the same time. Let’s go.”

“Alright...”

And so, Ashen was forced to follow his father to the blacksmithing room.

◉◉◉

There was a reason why Ashen wanted to learn blacksmithing, and it had to do with his recent ascension to the next Step.

The new epithet granted to him by the System was Iron Tender. Meaning he had to tend to iron, but Ashen quickly discovered that it was not limited to iron. It applied to any metal with similar properties.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

When he read this epithet, he immediately thought of his father, since the man was a blacksmith, and decided to learn from him.

‘If I’m going to tend to metal, I should tend to something I forge myself.’

With that thought in mind, he followed Adam to the forging room and was hit by a scorching blast of air. He did not let it distract him, however, as his eyes wandered around the room.

This was his first time here, after all.

‘Wait... is that mithril?’

It did not take long for him to become amazed. The room was filled with all sorts of precious metals.

‘...to think this continent used to be this rich in resources thousands of years ago...’

“Ashen. Stop gawking and come here.”

Adam’s voice interrupted him as he patted the low seat beside him.

“Alright, father.”

The moment he sat down, Adam gestured toward the furnace.

“You see that? That’s the heart of blacksmithing: fire. So before you learn to hammer, you will learn to feel the flame.”

“Feel?”

“Indeed. A blacksmith heats solid metal until it becomes soft enough to deform under the hammer. Then, it is repeatedly heated, hammered, cooled, and refined.”

“And to do this, the first step is knowing how much heat is needed to work the metal. Too cold, and the metal resists the hammer and may crack. Too hot, and it can burn, warp, or otherwise become ruined.”

“Do you understand?”

Adam looked at him seriously.

“I do.”

“Then do you see that bellows right there, next to the furnace? It will be your companion for the next days. You will take care of the fire, and you will observe me as I work.”

“Right.”

Ashen climbed onto the low chair and took his place behind the bellows.

◉

From then on, Ashen spent at least three hours a day observing his father at work. And just as his father instructed, he took care of the fire.

“Focus on the metal’s color. Do you see this red hue? It is ready to be worked.”

“Yes!”

He was sweating through every pore of his body, and the heat was unbearable, but by the third day, he had gotten used to it enough to focus on what mattered.

◉

Huuush... huuush...

Ashen bellowed with all his might as his father let the metal drink in the fire before using the tongs to pull it back out.

Clang!

“Son, starting from today, you will also observe the force of my hammer!”

“I’m watching!”

CLANG!

“Watch closely. And don’t focus solely on the hammer.”

Klang!

“See how my arm moves, where I hammer, how many strikes I make, and how the force is distributed across the metal!”

Tang!

“Too much force in the wrong place, and the piece bends where you do not want it to. This is just as important as knowing the optimal temperature.”

Ashen augmented his eyes with mana and observed every movement to the best of his abilities, not even bothering to blink and miss a single moment.

Inwardly, he was somewhat surprised at himself. He never thought that he would become so interested in blacksmithing.

Perhaps it was his father’s passion that was rubbing off on him. Or maybe it was simply the novelty driving his motivation.

One thing was for sure.

He was ready to learn this art all the way through.

◉

A week had already gone by, and Adam added another component for Ashen to observe from his position behind the bellows.

“Timing is something you must also pay attention to, besides temperature and force.”

Clang!

“Don’t hammer immediately just because it’s hot. Wait until it reaches the right temperature.”

Clang!

“While it’s hot, you have to work quickly, but not immediately. The metal cools every second outside the fire. Once it becomes too cold, stop hammering and reheat it.”

Clang!

“Your strikes should possess a repeated and controlled rhythm rather than wild swings. Just like this. Watch.”

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

“Temperature, force, and timing. When you are able to control all three, you will be able to forge a real weapon. Then, you can call yourself a blacksmith.”

CLANG!

“Now it’s your turn.”

◉

He thought he was finally going to get to the fun part, forging his first weapon, when his father finally relieved him of his duty behind the bellows.

Ashen thought wrong, sadly.

Instead, he was given a bar of iron and told to work it. He had to repeatedly heat and hammer the bloom to expel the slag and consolidate the iron.

And when his hammering technique became passable in his father’s eyes, he was then asked to turn that iron into steel.

Steel was essentially iron with a controlled amount of carbon, so Ashen thought the task would be pretty straightforward.

It turned out to be another grueling grind just to get the ratio right. Too little carbon and the iron remained soft; too much made it sufficiently hard, but also too brittle.

When he was finally able to produce passable bars of steel, it still wasn’t time to make weapons. Ashen was itching to craft something useful instead of hammering away at a useless chunk of metal.

Instead, Adam gave him rectangular bars and made him draw them into thinner shapes. Then, he asked for the opposite, and when Ashen presented him with a perfectly rectangular bar and an almost pleading gaze, Adam taught him bending instead.

Tapering, punching holes, cutting, forge welding… he was made to learn it all, but not what he desired the most.

When Ashen’s initial excitement had completely numbed and he looked to his father for the next assignment, the man finally spoke the words he had so longed to hear.

“You are ready to make a real weapon now.”

‘About fucking time!’

Clang!

Throwing the hammer across the iron bed, Ashen threw his arms toward the ceiling.

“Pops, you’re the best!”

The patriarch simply looked at his son with an amused smile.

◉◉◉

The first weapon he forged was a short sword. The shape was easy enough, and it did not demand much effort compared to heavier and larger weapons.

From there, he moved on to forging larger blades, and then to more complicated shapes like curved blades and halberds.

But in the end, Ashen did not care much about what he was forging. What he actually cared about was the act of forging itself.

Clang—! Clang—! Clang—!

‘I’m getting a bit addicted, aren’t I?’

The stray thought escaped his mind, but he shut it off right after. He couldn’t lose focus while swinging the hammer; he had learnt that the hard way.

Clang—!

Clang—!

Clang—!

As he hammered away, his lips were slowly but surely curving upwards. Coupled with the intensity in his eyes, he looked a bit eerie from an outside perspective.

Though it was clear that he was completely immersed in the act.

CLANG—!

‘Finally done…’

‘Now what’s next…?’

The thought didn’t finish as exhaustion assaulted him all at once, as if his body had been waiting for him to finish before finally complaining.

‘Uh… maybe I’ll make something smaller than a sword now? I’m a bit tired.’

He looked at the cooling one-handed sword before him and decided against making a second one.

“Ashen.”

Bam!

The moment he heard his name being called out of nowhere, he jumped in surprise and hit his knee against the anvil.

“Fu—... Dad… since when were you here?”

“From the start… That’s some scary concentration you’re putting into hammering. I can’t say I’m not proud, though.” He grinned.

“Haah…”

Ashen scratched his head in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe someone had been standing behind him the whole time, and he hadn’t even noticed.

‘Was I really that deep into it?’

“But no matter how proud I am, I can’t let you overdo it. Now go back; your sisters will make my ears fall off from their whining otherwise.”

“Right.” Ashen nodded in resignation. “Sorry about that. It’s just... forging turned out to be surprisingly fun. I’m getting lost in it more and more each day now. Haha.”

“Fun, huh? Which part?”

From Adam’s perspective, blacksmithing was a grueling job that was mandatory for their continued existence.

Fun had nowhere to be in it.

“Hmm…”

Ashen tilted his head, realizing that he had never thought about it seriously until now.

“If I had to describe it in one word, it would probably be... free?”

“Free? That’s an odd way to put it. Aren’t you just stuck in a room hammering a piece of metal? Confining would be a more apt term, son.”

“Ha-, well, I’m not talking about my body, but my mind.”

Ashen pointed at his forehead with a light smile.

“When I swing down my hammer, my mind empties, and all my focus becomes centered on the current task.”

“My brain won’t get any opportunity to think about possible tragedies, what-ifs, and sad things. It becomes free of all distractions. Even the anxiety I feel from not being old enough to help the older brothers is momentarily forgotten…”

“All I have to think about is one thing…”

He smiled.

“Forging.”

“...”

“That’s where I am the freest. But now that I’ve actually said it, I guess it’s not blacksmithing that I’m in love with, but the freedom it brings me.” He laughed.

Adam looked at him silently, but inside his head, he was already reaffirming that it was not only him and his warriors who were suffering just because they picked up weapons and risked their lives.

Everyone else was fighting with their own demons one way or another, and they were all holding on.

Just like his son.

In the end, he simply shrugged toward Ashen.

“Your drive doesn’t matter; as long as you are swinging that hammer correctly, you are a smith. Don’t sell yourself short, understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now go, before Lapis comes barging in. I don’t want to guess what chaos she’ll cause by then.”

“Okay, hehe… I’ll see you tomorrow, Father.”

“Goodnight, son.”

The son walked away, while the father stayed behind; his eyes lingered on the newly forged sword.

‘Tomorrow, huh…’

In the end, he too turned back, walking away in steady steps.

‘I’m happy that you could still speak of tomorrow with such certainty, son. I will keep striving so that fact never changes…’