5 The Hammer of Dawn pt.1
DR: I think I either pulled a few strings or was just made out to be able to influence the story… "Man, I wish I could…
ST: Can you just tell me where you want me to start from already?
DR: Ooh how about when Mirabelle tore her door off! No, how about when she was hammering…
ST: CAN YOU JUST MAK-
DR: When she was hammering, so basically start over, but this time don't cut out everything.
DR: Thinking back you're one fat uncultured swine. Did you think the intricacies of my culture were unnecessary fat… That cutting out the minor details made you a better storyteller?
ST: …
DR: You know disrespecting the intelligence of your readers is a sign of a bad writer, don't you?
ST: But you just… whatever.
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I took in a slow, deep breath as I concentrated on the unchanging piece of steel before me, "Today I will surpass Dad." I muttered underneath my breath. My horns could sense the ambient mana slowly flow towards the steel ingot placed upon the anvil. Then suddenly, with a flash, the steel ingot was glowing white hot as it began to grow soft. Now, I could finally begin.
I squeezed my tongs as I carefully beat the steel into shape, slowly flattening out the ingot further and further. Making sure not to beat one side any harder than the other before I begin to pull it out in another direction. All-the-while, calling forth a cool stream of mana, steadying my grip and injecting a little mana with each strike of the hammer.
"This is just the first step, I still have a bit to go before I fold it." I muttered as I carefully hammered, somewhat longing to escape the heat of the furnace beside me. Yet I couldn't hold back a hint of excitement from seeping into my face, slowly contorting it into a grin.
Although I am early enough in the construction that I could justify hammering it flat with pure strength or pulling it out with telekinesis to save time. However, I promised myself that with this breastplate, I would have surpassed that manchild of a father of mine. Although it was unlikely I would get his approval to make the Soldiers Path, since only Hammers are allowed to make the damn blades. Alas, I know I can at least make this, a Soldier's Life, better than Dad ever could.
With a breath, I focused on getting into my tempo, two taps on the steel one on the anvil. Dad called it rookie-style-smithing, but I think going out of your way to make some fancy tempo that can be thrown off by the slightest breeze is kinda stupid. "Tung-tung, Tap," that's the sound of steady perfect progress, and if you need to adapt it to, say add a texture; all I had to do is add a little distance inbetween strikes. "By tonight, this breastplate will be ready to wear," I said with a grin, as I slowly gave in to the tempo.
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And for a while, Mirabelle lost herself in an endlessly repetitive song, continuously going, "Tung-Tung,Tap, Tung-Tung Ting."
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DR: OBJECTION!!!
DR: Hold it right there! Didn't I say *Clears Throat before speaking in a loud voice* NO CUTS!!!
ST: B-but she sang that song for nearly three hours by the time Martin and his friends arrived, not stopping for a minute!
DR: And? Why should I care?
ST: Do you not value Thrall's time? What would you do if they decided to leave, hmm?
DR: … continue… i guess…
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"Tung-Tung, Ting, to da Tung-Tung Tap." I sang as my hammer rang until later into the afternoon. Now, with four folds in the steel, I had injected enough mana to officially class it as grade four spirit-steel. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, I placed down my hammer on my workbench and opened my furnace. With this, the rest of the actual smithing has to be done without mana usage. The worst part is that I can't even use pyrokinesis.
"Don't want it to come to life on me quite yet." I said with a chortle.
Using tongs, I picked up the now gray, yet still extremely hot, slab of folded steel, and stuck it in the furnace to soften again. But as the newfound silence settled in, I heard the distinct sound of someone rapping against my workshop door. I thought I'd been hearing some idiot slamming against the door for the past few minutes, some illiterate fool who can't read the damn sign. But I hoped and prayed to Lumos that I was just imagining it. But I knew Dad's reputation for having an open workshop would cause ME trouble every time he gets called out to the field.
Alas idiots like these ignore the sign which clearly reads, "Huston Roseblood, The Hammer of Dusk, is currently deployed on a military assignment. The workshop is closed until further notice. All purchases from our stock can be handled by the shopkeep out front." I know Mrs. Doe isn't always the most enthusiastic about her job, but I would think she'd enforce the rules. I mean, what else is she paid for? To act as decoration, or maybe we hired a mole for children? Nah, she was probably just trying to dodge her mandatory service.
Regardless of why Jane's so lazy, I'm almost convinced the neighborhood brats ignore the sign just to piss me off, it's like they go, "Hey Mirabelle's catching up on all the custom orders our parents just put in! Let's break her concentration while she's working with delicate steel and infusing it with living mana that could kill everyone!" Nope, I am NOT dealing with them today.
With an angered sigh, I lowered the temperature on my furnace and decided to wait for just a few moments, I mean, how patient could they be? After a few minutes, the knocking had ceased, as I heard unfamiliar and unintelligible mutters from the other side of the wall take its place. And before long, what sounded like a young man shouted "IS THIS THE ROSEBLOOD SPIRIT SMITHY?" As the thrashing at the steel door resumed again, this time slowly growing in intensity. I looked up at the clear sky overhead, lifting my hand up to block the sun.
"No point in standing around while I wait." I mumbled aloud as I walked over towards my back porch and plopped down on a patio chair hidden from the intense sun. Summoning a cup of water from my kitchen to refresh myself. I was growing a little annoyed with how persistent they were being, but it's strange that they're still bothering me. The neighborhood kids LOVE Dad and would do whatever it took to watch as he made everything under the sun. Therefore, I half expected they'd be more respectful of our privacy when we were closed, so it's not like it's all that much to ask for.
I took a sip of my water and waited for around ten more minutes. But to my surprise, the knocking hadn't stopped. Hell, it has only grown more forceful. Even I was starting to grow worried, since by now a normal person's hand would've turned into mush, door's made of grade 5 spirit-steel after all. But suddenly, I sensed a surge of mana as the door began rattling in its frame with each strike. "Who is really at my door?" I pondered as I slowly began my approach towards the door. "Is it some brat from a nearby village? I don't think there's any kids in town who know how to even use mana." I quietly pondered.
Now as I stood a few feet away from the door, I could see the entire section of the wall shaking as the metal shrieked with each impact. But suddenly the knocking stopped, and the same voice from earlier shouted, "I HAVE NEWS REGARDING THE GREAT WAR!!!" with only silence filling the air afterward.
"Oh, of course they "Have news", who doesn't have news these days?" I asked sarcastically. I had my doubts that these were local kids hammering at my door, but this confirms it. Since none of the kids around town are dumb enough to pull this type of shit on THE Hammer of Dusk's shop. I don't have anything to say to some dipshit kids playing pretend military dress up and going to a military weapons manufacturer to tell them "News" about a war they don't contribute to.
However, I do wonder what is going through those empty heads of theirs. So I quietly crept closer to the door until my ear was just a few inches from the firm steel door. As I strained my ears to pick up the voices on the other side.
