"I've been working on a new commission for the church," Garrett said as he rolled out a parchment on his workbench, revealing a detailed list. "Twenty longswords, fifteen daggers, ten spears, eight maces, and five specialized halberds. I'll need your help to create some of these if we're to meet the deadline."

  Clive's eyes widened as he scanned the extensive inventory. "Wow, is the church going to war soon? Why so many weapons?"

  Garrett's expression darkened as he rolled the parchment back up. "Mythril mines were discovered in the northern mountains last month. But they're infested with monsters. Nasty ones." He tapped Clive's newly created dagger. "The church intends to clear them out so that we can mine from them. These will allow us to create mythril weapons afterward. Perfect for hunting the devil himself, they say."

  "Mythril?" Clive perked up at the unfamiliar term.

  "Ah, you haven’t heard of it, have you? There’s not much left of it around." Garrett stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It's a rare metal. Bluish-silver when refined, light as a feather but stronger than the finest steel. Takes an enchantment better than iron or steel. " He reached beneath his workbench and withdrew a small wooden box.

  Inside, nestled in faded velvet, lay a single coin-sized disc of metal unlike anything Clive had seen before. It reflected the forge light, casting rays of blue-white radiance across Garrett's face.

  "This is all I have left from my grandfather's time," Garrett said softly. "The mines ran dry fifty years ago, or so we thought."

  Clive reached toward it. "May I?"

  At Garrett's nod, he picked up the disc. It was light, seeming to float between his fingers rather than rest upon them. Clive shivered with excitement.

  What sort of weapons could I create with these?

  He took back the disc, returning it reverently to its box. "The church believes these new deposits are a divine gift. A sign that the time has come to drive back the darkness."

  "And they want all these weapons by when?" Clive asked, eyeing the list again.

  "A month," Garrett said grimly.

  Clive did a quick mental calculation. "That's—what—two weapons daily, at minimum? Ambitious timeline."

  "I once had four apprentices working these bellows, wielding hammers side by side. With them, this would have been a simple commission.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Lost them all, one by one. The stone curse took them. Statues now, the lot of them."

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No matter. It’s all in the past now. Now, a blacksmith and a Picto-whatever working together … We might be able to do it with your creation magic."

  “A Pictomancer.” Clive corrected.

  "Fancy words for a fancy man," Garrett chuckled. "I don't much care what it's called, so long as it works. And I've seen that it does."

  Clive nodded slowly. "What would be my share of the work? Daggers I could handle, but the rest …"

  "Don’t worry," Garrett said. "Focus on the daggers first, then work your way up to longswords as you improve. I'll handle the complex halberds and anything you haven't mastered yet."

  “When do we start?”

  “Aye, so keen, this one.” As night fully claimed the village, Garrett set aside his work and wiped his hands on a clean cloth. "It's grown late, and I've kept you standing after what I imagine was an exhausting day. Do you have a place to stay?"

  Clive paused, he hadn’t really thought of accommodation yet. Perhaps the town’s inn but his pockets held no coin. He let out a soft sigh before subtly shaking his head. Back in his world, he recalled spending a night on the streets during an out-of-town gallery opening, too broke for a hotel room. Somethings never change...

  "I had planned to make camp outside the village," he finally said.

  "Nonsense," Garrett interrupted. "I have a perfectly good guest room that rarely sees use." He led him through a wooden door at the back of the forge into what appeared to be living quarters occupying the upper floor of the building. The space was small but comfortable, with a main room containing a hearth, table, and two cushioned chairs, and two smaller rooms branching off it.

  "The bed has fresh linens, and there's a washbasin with clean water," he explained, showing him to one of the smaller rooms. "We can speak more in the morning. You're welcome to rest as long as needed after your day at the forge. I’ll let Lucia know you’re staying with me for the moment."

  Clive thanked him for the hospitality. The simple gesture struck him more deeply than he'd expected. He'd prepared himself for another night under the stars, maybe finding shelter in some abandoned building if he was lucky. Instead, he had clean sheets and a roof that didn't leak. As he settled into the unexpected comfort of a proper bed, his mind replayed the day's lessons.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The next several days fell into a rhythm. Each morning, Clive would head down to the forge before dawn, warming up his fingers with sketching exercises while Garrett stoked the fires. Garrett offered a more comfortable location, but Clive insisted on drawing in the forge for a more authentic experience.

  The first few days were easy enough. His [Obsessive Focus] trait allowed him intense concentration. It took two to three hours to draw a dagger with sufficient detail. This was a huge productivity increase compared to Garrett, who took six to eight hours to forge one. But one thing that set him back was his success rate. With the amount of details needed to create a quality dagger, it was difficult to create it consistently.

  By the third day, fatigue was starting to set in. That day, he had completed two daggers of high quality. They lay on the workbench, identical in their perfection.

  [Level up]

  [Metalwork Illustration - Level 4]

  [Certainty: This is getting boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. How much longer do I have to watch you draw daggers?]

  Clive ignored her message. But as he began the third dagger, his concentration waned. The line for the tang went wide. He crumpled the page with a frustrated sigh and started again.

  "Trouble, lad?" Garrett asked without looking up from the spearhead he was hammering into shape. The rhythmic clanging of his hammer had become a constant backdrop to Clive's work.

  "Just a mistake," Clive muttered, pressing his pencil harder against the fresh page. This time, the tang came out perfectly, but the crossguard's angle was a fraction off. Again, he crumpled the paper and reached for a new sheet.

  His third attempt at the dagger ended with a curse as he realized he'd forgotten to incorporate the proper compound geometry for the edge. Something so basic, and yet his mind had simply... skipped it.

  "You've been at it for hours without rest," Garrett observed, finally setting down his hammer and wiping sweat from his brow. The forge's heat had turned the workshop into an oven, and Clive suddenly realized his shirt was soaked through. "Even the finest steel needs time to cool between forgings."

  "I'm fine," Clive insisted, though he had to blink twice to bring the sketch back into focus. "We have a deadline."

  He closed his eyes, trying to regain focus. When he opened them, he found Garrett standing over him, a steaming clay mug in his outstretched hand.

  "Blacksmith's tea," the older man said. "Bitter enough to wake the dead, but it'll keep your hands steady."

  Clive wrapped his fingers around the warm clay and nodded his thanks

  "There's a rhythm to creation," Garrett said, returning to his anvil. "Push too hard, and the work suffers. Even the gods rested on the seventh day."

  "And will the church rest if we don't deliver on time?" Clive countered, but he found himself leaning back in his chair nonetheless.

  Garrett gave a hearty laugh. "I love the dedication kid, but the church has waited fifty years for new mythril. They can wait an extra day if it means getting weapons that won't fail when faced with those mountain beasts."

  Garrett picked up one of Clive's completed daggers, examining it with a critical eye. "Good work, but your later ones lack... something. The soul isn't quite there."

  By day's end, Clive surveyed his work with mixed feelings. Despite his breakthrough with focused creation, the tally wasn't what he'd hoped for. Five daggers lay on the workbench—three with flawless craftsmanship, the other two marred by critical flaws.

  "Three out of five," Garrett announced after meticulously testing each blade. He held up one of the rejected daggers, pointing to a flaw in the crossguard that Clive hadn't noticed. "This would fail the moment it deflected a heavy blow."

  Clive frowned. He'd poured himself into these creations, yet half had fallen short. "That's... not as many as I hoped."

  "Three good quality daggers in a single day," Garrett countered, setting the rejected pieces aside. "Most apprentices take years to craft even one blade worthy of sale. Don't be too hard on yourself, lad."

  As they cleaned up the workshop for the evening, Garrett examined the commission list again. "You've made good progress on the daggers. At this rate, we'll meet our quota well before the deadline. I think you're ready for something more challenging."

  Clive raised an eyebrow. "The longswords?"

  Garrett nodded. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll see what you can do with a proper blade."

  Over the next few days, they moved on to longswords.

  Clive moved his pencil across his sketchbook with confidence. After all, wasn't a sword just a larger version of a dagger? He carefully extended the proportions, maintaining what he thought were the essential characteristics while scaling everything up. Still, he had a bad feeling he would just get the ‘Abominable Caricature of a Weapon’ like the previous time he tried to draw a sword.

  "No, not like that," Garrett exclaimed as he inspected Clive’s drawing. "See, this is why a sword isn't just a long dagger. Look here."

  He laid both weapons side by side on his workbench, letting the afternoon sun illuminate them. "A sword," he said, running his palm along the longer blade, "is all about the cut. The sweep and slice. You're using the weight and length to your advantage. That's why the blade curves so subtle-like from tip to hilt - helps with the slashing motion."

  Garrett picked up the dagger. "But this? This is about the thrust. Quick, direct, close-quarters work. The blade's got to be stiffer, the point more centered. Look at how the spine and edge converge to this needle point." Garrett mimed a thrusting motion. "He doesn't want to slash like his bigger kin. He wants to slip between ribs, find the gaps in armor, or settle disputes in dark alleys where there's no room to swing."

  "Different tools, different purposes. Master smiths understand that. It's not just about making steel smaller or bigger - it's about knowing what the blade wants to be."

  The blacksmith turned back to his forge, stoking the coals. "Remember that. Capture what makes each unique, not just their size. That's the mark of true craftsmanship."

  [Level up]

  [Metalwork Illustration - Level 5]

  [New Weapon Unlocked: Sword]

  [MP+3]

  [Steel Sword (High Quality)]

  Material: Basic Steel

  Attack: +20

  Durability: 30/30

  Damage Type: Slashing

  [Mana cost: 10]

  WANTED: Apprentice for established forge. Must possess strong back, steady hands, and willingness to learn proper metalwork. Long hours, hard work, fair teaching.Previous experience preferred but not required. Room and board provided.

  Inquire at Garrett's Forge, Marblehaven. No time-wasters.