After over a dozen different experiments, Kent still felt uncertain about the strange combustible ore he had found. He decided not to attempt crafting explosives recklessly—after all, blowing himself up by accident would turn him from a "transmigrator" into a "martyr," and that would hardly be worth it.
However, firebombs posed their own dangers. To ensure his team had better defensive capabilities, Kent decided to unlock a new subsystem in his production menu: Forging Skills.
After collecting satisfaction points for several days, he unlocked Forging Skills, leaving only a three-digit balance in his satisfaction points.
Kent looked carefully at the available projects under Forging Skills, only to discover that it was split into three subcategories: Level-One Armor, Level-One Weapons, and Level-One Runes, each requiring 10,000 satisfaction points to unlock.
"Damn it..."
"Splitting Blade—" he shouted.
"Yes, boss?" Splitting Blade hurried in.
"How much frozen bison meat do we have left in the warehouse?"
"Only half left. The hunting team should be back tomorrow. Why do you ask, boss?"
"Tell Skinny Stick to cook up a big pot of beef stew tonight."
"Will do, boss. You're too generous."
Kent waved dismissively, feeling a pang of heartache as he gave up all his frozen meat stores just to unlock a new project. It felt as if his heart were bleeding. "For the people…" he took a deep breath, patting his chest where it ached slightly.
After a hearty meal, his satisfaction points finally reached five figures.
With that, he successfully unlocked Level-One Rune Forging.
He had initially planned to unlock Level-One Armor Forging, but after seeing the description of the Runes, he changed his mind.
Level-One Rune Forging included recipes for three types of runes: Basic Defense Rune, Basic Strength Rune, and Basic Agility Rune.
One line in the recipe description caught Kent's eye: "Can be equipped to corresponding gear, passively activated, enhancing effects by 20%."
Passive activation? Did this mean he could achieve the effects of enchanted heavy armor through runes?
Kent's heart raced.
If that were true, it could be the first step toward transforming the entire continent…
The old blacksmith's forge had two stone sheds with walls open to the elements: one for smithing and the other for sleeping. The forge walls were blackened with soot, hinting at a past glory many years before. The room was thick with dust and cobwebs, but the tools hanging on the walls were well-equipped.
The old blacksmith lay on a pile of firewood, snoring, his sheepskin wine flask tilted over, completely empty.
Kent had a soft spot for the old blacksmith, not only because he was now in charge of all the forging work in the territory, but because Kent realized, after assigning him several tasks, that the blacksmith's skills far exceeded expectations. At the very least, he was a high-level blacksmith, possibly even a master.
Graybeard said the old blacksmith had wandered here many years ago and settled down. Even the little girl named Udo in his house was an orphan the blacksmith had picked up along his travels.
"Old Hammer, wake up!" Graybeard gave the old man a shove off the woodpile and yelled, "All you do is drink day and night; you'll drink yourself to death one day."
The old man groggily opened his narrow eyes, rubbed his bulbous nose, and slowly came to. He stretched lazily beside the woodpile, held up his flask to his mouth, and gave it a shake, but not a drop remained.
"I didn't steal, didn't rob, just had a bit of a drink…" he yawned as he got up. Upon seeing Kent, his expression immediately brightened. "Leader, your wine is really something."
"Haha, I'll have Graybeard bring you some more next time," Kent laughed. "There's not much left in the warehouse. I'll teach everyone how to brew a new batch soon."
"You can brew wine too, Leader?!" The blacksmith looked amazed.
"Is there anything the Leader can't do?" Graybeard, already Kent's loyal follower, grinned. "We're here on business this time."
"Stop with the chatter," Graybeard thrust a piece of parchment at the blacksmith. "Take a look—can you make this?"
"What's this?" the old blacksmith squinted at the parchment and shook his head. "Are you holding it upside down?"
Graybeard took a closer look and realized he was. Embarrassed, he flipped the parchment the right way around.
The old man on the floor finally got a good look at the design on the parchment. He could see it but didn't quite understand it. He took the parchment, frowning, and glanced at Kent in confusion, then returned his gaze to the parchment.
"What's it for? Seems odd. Why use red iron crystal powder? And flash powder—both cheap stuff." He mumbled, listing off the materials needed for forging. His frown deepened as he continued, but when he focused on the diagram—a slightly oval shape with clearly marked patterns and forging techniques—his eyes lit up.
With newfound interest, he brought his face closer to the parchment, his frown smoothing out.
Looking at Kent with a mixture of confusion, excitement, curiosity, and other unspoken emotions, the old blacksmith found Kent's expression completely unreadable.
The blacksmith gritted his teeth, suddenly rose, and went to the forge, lighting it, stacking coal, and pumping the bellows in a series of smooth, practiced moves that didn't at all resemble his usual sluggish self.
Soon, the flames roared.
Graybeard handed him tongs and a hammer, but the blacksmith shook his head.
"Too light—let me use my hammer." He had a hammer he'd carried with him for years.
"You're going to use that hammer?" Graybeard looked astonished, his face growing serious.
In the Red Earth Continent, forging wasn't merely a job—it was a skill every man in any of the hundreds of tribes learned. Most men knew how to forge simple tools, such as hunters crafting basic arrowheads or farmers sharpening their own sickles.
But more complex tools, or hunting and trapping gear for long-range hunts, required the work of a dedicated blacksmith. And as for weaponry and armor for the military, only the best blacksmiths could handle that.
The forging hammer was every blacksmith's essential tool. Different weights and techniques required different hammers, but the one the wandering blacksmith had was… unique.
It looked like any ordinary ten-pound hammer, but the metal was dark, with a dull sheen. And if one picked it up—they'd need all their strength.
No one would guess that the unassuming ten-pound hammer actually weighed closer to two hundred pounds.
In all these years, Graybeard had never seen the old blacksmith use that hammer.
He'd begun to think it was the wandering blacksmith's weapon, not a smithing tool at all.