Chapter 1: The Final Forge
The rhythmic clanging of metal on metal filled the small workshop, a sound that had long become the heartbeat of the blacksmith's life. The old man, with a grizzled beard and lines etched deeply into his face, stood hunched over the anvil, his hammer striking hot steel in precise, practiced movements. The forge's fire blazed behind him, casting flickering shadows along the cluttered walls.
The workshop was a testament to his life's work—a place crammed with tools, half-forged weapons, and countless replicas of famous blades from anime and video games. Though aged and bent, his hands still worked with surprising strength, guided by decades of experience and a passion that had never dimmed. For the blacksmith, there were three joys in life: the thrill of forging metal, the stories of anime heroes who overcame impossible odds, and the comfort of a warm meal at the end of a hard day's work.
He had grown up an orphan, with no family to speak of and little else to his name but his dreams. Blacksmithing had saved him, and he found meaning in creating replicas inspired by the anime and games he loved. His final project, a commission from a loyal customer, was nearly complete. His hands ached, and his breath came in rasps, but the familiar sound of hammer on metal kept him going.
With a final clang, the blade was complete—a curved, shimmering weapon that seemed to possess an inner light. He wiped his brow, sat down to a bowl of stew, and, exhausted, passed away in his chair, the fire's warmth surrounding him as his life faded.
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The first thing he noticed was warmth—comforting and familiar, like the heat of the forge. He opened his eyes to see a different world: a bustling city nestled within high stone walls, the Duke's banner fluttering above.
He wasn't in his old body. He was a child—no older than five—standing outside a blacksmith's workshop. As his senses adjusted, he saw his new parents: his father, Garvin, a broad-shouldered blacksmith hammering at the forge, and his mother, elara, a kind-looking woman stirring a pot in the kitchen attached to the shop.
The memories came slowly at first, then all at once. He was now the son of a blacksmith and a cook in the Duke's city. His father's shop was well-regarded among the city's craftsmen, and his mother was known for her cooking skills, often catering for local events.
As the years passed, the boy grew up surrounded by the clang of metal and the smell of elara's meals. His memories of his previous life never faded, and he often dreamt of forging weapons of magic like the ones he used to create as replicas. Yet, this world was different, and its rules were unfamiliar. Here, his second chance had given him not only a family but also the opportunity to wield a hammer once again.
On his tenth birthday, he approached Garvin at the forge, the heat and sound as familiar as breathing. "Father, I want to learn blacksmithing," he said, determination burning in his young eyes.
Garvin chuckled and handed him a small hammer. "If you're serious, then show me. Start with the basics, and we'll see if you've got the spark."
The boy's hands, though small, worked the metal with surprising precision, guided by instincts and skills carried over from his previous life. As he hammered, shaping the hot iron, he felt a sense of purpose reignite within him. This time, he would not just create beautiful replicas; he would craft real magic. The world was different, and he would discover its secrets one forge at a time.
Thus, the blacksmith's second life began, not in a lonely workshop, but in the bustling heart of the Duke's city Greyhold, with a family to call his own and a future that gleamed as brightly as the metal he shaped.
Reyn had come a long way from the lonely orphan in his past life. Now, he was a boy of ten, the son of a blacksmith and a cook in the bustling Duke's city. The days flowed by in a mix of familiar routines and new experiences that filled him with a joy he had never known before. His father's shop clanged with the sounds of metalwork, and the kitchen always smelled of his mother's delicious meals. Having parents was something Reyn had never thought to dream of, and he relished the warmth and laughter that now filled his life.
He spent his days helping in the forge, learning the basics—cleaning tools, stoking the fire, and holding metal in place for his father. His father, Garvin, was a patient teacher, his voice booming through the workshop with instructions and the occasional joke that made Reyn laugh even when his hands were tired. The forge was Reyn's second home, and he took to the tasks with a natural skill that came from more than just these ten short years.
When he wasn't helping his father, he was often in the kitchen with his mother, Elara, who would sneak him tastes of whatever was simmering on the stove. She was known throughout the neighborhood for her cooking, and Reyn quickly learned why. Her food was not just sustenance; it was a balm for the soul. She had a way of mixing flavors and herbs that left an impression on anyone who ate her meals. Reyn loved the feeling of sitting down to dinner together, something he had never experienced in his old life.
The Duke's city itself was unlike anything Reyn had ever known. Knights in enchanted armor patrolled the streets, mages with shimmering robes performed minor spells for coins, and merchants sold trinkets that hummed with faint magical energy. His father's forge was visited by many kinds of people—warriors, mages, and commoners alike—and Reyn eagerly listened to the stories they told. Tales of legendary heroes wielding enchanted blades and great battles fought with magic filled him with wonder. It was a far cry from his previous life where such stories were limited to the pages of manga or the screen of a TV.
One day, a knight came into the forge carrying a damaged sword that seemed to glow faintly even in the daylight. "The enchantment's gone dull," the knight said, placing the blade on the workbench. "Think you can fix it, Garvin?"
Reyn's father examined the weapon, his practiced hands moving over the runes etched along the blade. "Aye, I can fix it, but the enchantment's beyond my skill. You'll need a mage for that part," Garvin replied.
As his father spoke, Reyn stared at the weapon, captivated by the faint glimmer of magic that lingered within the metal. It stirred something deep within him, a longing to create something truly wondrous. "Father," Reyn asked later that night, "how do you learn to use magic?"
Garvin looked at him thoughtfully, then let out a sigh. "Magic isn't like blacksmithing, lad. You have to be born with the talent, and even then, you need proper training. The academies teach it, but…" He hesitated, his brow furrowing. "They're expensive. A place at the academy would cost more than we can afford."
The words settled in Reyn's heart like a weight. He had grown up poor in his previous life, struggling to get by, and now, in this new world, it seemed that some things had not changed. Yet, this time, he wasn't alone. He had a family, a trade, and the opportunity to pursue his dreams—even if the path was steep.
His determination only grew. He began saving the small amounts of money his father gave him for odd jobs around the forge, tucking away the coins in a little box under his bed. It wasn't much, but it was a start. When he wasn't working, he listened more closely to the stories of magic and read every scrap of information he could find about the arcane arts. If he couldn't afford the academy, then he would find another way to learn.
Elara noticed the spark in Reyn's eyes whenever the subject of magic came up, and she began sharing her own small tricks with him. "Not all magic is grand spells and powerful enchantments," she said, showing him how to use simple herbs and whispered incantations to create remedies and enhance the flavor of food. "Even a cook has her magic."
Reyn took to these lessons eagerly, though they were far from the spells used by knights and mages. Still, they were a start, a taste of the magical world that lay just beyond his reach. One night, after a long day in the forge, Reyn found himself alone with the tools and the lingering heat of the dying embers. His mind wandered to the knight's enchanted blade, and he felt an urge to try something.
With a deep breath, he picked up a small piece of scrap metal, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He thought back to the stories he had heard, to the faint glow of the sword's runes, and imagined drawing that same light out of the metal in his hand. He whispered the only words he could think of, mimicking the cadence of a spell he once overheard.
To his amazement, a small flicker of blue flame appeared above the metal, dancing like a will-o'-the-wisp. It was faint, fragile, and lasted only a moment before sputtering out, but Reyn felt his heart leap in his chest. It was magic—real magic—coming from his own hands. His father, who had been watching from the doorway, approached with a mixture of surprise and pride on his face.
"Well, I'll be…" Garvin muttered, placing a heavy hand on Reyn's shoulder. "Looks like you've got a bit of magic in you after all. But be careful, lad. Untrained magic can be dangerous."
Reyn nodded, still staring at his hands in disbelief. The possibilities now seemed endless. For the first time since his reincarnation, he felt the same thrill he had as a blacksmith in his old life, now mixed with the wonder of a world brimming with magic. He stood before the forge, the light of the embers reflecting in his eyes, and whispered a promise to himself.
"I will learn magic. I will forge weapons that carry true power, and I will go beyond what I could only dream of before."
The fire crackled softly in the forge, as if answering his vow. Reyn turned away, heading to bed with a renewed determination. The path ahead would not be easy, but for the first time in both his lives, he felt ready to face it.