Chapter 5: The First Craft (1)
Unaware of Blake's reflections, Vargar interrupted his train of thought.
He asked, "What do ye want to craft first? A weapon, I wager."
"Yeah," Blake nodded.
"Which one? A sword, ye?" Vargar asked with an odd smirk.
It was a knowing smile that suggested even youngsters in a fantasy world preferred swords over any other weapon. Despite typically being wielded by nobles, swords attracted those of humble origins as well, including players.
Blake shook his head. "A katana."
His reply elicited an unusual reaction from Vargar. The old dwarf's face twisted as though he'd just swallowed a sour lemon.
But Blake wasn't interested in picking up another type of weapon. Choosing the craftsman occupation was already pushing him out of his comfort zone. The katana style he'd learned—or rather absorbed like a sponge—during his beta tester days was too dear to him.
He had never felt like he'd worked hard to learn katana stances and techniques. They were simply so enjoyable and intricate that Blake yearned to wield the same weapon as before, but perhaps with a different element than fire.
"What's with that expression?" Blake asked.
Vargar harrumphed. "A katana, ye? Demanding! It's such a demanding weapon! The arduous process aside, steel is the weakest metal required for this weapon to function properly. Any weaker metal, like iron or copper, will cost ye yer life. Ye're going to skip a few steps!"
Blake recalled his guild's craftsmen sighing whenever he approached them with his katana on the verge of breaking. That weapon had been precious, imbued with rare ores and enchantments to withstand his fire skills.
Didn't that mean his blacksmiths had even more work to do?
As Vargar elaborated on the difficulties and precise forging required, Blake unconsciously lowered his head, staring at the floor in shame. He realized he hadn't appreciated his guild members' skill and effort at all. It stung, even though those days were long gone.
When Vargar noticed that something was bothering Blake, he stopped talking and simply watched him. Sensing the dwarf's gaze, Blake met his eyes and said, "I'll forge my katana, even if it means skipping the easier materials."
"…I like yer spirit," Vargar smirked.
Without further delay, they got to work. Vargar donned his personal apron, gloves, and goggles, while Blake found similar gear hanging near the tools and put it on to protect himself from injury.
"This furnace has everything we could ask for in the steel-making process. It's advanced enough to handle iron smelting and steel refining," the old man said, admiring the cold furnace, which he would've loved to take home.
After a brief inspection, Vargar guided Blake. "We shall heat the iron ore, coal, and limestone flux. This will produce molten pig iron and slag. The latter will fetch ye good pocket money, given how high the resource quality seems to be."
Blake loaded the furnace with the materials, and its mouth lit up in flames. Checking his game system, he noticed that everything here was rare—third grade, after uncommon—which meant the ore itself was one rank higher than the jacket he wore to survive the harsh winter.
As Blake stared into the blazing flames, Vargar smacked him on the back. "Work those bellows! Keep the heat optimal!"
"Yeah," Blake replied, gripping the bellows' handles with both hands and squeezing hard.
The process required significant strength, which Blake lacked as a level one player. Even so, he could see something forming in the furnace, bubbling to the top of the molten iron.
It was dark and frothy.
'That must be the slag Vargar mentioned. I can see it clearly, and there's a system window next to it showing a percentage… Ninety percent? So I should skim it at one hundred percent,' Blake thought.
This was one of The Spiritual Blacksmith's passive skills—The Hearth's Spirit (legendary)—which allowed Blake to connect with the furnace and perceive its processes in minute detail. With more experience, he'd be able to see even more, but that would surely come in time.
What Blake didn't know was that skimming off slag was an advanced task, requiring precision, experience, and perfect timing. It had to be done both quickly and correctly.
Oblivious to these nuances, Blake grabbed a slag rake and thrust it into the furnace's mouth, aiming to skim off the slag on his own. All he knew was that it was orange and bubbly—precisely the material he needed to remove.
Vargar fell silent upon seeing this and swallowed his words as he watched Blake act on his own. The old dwarf stepped back, observing the young man's attempts.
Leaning in, his face reflecting the raw flames and sweat pouring down his brow, Blake strained his arms trying to remove the slag, but it wouldn't budge. He knitted his eyebrows and bit his lip, refusing to give up.
Vargar harrumphed. "Enough. This molten iron is ruined."
Walking a few steps away from the furnace, Blake dropped flat onto the ground and glared at it with confusion and anger. He had definitely seen a percentage indicating the state of the iron and slag.
How did he fail? What went wrong?
Vargar harrumphed. "Ye're naive!"
'Oh, shut up!' Blake inwardly shouted.