Chapter 3 – The Path of the Forge Begins
The Eternal Rhythm of the Hammer
The rhythmic clang of metal striking metal continued, filling the forge with its ceaseless melody. Each impact sent sparks flying, illuminating the rugged face of the blacksmith as he worked tirelessly on his craft. The sound was steady, unwavering, as if it had been repeated for years without fail.
Ryden sat in the chair, his golden eyes locked onto the hammer's descent, completely entranced.
His gaze flickered between the blacksmith's movements and the translucent panel floating before him.
[Observation Proficiency +0.01]
It was increasing.
Every second that passed, his proficiency bar ticked forward by an almost imperceptible amount. The numbers barely moved, but Ryden could see it—he was learning.
(Just by watching… I'm improving?)
Excitement bubbled within him. He clenched his fists, his small frame tense with anticipation.
This was the first time he had ever encountered forging. His past life had been filled with martial arts and academics, but never had he tried something as raw and precise as blacksmithing.
And yet, as he continued to watch, something stirred within him.
Maybe it was the system. Maybe it was the allure of a new challenge.
Or maybe it was something deeper—something primal.
A craft passed down for centuries, an art that created weapons, tools, and artifacts that shaped history.
(Blacksmithing… it's more than just hammering metal, isn't it?)
He didn't know yet.
But he was eager to find out.
An hour passed, yet the blacksmith did not waver. His arms moved with practiced ease, every strike purposeful, every motion refined through years of experience. His sweat glistened under the forge's fire, yet he showed no sign of exhaustion.
Ryden hadn't moved from his seat, his gaze still fixed on the hammer's descent.
He stole a glance at the blacksmith's face.
The man was older, possibly in his late forties or early fifties, with a chiseled face covered in soot. His short beard was rough, and his sharp eyes carried a weight that only came from a lifetime of hardship. Scars littered his muscular arms—marks of burns, cuts, and wounds from years of working metal.
The name came to him suddenly.
Dante.
Dante Vulcan.
His father.
The realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.
(So… I really was reborn into this body.)
It was strange, knowing that this man—this rugged blacksmith—was now his father. He had no memories of him, nor did he feel any attachment, but there was an unspoken understanding.
Dante was strong.
A man of few words, but his presence alone was enough to command respect.
And right now, Ryden was nothing compared to him.
(If I want to be a blacksmith… if I want to forge weapons that can shake the world…)
He clenched his fists.
(I have a long way to go.)
Forging wasn't just about hammering iron.
That much, Ryden could tell even from just observing.
There was an art to it. A rhythm. A soul.
It wasn't just about heating metal and striking it into shape. There were different methods, different techniques that dictated how strong, how sharp, and how durable a weapon would be.
Smelting. Tempering. Quenching. Engraving.
A single mistake could ruin an entire weapon.
Even the materials mattered—certain irons, alloys, and minerals had to be mixed in precise proportions to create the perfect balance between strength and flexibility.
Ryden had thought that this would be a fun challenge.
But now, he realized it was much more than that.
Forging wasn't just a craft—it was an art that required the body, spirit, and will of the smith.
A single weapon could take weeks to craft.
And for those who lacked experience, it could take months just to complete something that could barely be called a sword.
(And right now… I can't even lift a hammer properly.)
He gritted his teeth, frustration boiling inside him.
His body was too weak. He had the mind of a grown man, but the strength of an eight-year-old child.
(At this rate, I won't even be able to hold a sword, let alone forge one.)
As he was lost in thought—
A sharp ding echoed in his mind.
[Profiency Bar: (Blacksmith): 1%]
[Reward: Basic Forging Method]
Ryden's breath hitched.
(A reward…?)
The moment he focused on the notification, something surged into his mind.
A flood of information.
A rush of knowledge
His small body tensed as images, diagrams, and instructions poured into his brain—knowledge about forging, the different methods, the steps to take, the materials needed.
He saw glimpses of iron being melted into liquid, metal being folded over a hundred times to strengthen it, tools being sharpened to the finest edge.
Smelting. Shaping. Quenching. Tempering. Engraving. Polishing.
It all made sense.
And yet—
It was so much harder than he expected
Ryden exhaled sharply, sweat forming on his brow. The knowledge was there—ingrained into his very soul now—but the problem remained.
He was still weak.
His muscles were frail, his endurance abysmal.
Even the simplest step of heating iron required standing near the forge for extended periods—something his body couldn't handle.
Without a strong body, he couldn't even begin to forge properly.
His mind flashed back to his past life.
He had been a martial artist before, dedicated to training his body to its peak. He knew exactly how to strengthen himself, how to build muscle, increase endurance, and hone reflexes.
If this had been his old body, he would've been able to start immediately.
But he had forgotten one crucial thing.
This world wasn't Earth.
The human limits here were far different from what he was used to.
This was a world where giants roamed the seas, where people could split mountains with a single swing of a sword, where Devil Fruits granted supernatural abilities.
And he was just an ordinary boy.
A regular human.
(If I want to survive here… I need to adapt. Fast.)
He took a deep breath, determination hardening his gaze.
(First, I'll train my body. I need strength, endurance, and stamina. Only then can I wield a hammer properly.)
His thoughts drifted to the possibilities.
With the system, he could improve just by watching.
And if he combined that with real training—
He clenched his fists.
(I'll surpass my limits. No matter what.)
Dante finally set his hammer down, exhaling as he wiped sweat from his brow. The blade he had been working on was now complete—sharp, refined, and gleaming under the dim light of the forge.
He turned slightly, glancing at Ryden.
"You're still awake?"
Ryden nodded silently.
Dante studied him for a moment, then let out a grunt.
"Good. You'll need patience if you want to learn this craft."
With that, he turned back to his work, preparing for the next piece.
Ryden sat still, his mind racing.
The system had given him knowledge.
His observation was increasing every second.
And now, he had a plan.
Step one: Strengthen his body.
Step two: Learn the forge.
Step three: Become strong enough to wield the hammer properly.
His journey had begun.
And he wouldn't stop until he had mastered the Divine Blacksmith's path.