Pain. Cold. The sound of wind lashing his skin.
Duncan Steel's eyes snapped open. He'd expected to be back in his workshop, in front of the blazing forge, hammering hot iron with the precision of a master. Instead, he was lying in the mud, dressed in rags, with a splitting headache.
**Where the hell am I?**
He tried to stand, but his body wouldn't respond as he wanted. His once strong, calloused hands felt smaller and thinner. Looking around, he saw that he was in a dirty alley in a medieval town.
"You! Work, now!"
A hoarse voice made him turn. A large man in a soot-stained apron threw a hammer at him. Duncan instinctively caught it, feeling a wave of familiarity course through him. That weight, that balance… **it was a blacksmith's hammer.**
Without even thinking, he approached the anvil. A piece of raw iron was waiting for him, ready to be worked. His muscles moved on their own, as if he had done this gesture a million times (and in fact they had). He raised the hammer and struck.
*CLANG!*
A jolt of energy ran through him. A flood of information poured into his mind. Forging techniques, properties of metal, ideal temperatures…
**What is happening?**
A golden glow enveloped the iron, and when Duncan lowered his gaze, he found himself in front of something that should never have existed in this world:
A **perfect katana**, razor sharp, with a gleaming blade that seemed almost alive.
The man next to him was speechless. Then, with an expression of pure shock, he stammered:
"T-That… that's impossible. Who the hell are you?!"
Duncan stopped, staring at the blade in his hands. A smile slowly formed on his face.
If he was truly reborn in a ruined medieval world… then he would do what he did best.
**He would forge the future.**