Arthur's gaze swept across them. "You call it mystery. You call it blessing. I call it by its true name—carbon."
The word landed like a hammer blow. Strange, foreign on their tongues.
"This carbon," Arthur pressed on, "is what gives steel its strength. It is what turns soft iron into a weapon that can pierce armor, a plow that can tear the earth, a blade that can last a lifetime. Without it, your iron is weak. With too much, it grows brittle. Balance is everything."
Murmurs spread like wildfire. Some smiths scoffed, crossing their arms in defiance. "Essence? Invisible strength? Nonsense!"
Yet others looked shaken, recalling memories they would never admit aloud—blades cracking in a soldier's grip after only a handful of battles, plowshares warping mid-season, edges dulled despite endless hours of care. Arthur's words gnawed at those hidden failures, tugging at doubts they had buried long ago.
And yet, doubt remained stronger than belief.
