Inside the forge studio, the air was thick with heat and the heavy scent of molten metal.
"Luochuan, Wulin," Mang Tian said slowly after taking a deep breath, "why don't you two step outside for a bit. Your father and I need to talk."
"Okay," Tang Luochuan and Tang Wulin responded obediently before scurrying out of the workshop.
Only after the two little ones had left did Mang Tian finally turn to Tang Ziran, eyes narrowing with a flicker of disbelief. "You want Luochuan… to become a blacksmith?"
His voice cracked with incredulity. "Have you lost your mind, or have I?"
He slammed the massive forging hammer in his hand onto the stone floor with a deafening clang. Sparks leapt, the sound carrying the weight of his frustration.
Mang Tian knew exactly what kind of spirit Tang Luochuan possessed. A dragon-type martial soul that had never been recorded before, born with innate full soul power. That kind of martial soul alone meant his potential stretched toward the heavens. With talent like that, Luochuan's future was destined to soar far beyond ordinary cultivators—at the very least, he had the foundations to someday become a Titled Douluo.
Not only did he have immense cultivation talent, but that martial soul also gave him terrifying natural strength. Someone like this… Blacksmithing should have come second, not first.
If any other family dragged in such a genius and begged him to take them as his disciple, Mang Tian would have burned incense out of joy. But if it was his old friend's son, the matter became far more complicated.
Because this wasn't just any child.
Tang Ziran, however, merely smiled. His voice was gentle and steady. "This wasn't my decision. It's what the two boys wanted. And as their father, all I can do is respect it."
"You—!" Mang Tian's eyes widened. He stared at his old friend in disbelief. Did this man really mean what he was saying?
Other people didn't understand. But he knew. He knew very well that Tang Ziran wasn't ordinary. The man's soul power was not only multiple times deeper than his own, but he was also one of the rarest dual-profession geniuses. An eighth-level mecha designer and manufacturer, something almost nobody below Titled Douluo status could achieve.
The only reason Tang Ziran hadn't risen higher was that his cultivation could not keep up with the immense energy requirements of mecha production.
Now such a man had a son with this kind of talent. Shouldn't his dream be to raise him as a ninth-level mecha master, future legend of the Federation?
Mang Tian clenched his jaw. "Can you at least tell me why? At the very least, Luochuan is far more suited for you and your wife's mecha craft than hammering iron!"
Ziran chuckled faintly. "For Luochuan, yes, mecha manufacturing is a natural path. I don't deny it. But…" His eyes softened, turning in a different direction. "What about Wulin?"
Mang Tian froze.
He'd forgotten.
Tang Ziran didn't only have one son.
The eldest child, Tang Luochuan, was a monster with heaven-defying talent. But the younger, Tang Wulin, was ordinary at best. His martial soul power was only at the third level innately. Weak even at the start of cultivation, and without mental strength enough for delicate crafts like mecha design and engineering.
For someone like Wulin, the mecha path was already a sealed gate.
"The boy's martial soul and talent don't allow him to pursue mecha work," Tang Ziran explained softly. "Even maintenance-level work requires considerable spiritual power. That road is closed to him. Forging… may be his chance to build a future of his own."
Mang Tian fell silent. Words stuck in his throat.
He wasn't a father himself, but he could clearly feel the weight in Ziran's tone—love so deep it pressed like an iron burden on the man's shoulders.
Finally, Mang Tian sighed and patted his old friend lightly on the shoulder. He said nothing more.
Then, after a long moment:
"Very well. Bring them in. But don't place too much expectation on me. I can't promise your little one will become anything like a true blacksmith."
Tang Ziran smiled. "With you as their teacher—a sixth-level forging master—how could I possibly worry?"
Mang Tian rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter me. I'm only one rank higher than you in smithing. If I fail, don't put the blame on me."
But Ziran just laughed heartily. "This isn't flattery. I trust the man who created a miracle in the forging world. Leaving my sons to you puts my heart fully at ease."
Mang Tian went stiff for a moment. A miracle?
He might not have broken through to the Grandmaster level, might not have joined the Saint Craftsmen among the continent's top 100, but there was an undeniable truth about him: for a soul master of only level 35, to have reached sixth-level forging mastery was unheard of.
Normal Soul Masters could become second-level blacksmiths. A rare genius might reach third. Fourth was scarce; fifth, a legend. And six? Among thousands, only one man… Mang Tian.
That was his miracle.
"… Very well then," Mang Tian said at last, voice quiet. But in his chest, a subdued pride burned at having been called a miracle worker, even by someone like Ziran.
"Before the kids enter the Intermediate Academy, I'll give them as much forging knowledge as I can."
At Ziran's grin, he shouted toward the door. "Luochuan! Wulin! Come in!"
The two little ones came running eagerly.
"Didn't you say Uncle Mang Tian still had to test us?" Wulin tilted his head curiously.
"Testing is for others. Not you two," the smith said simply. He ruffled Wulin's hair, then motioned them forward.
"From today, the both of you will come to my forge at least once every three days. Each time, you must swing the hammer one thousand times. No excuses."
"Yes, Uncle Mang Tian!" Wulin shouted, excitement flushing his cheeks.
His brother Luochuan, instead of cheering, walked calmly to the workbench. His dark eyes glimmered faintly as he picked up the nearest forging hammer.
[Host's innate ability 'Unrivaled Comprehension' has been activated. In forging, you possess god-level talent, comprehension no mortal can match.]
A voice echoed only in his mind. His expression hardened, gaze sharpening. Blacksmithing talent at the level of a god… It really is possible.
In his palms, the cold weight of the hammer felt almost natural.
Mang Tian, however, blinked in stunned disbelief. "…Luochuan, wait!"
The hammer he had just picked up wasn't the plain training hammer set aside for apprentices. It was the level-six peak sea-silver hammer his old friend himself had forged—an artifact-level tool. Not something any child should even be able to lift.
Yet Luochuan held it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Beside him, Wulin grinned innocently, straining with all his might just to lift his own small tungsten-steel hammer. "Brother's hammer looks way cooler than mine," he admitted with genuine admiration.
Mang Tian could only stare. "A… genius indeed."
It was no exaggeration. With each swing that boy took, Mang Tian's jaw slackened further.
Within three days, Tang Luochuan had already forged to the standard of a first-level blacksmith.
Mang Tian scratched helplessly at his hair, expression frozen with a giant question mark. "Since when was becoming a blacksmith this easy?"
Within a month, Luochuan could already craft Hundred Forging Hammers with elegant precision, even experimenting to shape metals into tools of different styles.
Mang Tian's lips twitched violently. This was a foundation? It was already overkill!
Three months later, the unbelievable happened. Tang Luochuan broke through to the Thousand Forging realm. His every strike rang with perfect rhythm, his movements fluid, as though the hammer was part of him.
Mang Tian just rubbed his head again, dazed. "Forging… is it really this easy?"
On that very day, young Tang Wulin ran up to him, eyes shining. "Uncle Mang Tian! I've finished laying my foundation too!"
Mang Tian smiled gently, tousling the boy's hair. "That's wonderful, Wulin…"
But his gaze lingered, complicated, on Luochuan. He could tell—the boy wasn't revealing everything. And despite Wulin's progress, the giant shadow cast by Luochuan's brilliance was impossible to ignore.
Still, Mang Tian said nothing aloud. In his heart, he knew. None of this was anyone's fault.
It was simply because Tang Luochuan was Tang Luochuan.