For the first hour, the ore simply refused to yield. The standard coal fire, even pumped to its maximum, was barely enough to turn the edges of the metal red. Yoriichi had to channel his own Dou Qi, utilizing the Breath of the Sun internally to raise his core body temperature, leaning over the furnace to manually radiate heat into the crucible.
Finally, it melted into a thick, sluggish, crimson sludge.
Now came the perilous part. Fusing the Beast Core.
Yoriichi gripped the pulsing Solar Ape core with his tongs and submerged it into the molten ore.
HISS!
A geyser of violent orange flame erupted from the crucible, nearly singeing off Yoriichi's eyebrows. The wild energy of the ape fought the confinement of the metal. The crucible shook violently.
Yoriichi gritted his teeth, his eyes locked onto the glowing mass. He used his hammer to fold the metal over the core, trapping the energy inside, striking with absolute precision to weave the beast's fiery aura into the atomic structure of the steel.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Then, he attempted to shape it.
The Katana design—a single, razor-sharp edge with a distinct, upward-curving spine—was fundamentally alien to the metal of this world. The Solar Flare Ore wanted to stay straight, thick, and rigid like a broadsword.
It was agonizingly hard.
Sometimes, the fusion of the core created unstable pockets of heat, causing the metal to bulge unpredictably. Other times, the steel became too hard, refusing to thin out into the elegant curve Yoriichi required. And occasionally, the beast's fire would flare, softening the spine too much and threatening to snap the blade in half.
Yoriichi sighed, wiping a mixture of sweat and ash from his eyes.
Hours bled away into the afternoon.
Clang! Hiss! Clang!
Yoriichi was drenched. His red training robe was clinging to him like a second skin, heavy with sweat. The ambient heat was suffocating. Unable to bear the restriction of the soaked fabric, he stripped off his upper robe, tossing it aside.
He stood bare-chested before the anvil. His physique was lean, corded with dense, incredibly hard muscle, marred by the faint, silvery scars of his past life and his recent, brutal training.
He couldn't ask Tie Shan for help. The Grandmaster Smith was a genius, but the blueprint of the Katana, the specific differential tempering, the exact curvature required to perfectly execute the Sun Breathing forms... it was strictly locked inside Yoriichi's head. Translating that feeling into reality was a next-level challenge. It required him to not just forge a sword, but to forge a memory.
Outside, the sun finally dipped below the horizon. The sky bruised into a deep purple, and the shadows inside the Smithing Hall grew long.
The rhythmic pounding of the other anvils had ceased. The last two apprentices washed their hands, bowed respectfully to Tie Shan, and left the hall, leaving only the two of them.
Yoriichi was taking heavy, ragged breaths.
His chest heaved. The milky-white Dou Qi in his abdomen, which had been dangerously close to condensing into a cyclone earlier that week, was now completely drained. He was running purely on willpower and the residual heat of his muscles.
The blade on the anvil was a twisted, half-formed nightmare. It was curved, yes, but the edge was uneven, and the core's energy was fighting the metal, causing the blade to vibrate erratically.
He lowered his hammer, leaning heavily on the wooden handle.
"Kid. Go home."
Tie Shan's voice came from the entrance of Yoriichi's station. The burly man had stopped his own work an hour ago, silently watching the grueling, self-destructive process.
"You will go crazy if you continue like this," Tie Shan warned, his voice stern but laced with genuine concern. "The metal is fatigued. You are fatigued. The beast core is rejecting the shape. Forging a Tier 2 weapon with a Dou Zhi Qi foundation is already suicide. You've pushed it far enough for one day."
Yoriichi stood silent for a few seconds. The only sounds were the crackling of the dying furnace and the ragged intake of his own breath.
He looked at the glowing, vibrating steel. He could hear it crying out, trapped between the fire of the ape and the stubbornness of the ore.
He slowly lifted his head.
"Teacher," Yoriichi replied, his voice hoarse, stripped of its usual smooth calm, yet vibrating with an iron resolve. "Let me try for the last time. It will only be minutes."
Tie Shan's expression became strange.
He looked at the boy. He saw the shirtless, lean frame shivering slightly from Dou Qi exhaustion. He saw the heavy breaths, the thick layer of soot and dust sticking to his face, the sweat tracking clean lines through the grime. Most importantly, he saw those crimson eyes—burning brighter than the furnace itself.
Tie Shan's mind flashed back thirty years. He saw himself in the Sacred City, a young, stubborn apprentice standing before an impossible piece of Black-Iron, refusing to put the hammer down even as his hands bled.
"This kid..." Tie Shan thought, a complex mix of awe and worry tightening his chest.
Tie Shan knew Yoriichi had far greater talent than he ever did. He wanted to encourage the boy to take things slowly, to build his foundation steadily, to avoid the permanent injuries that impatience often brought.
But this kid was different. Yoriichi constantly managed to break his limits in the absolute extreme. In mere weeks, he had mastered the basics of smithing and was now actively trying to break through to Tier 2. Tie Shan could barely feel any Dou Qi present in Yoriichi's body; the boy was running on fumes.
Yet, seeing that unwavering determination, that familiar, beautiful madness of a true craftsman, Tie Shan couldn't bring himself to force the boy to stop.
Tie Shan finally let out a long, heavy sigh that ruffled his graying beard.
"Okay then," Tie Shan grunted, uncrossing his arms and stepping fully into Yoriichi's station. He grabbed a pair of heavy tongs. "Do it. But I will be here. I'll regulate the ambient temperature of the core. You focus solely on the shape."
Tie Shan glared at him. "The last thing I want is to have to explain to the First Elder why I'm carrying your exhausted-to-death body back to your courtyard."
Yoriichi looked at his teacher. A profound sense of respect washed over him, briefly overriding his exhaustion.
He nodded once.
He gripped the hammer with both hands. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, drawing the last, hidden reserves of oxygen deep into his lungs.
"Total Concentration."
He opened his eyes, and began his work again. The final strike was about to fall.