It was afternoon, the sun had gone past its highest, and within a small town, Reverest, the streets were bustling.
Two men wearing thick boots with spaulders on their left side, while laughing, strolled up to a shop.
Their joyful air between them was cut off as they came up to the closed door of the shop and saw a sign hanging from it.
'CLOSED'
"They were right, it's closed," one of them grunted.
"Did the old man really run off and die?" the other grumbled.
Whilst the men walked away, seeking another shop, they were unaware that within the building, in the workshop at the back, a dark-haired young man with his chest bare and a hot furnace burning behind him hammered on a piece of metal.
Don!!
Don!!
His muscles taut, trained over the years of forging, gleamed from the sweat that covered them.
Striking the metal a few times, moving from one end to the other, the young man straightened up.
With a pair of tongs, he took the metal from on top of the anvil and put it back in the fire, burying it within the coal.
Making sure of the flames, he closed the furnace, took some steps back, and collapsed into a seat.
He used the moment to rest, heavy breaths leaving from between his lips, but his eyes never left the forge.
Close to a minute later, he opened the forge and took out the orange glowing bar, picking a smaller hammer compared to the one he had used previously and began his 18th round of hammering.
For an unknown amount of time, the young man worked in silence, hammering and reheating the metal, slowly shaping it, flattening its surface and tapering its end.
Done hammering for the 27th time, rather than heat the metal, he took it to a bucket containing a black sticky liquid and slowly sank it in.
Steam poured out from the bucket, the liquid inside letting out bubbles, and then almost immediately, he put the metal back in the forge.
This time though he didn't sit, he moved to the side and quickly donned black gloves with a metallic shine.
He moved back in front of the furnace and stayed standing silently, listening to the hissing sound coming from within, then when it went silent, he opened it.
Squinting his eyes, he ignored the thick black smoke that came out, pouring on his face, and with his gloved hands pulled out the metal, its body no longer black but now a dull brown.
Quickly he moved over to a grindstone, taking a seat, and as his legs turned the pedal, he took a deep breath and with an empty heart brought the metal to the round turning stones.
A screeching sound rang out as the hard stone met metal, its rough shape being further refined.
At the beginning, the boy's expression was impassive, but as the seconds went by his façade underwent a drastic change, a gleam appearing in his eyes.
For most blacksmiths, they would have thought something wrong given that no sparks were produced as he shaped the metal, but for the knowledgeable, something beyond the ordinary was being made.
Silently he worked, refining the metal, time passing and the unmistakable shape of a sword blade resting in his palms.
Staring at the blade up close, he could still see some rough spots, sight a few mistakes on the edge, but trusting his instincts, he stopped.
He could go no further, any more work on the metal and he risked destroying its hardening structure.
Getting up, he put the blade back in the furnace, putting in fresh charcoal, letting it dull brown glow red, then he took it out and dipped it in green water.
A few minutes later, he added a handle to it, attaching already carved wood to brown leather, giving the weapon a comforting feel when handled.
Looking at the sword, there was a strong shine in the young man's eyes, but he suppressed his feeling and with the weapon moved over to a table at the other side of the room.
He briefly glanced at the pile of discarded bars, their numbers far surpassing a dozen, all these failed results of his previous attempts.
"It was not in vain," he whispered, looking at the sword in his hand.
Taking a seat at the table, he opened a book on it and immediately began writing down, his expression focused and hand steady.
It took him a while, but when he finished, he dropped the pen and turned to the sword on the side.
"I've made you."
HAHAHA.
He burst into a laugh, excitement filling his face, the composure he had held fading away, his feeling expressed to the fullest.
"I've done it." He stood, lifting the sword, looking at it with a gaze that might be mistaken for love.
The ache in his joints, fatigue in his body, and even the blisters on his palm had taken a backseat.
"System, I've made it."
[Yes, congratulations Hulio Demoore.
You have forged a Demi-mortal grade weapon from base grade materials before the age of 22, thereby satisfying the system activation mission.
Mission: Forge a weapon beyond the zero grade before turning 22
You have activated the Eternal Forging system]
Hahaha!!
The system telling Hulio was just the cherry on top, by the time he finished shaping the blade he had been sure.
Seven years ago, at 14, just after he had made his first weapon, a sword that shattered on its first strike, the black system screen had popped up, a mission given to him, and memories of a life he had once lived in a different world pouring into his head.
For those seven years he forged and studied, experimenting and seeking out notes all to break the common consensus.
"You need rare grade material to make weapons above zero grade."
While pride rushed through Hulio, the white writing on the screen changed.
[For activating the system, you have been rewarded with:
20 attribute points.
First Forge (Astral state), holder of the Eternal Flame, first fire.
]
[For forging a Demi mortal grade weapon:
You have earned 20 FP.
You have been rewarded with knowledge book (level 7–9 common grade materials)
You have been rewarded with knowledge book (level 1 defensive rare grade materials)
You have been rewarded with knowledge book (level 1 utility rare grade materials)]
"Eternal Flame." Hulio's eyes zoomed in on the text.
As a blacksmith, how could Hulio not know what an Eternal Flame was? It was acceptable for the common man and even some extraordinary individuals to be ignorant, but for him he might as well go to the black God.
Even more than the knight who specialized in conjuring them, blacksmiths loved fire, it was their bread and butter, and of them all, the Eternal Flame took the crown.
A flame that never lost temperature and forever burned, it was a thing of envy, something incredibly precious and only ever heard about.