Ray chuckled. "Alright. We'll buy one, then I'll take you home before heading to the workshop."
The other students barely glanced at them. This scene had become routine.
Vivienne's Awakening Ceremony during her second year with the family had also caused a quiet stir. Not because her martial soul was powerful, but because she had none at all. Such cases were exceedingly rare. As a result, she studied in the ordinary section of the academy.
As she grew older, her beauty became impossible to ignore.
Girls envied her, boys stared, and trouble followed naturally.
Ray had stepped into more than a few fights because of it. Once, surrounded and outnumbered, he had shielded Vivienne with his body, taking every blow meant for her.
The next day, he hunted down the ringleader and fought him relentlessly until fear replaced arrogance.
Since then, no one dared bully Vivienne again.
From the age of eight onward, Ray had taken on the responsibility of walking her to and from school, his small shoulders carrying a burden he accepted without complaint.
After buying snacks, he escorted Vivienne home, dropped off his schoolbag, and changed into oil-stained work clothes.
Gilbert's workshop awaited.
And forging had long since become part of his life.
"Ray's here!" A young man in his early twenties called out cheerfully the moment Ray stepped into the workshop. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his muscles thickened by years of blacksmithing.
"Frederick," Ray greeted with a smile, already loosening his sleeves. "What task has the teacher arranged for me today?"
Fred grinned and jerked his chin toward the inner rooms. "Plenty of work waiting for you. Go take a look yourself. Honestly, I'm jealous. You're still so young, yet Teacher already piles more work on you than on me." As a blacksmith, the workload directly translated to income. More work meant more trust, more skill, and more pay.
Ray chuckled softly. "If I'm already comparable to you, then why hasn't Teacher let me forge large components yet?"
"That's because he wants your foundation to be rock-solid," Fred replied matter-of-factly. "Now stop chatting and get moving. If you waste time, you won't finish everything in two hours."
Gilbert's workshop was small, consisting of only three people: Gilbert himself, Fred, and Ray. Before Ray's arrival, Fred had been Gilbert's only disciple.
After Ray passed Gilbert's trial, he officially became the second. From his second visit onward, Ray had begun addressing Gilbert as "Teacher."
Gilbert was an uncompromisingly strict master. His standards were high, his discipline relentless, but he taught with sincerity and precision. Often, Ray felt that he learned far more in the workshop than he ever did at the academy.
Each of them had their own workspace. Gilbert would bring in raw or semi-processed machine components from outside and distribute the tasks.
Simpler pieces were given to Fred and Ray, while Gilbert personally handled the most complex components.
Once a week, each disciple received direct instruction. On other days, they were expected to complete assigned work independently. The more they forged, the more their skills improved, and the more money they earned.
Ray entered his personal forging room. Unlike the messy front hall, this room was meticulously organized. Every tool was in its place, the floor clean, the workbench spotless.
Raw materials lay neatly on the forging table, alongside a blueprint detailing today's task.
When Ray first arrived at the workshop, Gilbert had forced him to do nothing but pound iron for three entire months.
Those two hours each day had been pure torment, meant to train his force transmission, control, and ability to absorb recoil.
At the time, Ray had thought those days endless.
That brutal foundation paid off.
Over time, Ray grew stronger, his hammers gradually replaced with heavier ones.
After three months, he was allowed to refine metal. A year later, he could forge the simplest components. Half a year ago, he advanced to medium-sized parts. Gilbert had begun comparing him to Fred with increasing seriousness.
Yet in all three years, Ray never once complained.
After carefully studying the blueprint, he understood today's assignment. He needed to forge ten armored ankle-joint components for machine suits. They were spherical in shape. If cast with a mold, two presses would suffice.
Forging them by hand, however, demanded far greater precision.
Blacksmithing was ranked by refinement. A Hundred Refined component meant it had been hammered and purified a hundred times. Above that lay Thousand Refined metal, vastly superior but far more difficult to achieve.
Ray was not yet capable of true Thousand Refinement, so such tasks were rare.
He activated the workbench. The platform split open, revealing the forging furnace beneath. Metal ingots were secured and fed into the furnace. Soon, they glowed red-hot.
Ray picked up his hammers.
They were a pair of glossy black tungsten hammers, similar in size to the ones he had used years ago, but vastly different in quality.
Gilbert had personally forged them as a gift after Ray's first year in the workshop.
Each hammer weighed over forty kilograms, a weight that would exhaust most adults. In Ray's hands, however, they felt natural, almost light.
The heated metal glowed crimson. Ray struck from above with his right hammer while the left rose to meet it from below, lifting and shaping the metal in a smooth, practiced rhythm.
The room filled with sharp, metallic dings as the forging began.
Blacksmithing was not brute labor alone. It required perception, judgment, and intuition.
Gilbert had always emphasized that metal had veins, just like living beings. Only by sensing its vibrations and flow could a blacksmith truly master it.
In this regard, Ray was gifted.
Unknowingly, the moment Gilbert gave him those tungsten hammers marked his true recognition as a blacksmith.
Though his monthly income was modest, Ray saved carefully. A small portion was reserved for Vivienne, the rest given to his mother to support the household.
He was only nine years old, yet compared to his peers, he carried himself with remarkable steadiness.
Two hours passed swiftly. With a final precise strike, Ray completed the last component. He exhaled deeply, wiped the sweat from his face, and admired the ten gleaming ankle joints before him with quiet satisfaction.
He had come to enjoy forging. Swinging the hammer felt liberating. Sometimes, he entered a strange state of harmony where his hammer, the metal, and his heartbeat seemed to align.
During those moments, the quality of his work soared, earning rare praise even from Gilbert.
"Teacher."
Ray turned to find Gilbert already inside the room.
Gilbert inspected the finished components carefully, nodding slightly before handing him a stack of paper bills. "This month's wages. Your work is solid."
"Thank you, Teacher!" Ray accepted the money eagerly, his face flushed with excitement as he stuffed it into his pocket.
Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "You've never looked this happy over your wages before."
Ray took a breath, eyes shining. "Teacher, I've saved enough to buy a spirit soul!"
Gilbert froze briefly before asking quietly, "You've reached rank ten?"
"I should be there soon," Ray nodded.
For once, Gilbert smiled faintly. "Good luck."
Ray packed his finished components and left in high spirits.
Watching his retreating figure, Gilbert shook his head softly, the smile lingering. "At least now, that child is finally acting his age. It's a pity his martial soul is Silverfalls Vine… no matter what spirit soul he obtains, it may all be—"