A clear and crystalline sound spread through the workshop, long, steady, without the slightest strange vibration. It was the sound of perfection.
Sun Luguo slowly closed his eyes, his calloused fingers running along the entire length of the sword.
He was not merely touching it but feeling it. It was as if he were evaluating something invisible. Silence filled the forge, broken only by the crackling of the flames.
Kyrian remained motionless, waiting, his heart beating a little faster.
After nearly a minute, Sun Luguo slowly opened his eyes. A smile appeared beneath his beard, small but completely sincere.
"Perfect."
The word was spoken calmly, yet it seemed to carry more weight than any praise Kyrian had ever received. It was the acknowledgment of a master, the validation of hours of work and learning.
The old man raised the sword once more, his eyes shining with a pride that was not only for his apprentice but for the craft itself.
