"Our destination has arrived." Xize gestured ahead.
A solitary wooden cottage stood beneath a plane tree, its door slightly ajar. Inside, wild flowers swayed in clay vases atop simple wooden furniture, the air fragrant with herbs.
Eliona looked up from her scrolls, pale gold hair cascading over her shoulders. "Xize? Shouldn't you be training at the forge?"
"The master might punish me..." The boy lowered his gaze, nervously twisting his tunic.
The female physician regarded him gently. "What happened?"
"Moses wants to learn smithing, but the master refused..."
"Perhaps your master has his reasons?" Eliona turned to Moses with a kind smile. "Even so, he wouldn't punish you for that."
"I've accepted an apprentice in his name." Xize's voice faded.
The book in Eliona's hand stilled. In this world, accepting disciples on a master's behalf was only done when the master was incapacitated—she'd never witnessed such audacious presumption.
"This is your private matter," she said softly, closing her book. "I shouldn't interfere."
"May we speak alone?" Xize signaled Moses.
Once the door closed, the boy rushed to kneel before Eliona. "Sister, you must help me!"
The physician sighed—so that's why he sent Moses away.
"Moses carries the Ninth Prince's bloodline. Shouldn't such noble enthusiasm for smithing be cherished?"
Eliona's fingers twitched at "Ninth Prince," though her composure quickly returned.
Xize lifted his face, amber eyes glistening. "You'll help me, won't you?"
"How did it go?" Moses pressed anxiously outside.
"All settled." Xize's demeanor had returned to its usual calm. "Let's formalize our contract."
At the tavern, Weber and Listor conversed by the fireplace. Hearing the agreement, Weber gave Xize a meaningful look. "This doesn't seem like you."
Listor calculated silently: two coins tomorrow, eight the third day... He stopped himself—still negligible sums. He'd thought this boy different, but perhaps only his physical strength was unusual.
Xize ignored their reactions, insisting: "Count exactly thirty days—not one more."
"Contentment brings happiness." Listor nodded slightly. Remarkable restraint, facing such temptation.
"Then let's seal the Soulbound Pact." Xize's lips curved. "Since it's my proposal, I'll cover the cost."
Listor's brow furrowed, sensing something amiss yet unable to pinpoint it.
"Let's do it!" The impetuous Moses agreed immediately.
Weber produced a basic Soulbound Pact scroll, its parchment glowing with magical runes. As incantations resonated through the air, the contract patterns flared brightly before dissolving into the scroll—the pact was sealed.
The first light of dawn crept across the sky as Xize pushed open the tavern's wooden door. The carefully laid plans from last night's chess game had already settled in his mind. While he truly intended to tease his so-called master, deeper calculations flowed through his veins like an undercurrent.
His apprenticeship with Francis was a double-edged sword. This seemingly honest blacksmith hid profound cunning beneath his rough exterior. Without understanding the man's true nature, Xize feared he might stumble into a trap any day. In this backwater called Sprout Village, the naive Moses was like a half-open window - perhaps through him, Xize could glimpse his master's hidden past.
Though the art of blacksmithing contained ancient power, it also served as shackles. Francis had been tricked by his own master into minding the shop for over a decade, with unpaid wages and endless labor serving as a cautionary tale. Xize even suspected this master of his had long planned to dump the mess on him and escape to freedom.
More importantly, hiding in this remote place wasn't a permanent solution. Though his family remained mysterious, their willingness to settle in this backwater surely concealed deeper reasons. Moses' background proved an unexpected boon - with a grandfather who was the current king and an ambitious father. To Xize, who had witnessed countless court intrigues, helping a new sovereign ascend the throne seemed no great challenge. Even if they failed, it would merely mean setting up the pieces on a different board.
Thus, this naive yet noble youth appeared the perfect candidate to transfer the risks of their master-discipl relationship.
When Xize entered the smithy's courtyard, he found Francis gathering broken bricks from the collapsed wall. The master's eyes lit up at the sight of him. "Perfect timing. Help me repair this wall today." Francis made to leave, adding, "Ijana is waiting for me..."
"Master, wait." Xize stepped sideways to block the path. "There's important matter to discuss."
"Speak." Francis brushed dust from his sleeves impatiently.
"I've taken the liberty of accepting a new apprentice for you."
Francis froze mid-step, his boots scraping harshly against the stones. "What did you say?" He turned slowly, his gaze sharp as quenched steel.
"I've accepted a new apprentice for you." Xize met that piercing look calmly, his tone as casual as if commenting on the weather.
A vein throbbed at Francis' temple. This struck him as more infuriating than hearing about someone's wife being unfaithful - though he'd never married himself, often being the source of others' headaches instead.
"Who?" he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Moses. You've met him - quite virtuous." Xize's lips curved in just the right smile.
"What game are you playing?" Francis' voice turned icy.
"Ensuring our legacy continues is every disciple's duty." Xize brushed his robes as if dusting off non-existent dirt.
"Don't play dumb with me!" Francis' knuckles whitened. His carefully laid plans had been disrupted by this youth. Refusing Rist's request had been the perfect move, though those Frostiron ores were tempting...
"If you insist on refusing," Xize lowered his voice, "I'll take him as my own apprentice. The outcome would be similar."
"You? Take an apprentice?" Francis' eyes suddenly gleamed. "I have no objections!"
Miscalculation. Xize frowned inwardly. This master proved more difficult than expected. Him taking an apprentice? Mere bluff - he'd never actually burden himself, even with royalty involved.
"You refuse to take disciples because you want to avoid the succession conflict," Xize slowed his words like a lute player tuning strings. "But everyone will see my actions as your doing. Then you'll offend not only the Ninth Prince, but other heirs too. Besides..." he paused deliberately, "those Frostiron ores..."
"Enough!" Francis' expression shifted sharply. Some thoughts were meant for contemplation, not speaking aloud.
Seeing his opponent waver, Xize played his final card: "Most importantly, Lady Ijana treats Moses as her own brother. If you become his master..."
Francis fell silent. Though something felt off about this arrangement, the reasoning held merit. Since consequences were inevitable, why not gain some tangible benefits?
"Ahem..." He cleared his throat, his ears turning suspiciously red. "About those benefits you mentioned... besides the Frostiron ores, anything else? Not that I care, but since they're offering..."
No sooner had Xize promised to cover the repair costs for the smithy than Francis unceremoniously shoved him out the door. The old blacksmith was eager to verify the situation with Ijorna, lest he be duped by this crafty lad.
Upon learning that Xize had actually agreed to take on an apprentice, List was overjoyed. It felt like manna from heaven. Initially, he had only hoped to get Moses acquainted with the successor of the Kingdom Guardian lineage, ensuring the latter wouldn't show favoritism to others in the future. After all, the modus operandi of this lineage among the royal heirs was an open secret. Who would have thought that one last-ditch effort would yield such a delightful surprise?
Faced with Xize's repair demands, List immediately gave the green light, mobilizing workers with great fanfare to renovate the smithy. Now, he wanted the entire city to know—this was the perfect opportunity to flaunt his influence.
The allure of power was indeed remarkable. In just half a day, the dilapidated smithy was transformed. Even the potholes Xize had smashed into the ground were filled and compacted, leaving Francis grinning from ear to ear.
Strangely, Xize felt a twinge of disappointment. He had initially thought Francis's reluctant acceptance of the apprenticeship was a victory, but upon reflection, something felt off—hadn't he gone to great lengths to make the old man's life difficult? Yet, seeing Francis beaming with joy, where was the reluctance he had expected?
Francis, however, paid no mind. Gleefully, he summoned his two apprentices. Gently stroking the new anvil forged from Frostiron Steelrock, he declared, "Now that the workshop is fully restored, today I shall teach you the fundamentals of smithing."
With that, he turned and lit the forge. As the bellows roared, the old blacksmith used long tongs to thrust a lump of raw iron into the flames, explaining as he worked, "The first step in smithing is smelting. You must heat the iron until it glows red-hot in a specialized furnace."
When the iron began to radiate a crimson glow, Francis deftly retrieved it. "Next comes shaping. The force and angle of every hammer strike will determine the quality of the final product."
He snatched a forging hammer from the floor, his stance as steady as a rock, the hammer descending like a shooting star onto the red-hot metal. Sparks flew in all directions, startling Moses into stumbling backward, much to Xize's silent amusement.
Remarkably, Francis raised the hammer to the exact same height with each strike, as if guided by precise calculation. "Remember," he continued, "if the metal cools, you must reheat it. But ideally, you complete the process in one go—this ensures the weapon is forged as one seamless piece. Of course, some special materials require repeated tempering, but we'll save that for another day."
"After each shaping stage, quench the piece in cooling fluid. Finally, after grinding and sharpening, the weapon is complete."
In that moment, Francis seemed like a different person—his focused expression made his golden hair appear even more radiant. Xize nearly reconsidered his plans to cause trouble… though only nearly.
When the object in the quenching fluid had fully cooled, a pitch-black kitchen knife lay before them.
"This… is a kitchen knife?" Moses stared in disbelief at the crude, rectangular piece of metal. He had imagined his first project as an apprentice might be humble, but never this plain. It was a far cry from the grandeur one would expect from the Kingdom Guardian's legacy.
"Sharp eyes!" Francis nodded approvingly. "Indeed, it's a kitchen knife."
Moses opened his mouth to protest but found himself at a loss for words.
"Alright, now go choose a hammer that feels right and begin today's practice," Francis clapped, cutting short his hesitation.
The three entered the newly organized storeroom. Various ores were neatly sorted into piles, the inventory having expanded several times over. Along the wall, forging hammers were arranged by size, each handle branded with a different number.
Xize strode ahead without hesitation—after all, he had fought hard for the title of senior apprentice. He headed straight for the fifth hammer, the very one Francis had used earlier. Noticing the "80" marked on its handle, he gripped it with satisfaction. The hundred-pound hammer felt as light as a feather in his hands—a weight that allowed both power and precision.
Moses still couldn't believe his eyes. "How in the world did you lift something that heavy?"
"Excellent question!" Xize replied with mock solemnity. "First, you distract it, then strike when it least expects—"
Francis: "…"
Moses: "…"
The young man fell silent for a moment before quietly approaching the hammer marked "10." Testing its weight, he then tried the second hammer, weighing twenty pounds, but ultimately returned to the first. This prudent choice earned Francis's silent approval: knowing his limits and not overreaching—truly promising material.
As for Xize? The old blacksmith had long given up on assessing him—that one was simply a monster.
Unaware of Francis's true thoughts—and likely indifferent even if he knew—Xize remained steadfast in his principle: the plan must proceed.
Two ancient stumps stood in the courtyard, thick as coiled pythons, topped with custom-made dark iron anvils. A flicker of regret crossed Xize's eyes. This tailor-made forging station had likely ruined any future chance of dismantling the smithy.
"Three hundred hammer strikes per day. Leave when you're done." Francis tapped the hammer, his silver-gray eyes brimming with undisguised mockery. "We'll discuss further lessons once you've mastered the basics."
The challenge ignited a blazing determination in Moses, but it fizzled upon reaching Xize. The boy leaned lazily against a stump, amber eyes radiating an "I've seen it all" calm.