Lucia left the two of them alone as she had no interest in metal. "Find me when you've finished playing with fire," she called over her shoulder as she exited the forge.

  Over the next hours, Garrett taught Clive the fundamentals of smithing.

  "Listen," Garrett murmured, holding a glowing rod to Clive's eye level. The metal pulsed through shades of orange to yellow to an almost blinding white. "Steel speaks in colors. Too pale, and it shatters. Too dark, and it refuses to take shape." His thumb tapped the cooling edge. "Steel has a memory longer than mountains. It remembers every strike, every fold, every moment of neglect or care. Treat it with respect, and it will never betray you."

  Garrett unwrapped a bundle from beneath his workbench. The oiled leather fell away to reveal a dagger. Nothing about it announced greatness—no gilded hilt or gemstones, no elaborate engravings. Yet, Clive could tell at a glance that this was a high-quality dagger.

  "This," Garret said, placing the blade in front of Clive, “is the difference between a tool and a companion. Tell me, what do you see?”

  Clive took out his normal-quality dagger and placed it beside the good-quality one. Now that he had a comparison, his [Artist’s Eyes] made the differences night and day.

  “These patterns…” Clive traced his finger above the alternating light and dark bands on the steel. "They're like... ripples in a pond."

  “Sharp lad!” Garrett’s eyes lit up. "That's pattern-welding, dozens of layers of high-carbon and low-carbon steel folded together. My father called it the water-dance. Each smith has their own rhythm for folding the steel. Some sing while they hammer. I prefer to count my heartbeats."

  "What makes it so much better than mine?" Clive asked.

  “Balance of virtues,” Garrett explained. “Each type of steel brings its own strength. The high-carbon steel holds a razor edge, while the low-carbon steel gives it flexibility so it won't shatter.”

  Garrett lifted the normal quality dagger and examined it. “Your dagger uses single-steel construction. Serviceable, but prone to either being too brittle or too soft.”

  He paused, taking a long drink from a clay cup nearby. Outside, the village sounds filtered through: children's laughter, the distant bleating of goats, merchants calling their wares.

  But Clive barely heard them. He was engrossed.

  He ran his fingers over his dagger, seeing its flaws with new eyes. Not failures, he realized, but steps on a journey. The same way his first paintings had been clumsy approximations that nonetheless taught him valuable lessons.

  "What do you think this part is called?" Garrett continued, pointing to where the metal extended into the handle.

  "The... base? The root?" Clive guessed.

  "You’re partially right. It’s the tang – the blade’s roots. See how it runs full-length and matches the blade's width? Why do you think that matters?"

  Clive thought for a moment. "More support? So it won't break?"

  "Precisely! You’re a natural at this. When your life depends on your blade, you don't want those thin rat-tail tangs."

  Clive thought back to his broken dagger in the armadillo fight. Perhaps there was truth to this.

  “Let me demonstrate,” Garret said as he picked up Clive’s dagger.

  He led Clive to a weathered oak stump at the corner of the forge. Garrett placed both daggers side by side on the anvil, then retrieved a heavy iron mallet from his wall of tools.

  "In battle, blades meet armor, bone, and sometimes stone," he said, voice lowering as if sharing a sacred truth. "A weapon must endure far more than simple cutting."

  With sudden violence, Garrett slammed the mallet against the handle of Clive’s normal quality dagger. The blow struck at an angle where blade met handle. A sickening crack echoed through the smithy, and the handle split, revealing the thin metal tongue inside that had snapped clean through.

  "That, lad, is what happens when a soldier parries a war axe with inferior craftsmanship."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Without hesitation, Garrett subjected his high-quality dagger to the same test, bringing the mallet down with even greater force. The sound was different, a solid thunk reverberating through the wood beneath. The dagger remained intact, though the force had driven it halfway into the stump. When Garrett wrenched it free, not even the handle showed signs of stress.

  "A proper full tang," he said, passing the unharmed weapon to Clive, "distributes force throughout the entire blade. There are no weak points, no separate pieces to fail when you need them most."

  Seeing this, Clive was convinced that if he had a high-quality dagger at the armadillo fight, it wouldn’t have broken.

  As Clive passed him back the dagger, Garrett’s finger pointed to where the blade met crossguard. "Look here. What's different?"

  Clive brought the dagger close to his face, [Artist's Eyes] catching details he'd missed before. His dagger showed tiny gaps between guard and blade, filled with brass pins and solder. The master's weapon displayed no such seams. The metal flowed seamlessly from one part to the other, the grain patterns uninterrupted.

  "The guard on mine..." Clive touched the joint carefully. "I can feel the separate pieces, the pins holding it together. But yours?" He ran his finger along the good quality's junction. "There's no break, no joining point. It's as if the guard grew from the blade itself."

  "Forge-welded, not pinned," the blacksmith said with pride. "My grandmother taught me that trick. 'A pinned guard,' she'd say, 'is like a fair-weather friend. It leaves when the fight turns ugly."

  To demonstrate this point, Garrett retrieved his mallet once more and positioned what remained of Clive's dagger with the crossguard hanging slightly off the edge of the stump. One blow later, the guard flew across the room, pins shearing clean from their sockets.

  "In a real fight," Garrett said solemnly, collecting the broken pieces, "that would be your fingers lying on the ground, not just metal."

  The fire in the forge crackled as Clive found himself drawn into this world of metal and flame, so different from the delicate brushwork and pigments of his own craft. Yet there was artistry here too. The blacksmith's dedication to his craft was no less than his own. Clive found himself at full attention, eager for more knowledge.

  “Now close your eyes”, the blacksmith commanded. He then took Clive’s hand and guided it along the expert blade’s edge. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  "Two angles," Clive murmured, eyes still closed, concentrating. "The edge, there seems to be two different slopes, not just one straight cut."

  "Compound geometry," the blacksmith explained. "My master called it 'the marriage of opposites.' Primary bevel shoulders the burden, while the secondary brings the bite." He motioned to the market stalls visible through the window. "Those blades? Simple V-grinds. One strike against armor, and they curl like autumn leaves."

  Clive's fingers wandered to the spine, tracing from hilt to point. "The spine, it tapers…It thins as it goes..."

  Garrett’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. "You've the touch for this craft! That's distal taper - the soul of balance." He picked up Clive's creation with gentle hands. "Yours carries the same width throughout. Honest work, but—" he mimicked an awkward thrust, "—the point fights to reach its target."

  “What do you mean?”

  Garrett pressed the high-quality dagger into Clive's palm. "Keep your eyes close. Move with it."

  Clive made a careful arc, then gasped. The blade felt weightless, as if it were pulling him through the motion rather than being guided.

  Garrett nodded with pride. "Perfect balance. The fulcrum rests just behind the guard, like a dancer balanced on her toes." He tapped Clive's original blade. "A common weapon serves its wielder. But this—" his fingers brushed the dagger with something like reverence, "—this becomes part of you, an extension of your very intention."

  Clive opened his eyes, taking in all the details of the blade. No wonder he was unable to create a high-quality dagger earlier. There were so many details that he missed, so much knowledge that he never knew about. His earlier attempts now seemed painfully amateur in comparison. It hurt his eyes to even look at his once prized creation.

  Taking out his sketchbook, Clive began to draw. His pencil traced every detail: the exact angle of the distal taper, the subtle curves of the fuller, the precise way the tang flowed into the handle. He captured the complex pattern of the folded steel, understanding now how each layer contributed to the whole. No detail was too small to escape his attention.

  As he completed the final stroke, the drawing began to glow. Light gathered around his sketch, condensing and solidifying. With a flash, a new dagger materialized before him.

  [Item Created: Steel Dagger (High Quality)]

  Durability: 30/30

  Attack: +14

  Dmg type: Piercing

  [Mana Cost: 5]

  [ Quest Completed: The Edge of Understanding II]

  [Gained 1 Certainty Point]

  [Exp gained: 100]

  [Level up]

  [Metalwork Illustration - Level 3]

  [Current materials: Iron,steel]

  [Current quality: poor, normal, high]

  He smiled, satisfied with his creation.

  "By the gods," Garrett breathed, his face illuminated by the fading glow. "I’m still in awe …"

  The blacksmith, who had spent decades mastering fire and steel through sweat and determination, suddenly looked like a child witnessing his first snowfall. "To think I would live to witness such power with my own eyes. It's like watching the dawn of the world itself.”

  "It's not so different from what you do," Clive said as he examined his new blade. "Your hands shape metal through fire and force. Mine takes a different approach."

  Garrett laughed as he took out a scroll from under his table.

  “Now then. Shall we discuss your payment?”

  Every blade remembers the hand that shaped it. Every hand remembers the lesson that shaped it.

  —Master Doran, the Legendary Shadow Blacksmith