Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

But the hammer in the young man's hand seemed to possess a special kind of magic, and with his deft striking, the red-hot steel was gracefully bent into shape, and in the blink of an eye, a horseshoe revealed its form.

Watching the youth forge the iron billet, Winters suddenly remembered Anna's comment on the arcade's stone carving, "It's not about chiseling the stone into the shape of people, it's about the people trapped inside the stone being chiseled out."

The young man's skill was so exceptional that even an outsider like Winters could see it.

Only after the youth had finished crafting a horseshoe did Winters speak up and ask, "Is the owner here? Are you his son? I haven't seen you before when I came here."

It was only when Winters spoke that the youth, who had been fully focused on forging the iron billet, realized someone had come. He looked up at Winters, smiled, and nodded his head slightly.

The youth's face was blackened by soot, which only made his teeth appear whiter.

The booming voice of the old blacksmith, Misha, came from the backyard, "Ah, I wish! If only my boy had half the character of Berlion, I'd die without regrets, officer."

Misha arrived at the front yard and introduced the young man, pointing, "This is Berlion from the Protestant village. He was in the city getting supplies last time you came. Berlion, this is Lieutenant Montaigne, our town officer!"

The blacksmith youth—Berlion—seemed a bit reserved, managing a strained smile as he bowed, but didn't speak.

"Is he your apprentice?" Winters also nodded in return and asked Misha with a smile, "His craftsmanship is really quite good."

"Yes, I am Master Misha's apprentice," Berlion answered stiffly.

"No need to flatter me!" Old Misha laughed heartily and patted Berlion on the back, "I'm not fit to have an apprentice; this lad is much better than I am! Back home, he was a furnace master, but he lost his family business while fleeing! I consider this fine young man as a partner. That no-good son of mine, the forge will be Berlion's sooner or later. It's just a pity I don't have a daughter..."

Seeing that old Misha was rambling on and who knew where he'd go next, Winters quickly interrupted, "How about the thing I asked you to handle?"
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"The officer's request, I certainly take it to heart!" Old Misha chuckled as he ran back into the backyard, "Just wait here a moment!"

Not long after, Misha came out with a long object wrapped in red cloth in both hands, "What do you think, do you like it?"

When the red cloth was lifted, beneath it were three blade bars.

Winters, who had been left empty-handed, got on the horse carriage. Unaccountably, he had been assigned to Wolf Town without a sword or a gun to his name.

But how could a garrison officer not have a handy weapon? Consequently, Winters approached blacksmith Misha to forge a few blades.

Winters' order was: a practice sword in the shape of a longsword, a sharpened longsword, a single-handed side sword, and, finally, a Dusan saber.

In ancient language, the word "Dusa" referred to the special, elongated sabers used by the Dusacks, translating directly to "one who wields a Dusan saber". Whether the terms Dusa and Dusack appeared first is now unknown.

Since he had the chance to learn the Dusans' saber techniques, Winters certainly wouldn't miss out. He was currently learning Dusack saber techniques from Gerard, which is why he added a saber to his order as well.

But this generous order posed a problem for Misha. According to old Misha, he could forge the blades alright, but in terms of quality... They weren't as good as the ready-made sword bars from the city, and the price was even higher.

The bars being sold on the market today are all produced in Solingen City of the Republic of Monta.

Old Misha claims that in Solingen, a blacksmith is only responsible for one process, and a sword bar must pass through the hands of more than a dozen blacksmiths before it is finished. The blacksmiths there are highly specialized, with even those responsible for tempering belonging to separate guilds.

Hence, sword bars from Solingen, even with shipping costs, are cheaper than those made by individual smiths elsewhere, and the quality is better. Independent blade smiths are being squeezed out of business, forcing many to switch careers.

Even within the Republic of Palatu, many blacksmiths have given up on forging blades, turning to simply transporting swords instead.

Thus, old Misha's suggestion was: if there's no urgency, then wait a bit until he could order ready-made sword bars from the city.

The only easy thing was the Dusan saber; old Misha said he could collect a few unused bars from the village, as he could make cutlery in his shop.

The three bars before him were the ones Misha had gathered from Dusa Village over the past few days.

After carefully inspecting the three bars, Winters asked with some dissatisfaction, "Aren't these bars a bit too old?"

"Old is good!" Old Misha slapped his thigh, clearly holding an opposing view, "A good bar can be passed down through several generations. Old means it's durable. The bar of my saber was snatched by my grandfather from the barbarians up north; it's crossed barbarians in the north with my grandad, Herdman with my dad, and still sharp in my son's hands..."

"Alright then," seeing that old Misha was about to launch into another lengthy discourse, Winters quickly called a halt, "I'll take this one."

Winters pointed to the longest of the three bars.

"Alrighty!" Old Misha, grinning, wrapped the other two bars back up, "Berlion, take the officer's measurements."

Even though the bars were ready-made, the hilt still needed to be custom-fitted according to the hand size.

Just as Berlion was measuring Winters' hand size with a leather tape, Alci, the grocer from the neighboring shop, ran into the smithy in a panic.

"Sir!" Alci panted out of breath, "A signal fire!"