Chapter 49 Iron Bar

A piece of iron bar lay quietly in the storeroom, devoid of thought. But if it had any, it surely must have wondered what life it would lead as a certain object.

An agricultural plow for tilling the soil?

Or a sickle for reaping the harvest?

The door opened, light poured in, and the iron bar was taken out of the storeroom by the craftsman.

It was thrown into the furnace, buried deep beneath the glowing charcoals. The bellows huffed and puffed, the fierce flames scorching the body of the iron bar.

After enduring for who knows how long, the iron bar finally escaped the fiery hell. Almost immediately, it was clamped onto the hydraulic forging press by the craftsman, repeatedly hammered.

Soon, the iron bar disappeared, leaving behind a small arm-length, tapering at both ends, and the thickness in the middle about the size of a human grip—a metal spike.