Chapter 3: Sparks of Conflict

Ethan wiped the sweat from his brow, stepping back to admire the roaring fire within the newly improved forge. The air vent system worked better than he had hoped, cutting down the time needed to heat metal and allowing Ronan to produce stronger weapons and tools faster. Customers were already taking notice, but so were the wrong kinds of people.

Word of the "miracle fire" had spread beyond the village, drawing the interest of merchants, craftsmen—and competitors.

### The First Orders

"We've got three new orders this morning," Ronan grumbled, setting down his hammer. "One from a noble's steward, two from merchants passing through. They all want your 'special steel' and fast."

Ethan nodded. The increased demand was promising, but there was a problem. "We need more raw materials. If we keep up this pace, we'll run out of iron within a week."

Ronan sighed. "Aye, and iron's not cheap. We buy from the mines up north, but they charge heavily. If we don't get a better price, we'll be working for scraps."

Ethan rubbed his chin, thinking. He knew how industrial supply chains worked in his world. If he could negotiate with the miners or find a way to smelt lower-quality ore into usable metal, they could cut costs drastically. But before he could propose anything, a loud voice interrupted them.

### Garrick's Challenge

The forge's doors swung open, and a familiar figure strode in—Garrick, the blacksmith from the neighboring village. His arms were crossed, his gaze sharp with suspicion. Behind him stood two burly apprentices, their expressions as unfriendly as their master's.

"I hear you've been making quite the spectacle," Garrick sneered, his voice thick with disdain. "Some trick with the fire, eh?"

Ronan tensed, his grip tightening on a pair of tongs. "If you're here to start trouble, take it elsewhere."

Garrick ignored him and stepped closer to Ethan. "You think you can waltz in here and change the way things have been done for generations?" He scoffed. "I've worked the forge since before you were born, boy. And I know one thing—new ideas bring trouble."

Ethan met his gaze evenly. "New ideas also bring progress."

Garrick smirked. "Let's see about that." He jerked his thumb toward the open forge. "A blacksmith's worth is proven by his hands, not his words. I challenge you. One day from now, we each forge a blade. We let the villagers decide whose is better."

Ronan scowled. "That's ridiculous. Ethan's barely started—"

"I accept," Ethan interrupted.

Ronan turned to him, eyes wide. "Lad, you don't have to—"

Ethan shook his head. He had to prove that innovation wasn't just theory—it worked.

Garrick grinned. "Good. Then tomorrow, we'll see if your 'miracle fire' is worth anything at all."

He turned and left, his apprentices following. The air in the forge was heavy with tension.

"You're playing into his hands," Ronan muttered.

Ethan exhaled slowly. "Maybe. But if we win, no one will question us again."

### Forging the Future

That night, Ethan got to work. He wasn't just going to make a regular sword—he was going to make something that had never been seen before in this world.

Using the improved forge, he planned to heat the metal evenly and introduce a technique he had read about back in his world—differential hardening. By controlling the cooling process, he could create a blade with a hard edge but a flexible spine, making it both razor-sharp and durable.

Ronan watched in silence as Ethan worked with focused precision, applying clay to different parts of the blade before quenching it in water. The steam hissed violently, and for a moment, Ethan felt like he was truly bringing something revolutionary to this world.

By morning, the sword was complete. Sleek, balanced, and sharper than anything the village had ever seen.

### The Duel of Blades

The village square was packed. Word had spread, and everyone wanted to see the contest between the newcomer and the seasoned blacksmith. Garrick stood on one side, his hammer resting on his belt, while Ethan stood on the other, his newly forged sword in hand.

A wooden log was set between them—a test of sharpness.

Garrick went first, raising his thick, broad sword and bringing it down with force. The log split, though not cleanly. The crowd murmured.

Then it was Ethan's turn. He gripped his sword, took a breath, and slashed. His blade passed through the log like a knife through butter, the two halves falling cleanly apart.

The crowd erupted in gasps and cheers.

Ronan chuckled. "By the gods, lad. You might've just changed everything."

Garrick scowled but said nothing. He turned and left, his pride wounded but his challenge answered.

Ethan exhaled. This was just the beginning.

If he could change blacksmithing, what else could he change?