The Forge

Azel's eyes sparkled like a kid seeing a dragon plushie for the first time. "Are we getting the cool kind with spikes and flames?"

"We're getting the kind that doesn't kill you while you're still learning how to swing."

Fair enough.

He practically dragged Steven through the doorway. The interior was warm with the scent of burning coal and molten metal.

Weapons of all types lined the walls — longswords, daggers, spears, even a few greatswords taller than Azel himself.

A rack of light armor sat in one corner, and behind a counter stood a broad-shouldered blacksmith wiping soot off his hands.

The man's beard was a thick cloud of brown and gray, his eyes keen despite his age. As soon as he spotted Steven, he broke into a wide grin.

"Well I'll be damned," the blacksmith said, his deep voice rumbling like a furnace. "You finally decided to crawl out of that forest hole of yours."

Steven chuckled and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Still smells like charcoal in here, I see."

The two shared a hearty handshake.

Azel stood off to the side, watching curiously. He felt a twinge of nostalgia — it reminded him of watching old men gossip at the barbershop as a kid.

The blacksmith turned to Azel and laughed heartily. "And who's this lad? Yours? Looks just like you back in the day — except cuter."

Steven looked at Azel. "He's my apprentice."

Azel bowed. "Nice to meet you, sir."

The man waved it off. "No need to bow. The name's Gorvan Brax, owner and head smith here at the Steel Swan. Any disciple of Steven's is welcome."

Behind him, two assistants stood. A tall, wiry young man with oil-slicked hair and a bored expression.

And a muscular young woman with freckles and goggles perched on her forehead.

"That's Jarek," Gorvan said, pointing to the guy. "Lazy as hell, but good with sharpening. And that's Milla. Best armorsmith I've seen in thirty years. And I've seen thirty years."

"Thirty?" Steven scoffed. "Try sixty."

"Sixty in dog years maybe," Gorvan muttered.

After a round of laughter and warm welcomes, Steven explained what they were here for: a training sword and some beginner armor suitable for a young warrior.

Gorvan nodded and beckoned Azel toward the weapons rack.

"Go ahead, lad. Try them out. But don't swing 'em in here — we like our walls unbroken."

Azel stepped forward and ran his fingers along the polished hilts.

Wooden swords. Iron short swords. Blunted training blades.

He eventually settled on a wooden longsword — not too heavy, with a slightly curved edge. It felt balanced in his hand.

Steven nodded approvingly. "That'll do."

Milla then stepped out from the back, carrying two sets of leather armor. One was standard brown. The other was dyed a soft blue.

"I thought he might prefer the blue," she said, eyeing Azel. "Matches the eyes."

"My eyes are red," Azel replied.

"…Oh. Then it'll contrast nicely."

Gorvan laughed and leaned over the counter. "So, what's the name, kid?"

"Azel Winters."

"Hmm. Sounds noble."

"It's not," Azel muttered. Though in my past life, I was nobility among nerds.

After trying on the blue-dyed leather tunic and light armguards, Azel stood in front of the mirror.

He looked… heroic.

A bit too small to be intimidating, sure. But heroic nonetheless.

Steven paid for the gear — though Gorvan gave a massive discount "because it's for the kid" — and bundled the old clothes and gear into a bag. Azel offered to carry it, but Steven took it this time.

"My turn," he said.

Azel blinked. "You sure? You'll strain your back."

Steven ruffled his hair. "Brat."

As they exited the forge, the weight of the sword on Azel's back felt heavier than expected.

He was no longer just a transmigrator with a system. He was now a swordsman in training.

And that meant responsibility.

As they walked back toward the edge of town, the system pinged softly:

[Hidden Quest Complete: "Tools of the Trade"]

[You have gained +5 Fate Points]

[New Skill Acquired: Basic Sword Handling (Lv.1)]

Azel grinned to himself.

'Now we're talking.'

He looked at Steven, who was now chewing on a meat skewer they picked up along the way.

"Think I'll ever get strong enough to beat you?" he asked.

Steven looked down at him and smirked. "Maybe. But by the time you do, I'll be old and gray and easy to beat."

"You're already old and gray."

Steven nearly choked on his meat.

...

Morning sunlight filtered through the trees, dancing across the clearing like golden butterflies.

Birds chirped overhead. A soft wind blew through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of breakfast and the promise of sore muscles.

Azel stood in the clearing behind the cottage, clutching the wooden practice sword they'd picked out yesterday.

He adjusted his grip, his fingers curling around the hilt with a bit of experience, The Sword Handling skill was truly a great one.

Steven stood opposite him, arms crossed, his expression calm and observant.

His hat shaded his eyes, but Azel could still feel that piercing gaze studying every detail.

"You seem to know a few things about holding a sword," Steven remarked, nodding slightly. "That's very good."

Azel grinned.

'Thanks to yesterday's quest reward.'

Still, hearing praise from the Sword Saint was like getting a gold star from your stoic, overly buff teacher. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't like it.

Steven moved forward and planted the tip of his own sword into the ground.

"Today, I'm going to teach you a sword style that has been passed down from one Sword Saint to the next," he said. "It's called the Dragon Saint Style."

Azel blinked. Then he raised an eyebrow.

Dragon Saint Style? That Dragon Saint Style? The one only the top three NPC swordsmen in the game used? The same style that could destroy a giant demon crab in the Fourth Calamity?

He forced himself to stay calm. On the outside, he smiled casually.

"Wait, does that mean you want me to be the next Sword Saint after you retire?"

Steven snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm teaching you because it's a balanced style. Offense, defense, mobility, stamina. It builds a warrior from the ground up."

Azel nodded, not missing the way Steven's tone shifted slightly when he said that.

He was serious. This was a legacy.

"I'll show you the first technique," Steven said. "But you won't be learning it directly just yet."

Of course. There was always a catch.

"The first technique of the Dragon Saint Style is called Star Strike," Steven continued. "To use any Dragon Saint techniques, you'll need to learn how to control aura. You don't have that yet, so for now, you'll be practicing the movements without it."

Steven took a deep breath, planting his feet into the earth with a calm stillness.

He raised his blade, drawing in air like a dragon preparing to roar. Then —

He moved.

One blink and he was gone from where he'd stood.

Azel barely had time to follow the blur as Steven crossed the clearing, his body a streak of silver and blue. He struck.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

No — more.

Steven appeared behind the large oak tree at the edge of the training ground, lowering his sword as if nothing had happened.

The tree split. Cleanly. Into pieces.

Ten or more chunks fell to the forest floor, each slice so precise it looked like a sculpture being dismantled by a master artist.

Azel's jaw dropped.

That wasn't just three slashes. It was at least ten. Maybe more.

"That," Steven said, dusting off his robe and turning back, "was Star Strike. It looks like three slashes, but in reality…"

"It was ten," Azel muttered under his breath, still stunned.

Steven nodded. "Exactly. But like I said, you're not doing that yet. First, we focus on the basics. Your stance. Your slash."

Azel groaned.

Of course.

"But—"

"No buts," Steven cut in. "To build a mountain, you start with the earth. Stance first. Slash second. Repeat until you can do it in your sleep."

Azel sighed. "How long until I learn Star Strike?"

"Years," Steven said casually, walking away toward the firewood pile.

"Years?!"

"Or maybe months. Depends on how fast you learn. Now — stance!"

Grumbling under his breath, Azel returned to the center of the clearing and took his position.

He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, gripped the wooden sword with both hands, and angled it forward.

"Too wide," Steven said.

He adjusted.

"Too stiff."

More adjusting.

"Better. Now, slash."

Azel drew a breath, remembered the way Steven had moved, and tried to replicate it.

He stepped forward and brought the sword down in a diagonal arc.

Thud.

It connected with a wooden training dummy Steven had dragged out from the storage shed earlier.

[Basic Skill: Slash has leveled up! Slash (LV.5)]

Azel smiled.

At least the system appreciated his suffering.