Chapter 47 – Catching up on Blacksmithing

The classroom emptied like a tide receding after a storm. Qiang Ming remained behind for a moment, watching the rows of seats clear with growing indifference. He shifted his weight, let out a soft breath, and finally turned to leave.

This kind of learning doesn't suit me, he thought. Words, theories, diagrams—no pressure, no blood, no weight.

His fingers idly brushed against his spatial ring as he walked. Still, I'm here now. No going back.

As he made his way across campus, his thoughts turned to Chen Yi's firm words from the morning. A second profession is essential. And of course, the Blacksmithing Association was one of the clearest routes to gaining contribution points at Shrek—something he'd need if he intended to survive here, much less thrive.

His feet carried him with certainty toward the western quarter of the academy grounds, where the Shrek Blacksmiths' Association sat in its low, industrial sprawl. The smell of smoke and ore permeated the air before he even reached the double-reinforced doors.

A plaque over the entrance gleamed in the light of day: "Strike true, shape destiny."

Inside, behind the reception counter, a sharp-eyed man in a steel-gray robe glanced up. "Help you?"

"I'm here to test my Blacksmith certification and take on work," Qiang Ming said, showing his student ID. "I already accepted two second-grade thousand refining missions this morning."

The clerk looked mildly interested now. "You're certified?"

"No. Not officially."

With a few flicks on his terminal, the clerk stood. "Follow me. Let's get you tested."

The exam chamber was tucked behind the main corridor. A well-maintained forge stood prepped with bellows and fuel, along with a table of refined and unrefined metals. The walls were marked with runes for safety containment. Qiang Ming was handed a set of gloves and safety goggles, but waved them off.

"You're allowed to choose your metals," the clerk said. "Consider it an Association courtesy."

Qiang Ming stepped toward the selection table and examined the assortment. He chose two metals: Bluesteel, the one he had refined countless times in the past; and Greencopper, which he had never forged before but remembered vaguely from his old lectures with Su Yang.

Then, without ceremony he summoned his Blackstone Abyss Hammer, from under his feet three deep purple rings appeared, the third one lit up once, and just like in his right hand, in his left hand a Blackstone Abyss Hammer also appeared. 

The room fell silent except for the crackling of the forge fire.

"...Are you going to forge both metals?" the clerk asked slowly.

"Yeah," Qiang Ming said, matter-of-fact. "At the same time."

The clerk blinked. "You do realize—"

"I know the benchmark."

Qiang Ming's lips curled into a faint, almost playful smirk. "Let's see if I reach it."

He placed both metals on two side-by-side anvils, stoked the forge to the precise temperature, and began.

Each hammer swing echoed like war drums. The heat rippled across the room as Qiang Ming's body moved with mechanical precision. Despite the sheer difficulty of the task, his breathing remained calm, and his arms shifted rhythm smoothly—one adjusting for the unfamiliar quirks of Greencopper, the other flowing with the effortless confidence of Bluesteel mastery.

It took nearly an hour. Each minute added a new layer of sweat to his brow. And still, his focus did not falter.

When the final strike rang out like a bell of triumph, two second-grade thousand-refined ingots sat cooling before him. The Bluesteel gleamed like moonlight, perfect in form. The Greencopper, though slightly rougher, still radiated the brilliance of proper refinement.

The clerk walked over, slowly and carefully. He inspected the two ingots under a specialized scanner. Silence.

"…That's… a benchmark performance," he muttered. "You refined two different rare metals simultaneously to second-grade thousand refinement. That's not a second-rank test result."

He looked at Qiang Ming with wide eyes. "You qualify as a 4th-rank Blacksmith. On the spot."

Qiang Ming just shrugged and flexed his hands.

"I guess that's good?"

The clerk looked equal parts stunned and irritated. "Yes, that's good. You'll be listed with the intermediate-ranking blacksmiths immediately. Here—" He handed over a pin, now inlaid with four tiny notches. "And since you're a work-study student, that means ten free rare metals per month. Use the forge rooms in the west wing. Rank-four blacksmiths get personal workshops."

He also handed Qiang Ming a small ledger. "Association pricing for direct sales. You've got premium sell-back rights now."

Qiang Ming took it all in stride, thanked the man, and walked away.

His new forge space was more private than he expected—an enclosed room with polished stone floors, ventilation runes, and an extra-large workbench. He tossed off his jacket, cracked his knuckles, and got to work refining his monthly ten metals.

One by one, each ore rang beneath his hammers. The sensation of control returned quickly, and while none of the ten ingots reached first-grade refinement, all were comfortably within the second-grade threshold.

After boxing them up, he sold them back to the Association directly, opting for convenience over haggling. The points transferred into his account with satisfying speed.

Solid earnings for one day, he thought.

By the time he made it back to the Mission Hall to turn in his contracts, night was already falling. The sun dipped below the skyline, casting an orange hue over Shrek's towers.

The courtyard outside the Working Student Lodge was louder than usual. As Qiang Ming approached, he noticed two unfamiliar boys in the midst of a heated argument.

One looked like something out of a fantasy tale—sharp-featured, almost angelic in appearance, with smooth porcelain skin and golden eyes. The other was bulky, broad-shouldered, with his fists clenched and neck bulging with muscle.

"I just want to find the Dark Spirit Master!" the angel-faced one snapped.

"There's no one like that here, and you can't even be here for Gods sake!" the bulky one roared back.

Class 0 was on the side of the bulky one it seems.

Qiang Ming walked straight past them, barely glancing their way.

Too tired for this.

He entered the lodge, climbed the stairs two at a time, and reached his room. The door clicked shut behind him, and in the quiet that followed, he finally allowed himself to sigh.

His arms ached pleasantly. His hammers were warm in his spatial ring. His contribution points had seen a solid boost. All in all, not a bad day.

Qiang Ming collapsed onto his bed, face-down.

"…And tomorrow," he mumbled into the pillow, "I'll figure out whether I give a damn about armor forging or not."

Sleep came quickly.