Benjamin Blacksmith Shop Novels & Stories

Mira got out of the Jeep along with Griffin. “Miss Red, it was good to see you again,” The older man greeted her. To the others, he was just an old man working with the outlaws. To those who knew him, he was a well-known businessman. They called him ‘The Blacksmith’. Nobody knew his real background or real name. He designed, created, and supplied weapons—guns, bow and arrow, swords and anything that made it into a killing tool. He did this for the right price. Nobody did a free job anymore because everything was a business.

She shivered and looked away. As they turned down another street, the entire block was filled with blacksmiths. Everywhere flew anvils and hammers, and the ping of metal rang throughout the street, each blacksmith seeming to echo the other. There were also clay pits with large flames roasting slabs of red-hot metal, on which they were forging horseshoes, swords, and all sorts of metal work. Caitlin noticed the faces of children, black with soot, sitting by their father’s sides, watching them work. She felt badly that the children worked at such a young age. Caitlin looked everywhere for a sign of Scarlet, of her Dad, of any clue of why they were here—but she found none.

It was only an illusion that there was actually a giant building there. However, what laid before them was not an illusion. On both sides, as far as she could see, were little shops. It looked like a town from the middle ages. To their right, was a blacksmith's shop. A man with a gray beard and a black apron was busy clanging away on what appeared to be a sword. He'd just pulled the piece of metal out of the fire and had it laid against a giant anvil. It was red hot and sparked with each strike of his hammer.

One the blacksmith had referred to as 'beautiful'. Next was the forging. Under the guidance of the blacksmith Sethlzaar spent the rest of the day shoveling coke into the furnace while the man hammered away at his work. The smoke threatened to choke Sethlzaar and the sound of the hammer against the anvil left him with a constant ringing in his ears.

I also make my way through the full corridors, being small has its advantages. I start running by the blacksmithing. It was five-thirty in the morning and the place was already boiling. All five furnaces (that looked more like the volcanoes in the illustrated books) were lit and dozens of blacksmiths raised and lowered their hammers. Pang, Pong Pum. Horrible noise. Even worse is the smell of smoke, coal, metal, and other burning things. (That I don't want to know what it is) Gray-haired blacksmith looks at me and says, —Hey boy! We need more copper here! —Other Blacksmiths start to notice me too.

Sitting around the house all day thinking about Andrei facing down rogues would drive me insane, and that wasn’t going to be helpful for anyone. “I need to get my ring resized,” I said, twisting the loose band around my finger. “Maybe I’ll go into town today.” “Good idea. I’ll watch the twins.” After breakfast, I made the walk into the village that sat just outside the estate grounds. The metalsmith’s shop was located on the main street, identifiable by the sound of hammering that echoed from within. A bell tinkled pleasantly overhead when I pushed open the door. The shop was filled with the smell of hot metal and coal smoke, and various weapons and tools hung from the walls. Behind the coun

he confessed as he faced down. "I am sorry," she apologized again as he just nodded. "It is okay!" He glanced at Oscar who was pacing up and down restlessly. "So, why did you go there? What did you discover? Anything new?" He inquired. "Yeah. Those blacksmiths were making weapons, different sizes. But I do not know why they are making it. I am a bit confused" she said. "Weapons?" He became more interested now. "Yeah! Weapons. A lot of them" she added.

It was widely acknowledged that blacksmiths residing near the borders were among the finest, second only to those in the capital city. As soon as I entered the blacksmiths' workshop, all of them halted their work and converged around me, wearing welcoming smiles and displaying flattery in their demeanor. Their eager eyes gleamed with anticipation, almost as if they could see gold coins flashing before them, presuming I was a significant customer. They proudly presented their best weapons and armors, handling them delicately and appraising them as though they were priceless treasures. However, despite their enthusiasm, I couldn't help feeling disappointed.

The blacksmith stall smelled like smoke and iron. I loved it immediately. Heavy tables were covered with tools, horseshoes, nails, and rough chunks of raw ore that glinted under the hanging lanterns. A few finished blades sat further down the display, their polished surfaces reflecting the warm festival lights. Bjorn wasn’t there tonight. Instead, a broad older shifter worked the stall, carefully weighing small chunks of ore for another customer. I hovered near the end of the table, studying the raw metals laid out on a cloth.

Zen thanked the cheerful armourer and left to find the blacksmith. It was not hard to locate Ben’s workshop from the rhythmic sound of hammer striking metal. Ben was a sturdy-looking man about the same height as Zen but twice as wide with those muscles and beer belly. He had a very bushy beard that looked untameable and a very sooty face. “Excuse me,” his voice sounded small as the stocky blacksmith struck the metal sheet once more. Ben ignored Zen and continued pounding that red hot metal. He looked deeply focused, and the young chef felt bad for calling out to him when he was busy. Hence, Ze ended up waiting for nearly three minutes until the cooling red hot metal was stuffed into a barrel