Blacksmith Drift Novels & Stories

I said and gave the merchant the brightest smile I could. "What?! I did not hear you, Nara!" Sir Gilbert shouted leaning forward. Poor Gilbert. Caducity was wearing his ears out. If I could make extra coins today or even one Silver coin, I would get him a hearing aid. Getting a Silver coin would be too much to ask. It was like getting blood from a turnip. In Astros, Gold coins were the highest denominations that only the Nobles possessed. By Nobles, I mean the higher-ups. Then the Silver coins which Nobles and Merchants possessed. Then the Copper coins, which the lower Nobles had. The lower nobles were different from the Nobles as they were not as rich as the Nobles or Merchants. Last of all

"Why the hell would I go out there?" The blonde rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly. "To prove the myth about this so-called Knight-turned-dragon doesn’t exist, duh?" Sophia grew annoyed with her friend’s persistence. She didn't care if a dragon resided in the Voiceless Mountains or not. The Voiceless Mountains is forbidden for a reason that involves severe punishment from the castle itself; therefore, no valid reason for visiting. She said this to her friend who kept the smirk on her face. An awful sensation built in the pit of Sophia’s stomach from the look she received.

Drake makes a thunderous howl as he sees the leader of the Hunters hurt Emily again and again with a metal chain. 'Drake. . . let them hurt me,' Emily entered his mind again. 'Let them torture me. . . just run away from the forest, save yourself,' Emily added weakly. 'No! Stop commanding me, Emily! That's not the only thing you get from me once I bring you back to the mansion!' he sounded mad, with no emotions at all. Drake killed the hunter mercilessly. He didn't let them escape from his raging eyes. He keeps on beheading those hunters who tried to get his way.

He’ll never admit it but David always fantasized about blacksmithing since it was a skill that was the polar opposite of what he knew in his previous life. In his life, he was an average person who landed an obsolete job that could be handled by any drone at the time. But in Foserense, David was not an average person and blacksmithing could be considered as an extremely important job that couldn’t be done by drones, as there were no drones in Foserense. David continued his steel-making process for the whole day. It was grueling and very tiring but he knew that it would be worth it. Eventually, David manages to fish out a weak form molten of molten steel. Despite being pathetically weak compa

“My men will be questioning each of you as the location of that group. I highly suggest that you be forthcoming with them.” “Huh, druids . . . ” the blacksmith said again, a smile probably buried in that huge beard, but from August’s angle it came tough to find. Malitus let his words hang in the air over the townsfolk like the approaching rain clouds, dark and ominous. “We shall begin with your mayor or village elder. Whoever is in charge here.” “That would be me,” the blacksmith said in Latin, stepping further from the group. He ground his hands together furiously as if he were crushing a Roman skull between them. In his eyes danced fire and he made no effort to hush it.

David brought the reputation shop and bought Druidic Golemancy and Crystal smithing, leaving his rep at only 50. "Mmmm, I guess we haven't finished yet." His voice sounded a bit colder, but still friendly towards the monsters. [-650 Winged Skull tribe reputation] [-1000 Quartz coins] Another 37 rats left with a smith who didn't take off their mask, nor he shared his name with the army, only some grunts here and there. Smithing consisted of heating the crystals until they started to melt and work on them as if they were metals, then forging various sets of tools and weapons for everyone in the city. But the most important task of the crystal smiths is doing maintenance to the crystal golems.

Draken studied the markings for another long minute. “I've never seen this specific crest before,” he said quietly, his deep voice entirely serious. He lifted the piece closer to the candlelight, his brow furrowing. “...but I know I've seen this craftsmanship, Ava. The way the silver is forged, the depth of the cuts—this work does not belong to the South.” That line sent a chill straight down my spine, the mystery of the bridge and the cloth from my nightmares crashing back into my brain. Before I could force my lips to ask him what he meant, Draken reached forward. He opened my trembling hand and gently pressed the warm silver back into my palm, his fingers lingering against mine.

Chrysantha’s POV The forge smelled of iron and smoke and old bargains. I liked places like this. They were honest in a way courts never were. Metal did not pretend. Weapons did not lie. They either cut, or they failed. Alpha Daryl stood across the long stone table from me, broad-shouldered and watchful, his greying hair pulled back in a warrior’s knot. Between us lay the inventory ledgers, wax seals broken, crates already half-emptied as Bloodhound servants hauled blades and spears away.

I excitedly picked the paper before exiting the business premises. The drive to the left district in town was less than thirty minutes I was standing in front of a blacksmith store, a huge building with a proud signboard Swan. My feet began to burn like crazy. I say a little prayer under my breath and walked into the store and met a young man who was coupling some items into a case. Our gaze locked. “I’m looking for Matthew River.” I say instantly. “There he is.” He points to a dark haired young man walking to his car in haste, with a cigarette on his lips at the other side of the road.

I was the blacksmith, hammering life into him with every thrust, every ragged breath spilling from my lungs. “Stay,” I rasped, voice breaking but louder than the ringing in my head. “You think you’re some legend feeding off me? You’re here ‘cause I let you. My blood. My body. My fucking fire keeping you solid.” He shuddered, his hands clutching at me, nails biting my back. His form shimmered again, half-sword, half-man, his jaw clenching like he was fighting to hold on. I slammed into him harder, chest heaving, spit flying as I growled, “I ain’t your sheath. I’m the smith. I’m the fire. I make you, Lachlan. You hear me?”