Blacksmith Manga Novels & Stories

Gabriella asked. “The blacksmith isn't an abyss demon, so your new alpha aura won't affect him. His power may seem a lot like that of an abyss demon, but he's far from one,” Margret replied. ~Present~ “Hey,” Gabriella said as she stepped forward. The blacksmith stood quietly, staring directly at Gabriella. Black smoke rose from his body into the air, and small sparks flew out in random directions. “Something is wrong here,” Derren said. “What do you mean?” Angela asked.

"The metal is drawn from the deep roots of the world. It requires immense physical and magical strength to shape. Our smiths are among the most respected women in the Cradle." One of the smiths—a woman with a shaved head and a vicious scar across her collarbone—looked up from her anvil. She saw Mwajuma standing at the edge of the pavilion. The smith’s eyes widened slightly as she took in Mwajuma’s raw size and the fading amber tattoos on her skin. The smith did not glare. She lowered her hammer, stood up straight, and slammed her right fist over her heart in a crisp, sharp salute of absolute martial respect.

As he spoke, Mane and Lam’s eyes glowed as they wished for powerful weapons of their own. “This world is more mysterious than we thought,” Hildegarde stated from atop Mane’s shoulder, and Mane nodded in reply. Indeed, this world was a fascinating one. There were Soul-Bound warriors, Returning to Origin warriors, and blacksmiths capable of fashioning intelligent middle class weapons. Now Mane was very interested in visiting Blacksmith City. “Are you interested in going there?” Vital Orange asked with light glowing in his eyes. Mane furrowed his brows upon noticing this. He suddenly realised that Vital Orange didn’t tell him this for nothing.

Sparks shoot into the air like dying stars. Arven stands over the anvil, exactly where I expect him to be, his hammer rising and falling in a brutal rhythm. Sweat runs down his temple, disappearing into soot-streaked skin and the rolled sleeves of his shirt. He looks like a man who has spent his entire life arguing with iron—and winning. Clang. Clang. Clang. The air smells of iron, ash, and old magic. He doesn’t look up at first. “Whatever it is, come back tomorrow,” he mutters without turning. “I’m finishing an order for the western warriors—unless you want a sword shaped like a spoon.”

Still, I´m not giving him the chance to drag me around as he pleases. "All right, now tell me why should I make such a request for you?" His dry lips let go of a sigh as his heavy hands landed in unison on the piece of wood in front of him. "Hmph, brats nowadays can´t appreciate quality even when it´s right in front of your dumb faces. Wait in here" The man rose from his seat and went to the door behind him. He left it open so once we got closer we were able to hear his oven puking fire and hot metal. It wasn´t long before the blacksmith returned with a piece of leather in his hands.

They lift heavy objects. Ragnar was speechless. It was clear that the old man would speak no more. Ragnar Lanek's iron amulet must have symbolized powerful magic, no matter what the wolf priest said. They walked down the street and passed an open shop. When Ragnar looked inside, it was a workshop full of blacksmiths. Their inner shadows glowed in the light of the hot metal. He hears hammers from other places and knows that in these places the products of the blacksmith are made. "You still haven't answered my first question." Ragnath said, surprised at his carelessness. — I don't know if I understand if I can leave. 'Why not?'

The figure seemed to beckon, a silent invitation that sent shivers down Lyra's spine. Elsewhere, Nolan, the realm's skilled blacksmith, was deep in thought as he crafted a new set of enchanted armor. His hands moved with practiced precision, but his mind was consumed by the puzzle before them. He had always been attuned to the realm's energies, and the disquiet he felt now was impossible to ignore.

As the blacksmith locked them around my chest and arms, the runes ignited. Pain detonated through me. I screamed. There was no dignity left in it. No restraint. The sound tore itself out of my throat as the chains burned into my skin, searing through flesh, bone, and straight into the bond. I felt Aurelia’s presence convulsed violently, like a flame caught in a sudden storm. “No.” My vision fractured. “Stop!” “This is the point,” the blacksmith said calmly, tightening the final clasp. “To make it stop.”

[Mission: Acquire a blacksmith to stay at your territory][Reward: Occupational Talent Appraisal] 'hmm, acquiring a blacksmith? That is rather expensive' , thinking of a black smith. They are in demand occupation, since hunting and wars are common for this world. Blacksmith are also quite a character, people do often please them just to make request for them. Now, talking about acquiring. He needed to prepare a large amount of golds just to employ them. In addition, he have to make a plan on how to approach and please them just to work in his territory.

Sweat ran down the back of my neck. The blacksmith was completely bald, but with a huge walrus moustache. He wore a heavy leather apron that made him look like he had nothing on underneath. I desperately hoped that wasn’t the case. He ignored me and continued to bang away — Pang! Pang! Pang! — red sparks flying in every direction. The hammer could have been borrowed from Thor. He picked a glowing object off the anvil with large pincers and plunged it in a bucket of water. Steam shot into the air. “What is it?” he finally said without looking at me.