Blacksmith Wage Novels & Stories

It is a sad past my wolf prefers not to think about. After searching through the local pack notice boards without finding any good chore, I decided to settle for a job that just pays a huge amount of silver. Working as a drink-pourer at the high tavern comes out on top—with a daily rate of 380 silver pieces plus a 2% coin commission on expensive wines, it is highly lucrative work for a rogue. Though my inner wolf is not fond of the loud, wild tavern scene, the thought of the silver coins makes my beast relent.

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.

he scratched his head, “We need someone to do the heavy lifting around here and you seem to have some muscles or maybe fat in there.” Was I just insulted? “Oh! I thought as much,” I looked at my hand. In my real life, I wouldn’t have much problem with working hard. Avri has such soft baby hands that I don’t think she had ever done any hard lifting all her life. I guess her best bet would be her bulky body. “How much would I get paid?” I questioned raising my hopes a little. “Hundred bucks per week.” “Are you kidding! Is that some kind of modern day slavery?”

My task was to add the finishing touches, design the swords, and safely store them. The clanging of metal and the scent of hot iron welcomed me as I entered the forgery. One of the blacksmiths, a burly man with calloused hands and a perpetual scowl, nodded in acknowledgment as I approached. I wasted no time and began working diligently, my fingers dancing across the weapons, adorning them with intricate patterns and symbols.

Narcissa took my hesitation for wariness and pressed: "You'd be paid a proper wage of a million Orichalcum." I…clearly hadn't heard her right, but one look at her smug face confirmed that—yes—she'd said what she said. With that much money, I would have enough to pay tribute to a proper pack. Joining would be no issue. This was the break I'd prayed for!

"If you were going to guide him and also be his sparring partner, you must be compensated. The Earl of Silverstone's wife is known for being generous. I'd say you could earn three to five silver coins a month." Travis' eyes were suddenly filled with a compassionate warmth. "To be honest, I don't take on just anyone as an apprentice, nor do I care much for that paltry amount of money. Three or five silver coins isn't much at all. But it seems there aren't many capable people in the Earl of Silverstone's family. I've heard that Oliver's martial arts are just average. If there isn't a rising talent, how could the title be passed on? Bring him to me. Three or five silver coins—it doesn't matter.

The daggers were smooth and sharp, it was cold and carried a lethal aura. "We'll take three of the daggers, twenty arrows and two bows, and this sword." The blacksmith nodded and placed the ordered items from the rest. "Three daggers:thirty gold coins, twenty arrows....: fifty silver, Two bows: twenty five sliver, One black grade sword: twenty five gold coins." The blacksmith list the prices of the weapons. Madeline frowned she had all but sliver coins, she had given all of them to Theodora and Fredrick.

“Three percent, to be precise, it might change at noon.” “Interest is 12, still better than in most places. I must returned 145, 6 silver pieces, not counting tax rates and the cost of transporting the coins, the transfer fee when the king paid us, the silver tax, and the cost of processing the contract.” “True.” “It all sums up to three hundred silver pieces.” “Will you accept?” “I have nothing else to do. We have a deal.” The banker counted the coins and handed them to the woman. The craftsmen stood and waited for the costumers to come to them, most of them were working.

However, his expertise in forging iron and other minerals made it difficult for him to be replaced by other blacksmiths. As a baby, Berk was thrown away not far from where Bowen worked as a blacksmith. Bowen was a stocky dwarf with a long golden beard that was neatly braided. He loved creating and forging weapons for hours on end. His expertise was very well known throughout the human and non-human world. When he found baby Berk, who had nearly died of starvation, Bowen took him home. He gave the baby milk and carried him on his back when he worked. That's how Berk was raised. He became a skilled blacksmith just like Bowen, his adoptive father, The Genius Blacksmith.

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.