Blacksmith You Are Making Mjolnir For The Forging Exam の小説・ストーリー

They thought that he was only pretending when he knew absolutely nothing at all. Jordan sneered and said, "The Count's metalwork materials had gone through a rigorous selection process; they are all of the best quality. You'd better spend more time picking what you want, don't be dazzled by the selections!" Darryl ignored Jordan and continued selecting his preferred materials. He knew that forging weapons was like refining pills and elixirs. The proportion of materials must be accurate. It was not only that—the control of temperature was equally important. Every little detail had to be closely observed.

Enough to satisfy rich noblewomen and their expensive tastes. Unfortunately, the Kellana region did not have a torium mine, but there was one east, in the domain of lord Sienth, in Niera. Jon travelled to Niera and bought some raw torium. One morning while making a plough and a mirror frame at the same time, he spilled some molten torium onto one of the mouldboard casts. After it had cooled, the mouldboard crumbled. But the shards of the cast became extremely hard and strong. Jon experimented for months and when he realized what he had achieved, the young and stupid blacksmith from Taras decided to seek an audience with his lord Kell. His head was full of unspeakable wealth and young maidens

"I can't have a coward for a son. I won't." "Are you kicking me out?" I wiped the blood from my lip. "No." He stayed facing the glass. "I'm fixing you. There is a place for boys who aren't ready to be men. It's called The Forge." "The Forge?" My stomach dropped. "I've heard stories about that place, Dad. That place is a cage. They break people who come there." "Exactly." He turned back. His face was a mask; there was no love, no pity, just ice. "They break the weak parts so the strong parts can grow. You are leaving tonight."

It took nearly ten more days, but with the help of those two assistants—who looked at me with dazed, almost entranced expressions every time they saw me—we finally completed the sword. After labeling the package as an urgent shipment and sending the knight’s sword off to Hel City, I began preparing for the Ghostsmith exam. Compared to the boundless, exploratory nature of forging, the crafting portion of the Ghostsmith exam felt relatively straightforward. The support tasks and written test also leaned heavily toward practical skills and professional knowledge.

Strangest combination for clothing style thus, his face wasn't see yet. Prices, weapons and various ornaments were seen stacked up, thus, the real and fake were unknown to all as even the rarest of all items were seen present, like the weapons of gods. The hammer, Mjölnir, of the god of thunder, Thor, from the elder god pantheons. What seemed to be a glowing white halo, the halo of an angel, placed upon strange metal circles that seemed to hold up tight against the halo and even more, something that caught the attention of Shadow, a material that belonged to Maria and her parents. The spell book which last seen was in Maria's hands.

Torin remained impassive, a silent observer. Finally, Doric snorted, a harsh sound. "Words are wind, girl. Pretty wind." But he didn’t pick up the hammer again immediately. He turned the blade with his tongs, examining the edge critically. "Control," he muttered, almost to himself. "Easy said. Hard won." He thrust the blade back into the heart of the forge coals, the orange glow flaring on his face. "Like forging steel." Novah held her ground, the layers holding the pack’s turbulent energy at bay. "Maybe," she conceded. "But necessary. For the blade to hold." *For the pack to hold,* she didn't add, but the implication hung in the smoky air.

The Elder pointed a pristine, manicured finger toward the center of the casting floor. Hundreds of feet below, nearly a thousand "Wild" men of the ninety percent were working in perfect, agonizing synchronization. They were pouring liquid white-gold and kinetic steel into a massive, intricate mold. The sheer physical exertion required to maneuver the heavy machinery was monumental. The men were drenched in sweat, their massive muscles straining against the immense gravity of the alloys. Jack gripped the railing, his blue eyes wide with awe. He passively activated his Emotional Aura Vision. Through his eyes, the Forge wasn't just a factory; it was a canvas of raw, burning human spirit. He saw

“Show me the new molds.” We move deeper into the plant. Every step is a calculation. I watch a worker lifting a heavy crate of bolts. Is there a knife under the apron? I watch a man on the catwalk above us. Is he securing that chain, or waiting to drop it? My muscles are coiled so tight they ache. Beside me, I can hear Tarek’s breathing. Short, sharp intakes of air. The kid is terrified, but he’s holding it together. We reach the central forge. The noise here is earth-shaking. A massive steam hammer is pounding a glowing billet of steel.

Instead, a dark chuckle slipped past his lips, taunting me. “Liar!” He roared, slamming me into the wall once again. I was blinded by the pain, the walls cracking against his pure strength. Blood trickled from my temple and my chin, my vision hazy, but I could clearly see the gleam of his amber eyes. “The crest of Fenrir is forged from the first flame. It can’t be destroyed by ordinary fire, not even a dragon’s breath can dent it.” He continued, raising me high above the ground.

The main difference between it and the normal ones is its component, and of course the method of forging. To create the Crimson Javelin, the forger has to be a cultivator that mastered the dark arts of the Liaodong Xue Sect. It will greatly consume an amount of spiritual energy so the forger will temporarily feel very weak after the process. Forging this weapon is prone to qi deviation as well. If not enough knowledge and experience could damage the spiritual core of the forger and could cause permanently disabling the use of spiritual powers, and even lead to death if not treated well.