Blade Tempering Novels & Stories

Just silence. The scent of iron lingered in the air, faint but sharp enough to find if you knew where to look. She'd pushed herself so hard the skin at her knuckles had split under the gloves. And she called that strength. I turned toward the rack of training weapons, running a hand over the cold steel of a short blade. Tempering wasn't about breaking something down, it was about pulling it back from the edge just before it snapped.

Dad turned around to look at me and raised an eyebrow, “Can it wait? I want to catch some sleep” I looked at his face. He did seem tired. My dad was 45 but did not look a day over 30. Though I could see the fine lines around his eyes. “Just 5 minutes” I insisted and dragged him back to the study. I closed the door and asked him, “Why do you keep trying to get a rise out of Dacre? What is the point?” I asked him in a straightforward manner. “To create the strongest weapon you have to heat the metal in a blast furnace, temper it, shape it with repeated blows and then throw it in cool water. After that, the blade is subjected to grinding until it becomes laser sharp.”

Mac said. The teacher chuckled. “Now, now, let’s turn back our attention to the recipes. Where was I? Oh right, the knife. It was almost the same as the charm, just slightly different in the final process. If the charm was made by blacksmith, tempered by the alchemist, and then sent to the enchantress, this knife is already in its finishing product. They just lack the cold properties, so we are here to put the cold properties inside the knife.” Most of the teacher’s words were easy to understand, and no one had a question. Except for one person.

It won't cure them—it will burn their respiratory tracts to ash. Elena took a half-step forward, her submissive posture slipping for a fraction of a second. "Lady Tanya," she murmured softly, keeping her voice low so only her rival could hear. "The ambient temperature is too low for a flash boil. The sulfur will oxidize. You must reverse the ratio and use a cold-press dampening technique, or the compound will turn into a lethal acid."

Class E. Trauma bandages [Effective treatment and recovery of injuries after bandaging, and some bone injury recovery. Can be used together with rapid hemostatic spray and bone therapy spray. Class E.] Steel Knife with increased damage [A sharp steel knife with a total length of 85 cm. Steel Knife with special effects: Increased damage. Causes enemies to bleed and wounds to heal slowly.

I’m still having some fun and unleashing all of my repressed fucking rage on them. I stride over to my table of toys. I scan over all the different torture devices as if I were a young kid at a candy store. My eyes widen with a sense of glee as wave my hand over the various whips, blades, saws, and a large bottle of wolfsbane. Don’t want these lower life forms to heal too quickly. My hand stops over a large silver blade. This is a nice blade- nine inches of pure silver, with a serrated edge and sharp point, perfect for fileting meat. With werewolves, we can heal from silver, but if infused with wolfsbane, scars will be left. I think this is an experience Justin should remember…for however lo

said Kirou with a smile on his face. "Oh? And how would you know that lad?" Bladesmith asked with a raised eyebrow. "It wasn't that hard to see. Though your hammering seemed random, I could tell that each strike followed a peculiar rhythm. Each spot hit was done with just enough force to drive out the impurities while keeping the metal's shape and it was done in a way to minimize the amount of hammering needed to be done on the metal itself. Had it been someone less skillful, they wouldn't have been able to forge such a weapon in such a short amount of time, especially when you started not too long before I knocked on your door." Kirou's reply was given with a cheeky grin.

He smiled while they screamed and thrashed in agony, a glint in his eyes. Blake didn’t give up and continued the torture for hours while the few warriors that joined us kept running out to bring coffee and food. If torture were an art, Blake was an exceptionally creative artist. I had never even thought to imagine all the different ways a body could be disfigured. And as if he was a professor, Blake patiently lectured us on the benefits of each knife he was using. He showed off his clip point—good for quick, deep puncture and withdrawal. Then his drop point—good for skinning. Finally, his needlepoint—perfect for thrusting. All things I'd have been perfectly content never knowing.

“Yes, although I've never seen a blade like this one.” “It looks like that because it's made of steel blended with hemlock ash and wolfsbane,” she explained. “You can touch the blade without fear, but be careful not to cut yourself. Even the shallowest cuts done by this dagger remain unhealed for a long time. The deeper cuts are quite lethal, even for the most powerful shifters.” When I stared at the dagger for more than several seconds, she leaned over and narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you sure you know how to use it?”

Then he brings out the knives. Nothing fancy. Just a pair of small, sharp blades and a blowtorch. He heats the metal and presses it just barely to her skin—watching her flinch, listening for the first scream. When she doesn’t give it, he moves on to small, shallow cuts—ones that don’t bleed much but hurt like hell.