My Quiet Blacksmith Novels & Stories

None of them seemed to mind him as they went about their duties. Zenas walked past the entrance into the hot interior. From the heat of the building, he guessed that a fire was burning, fire by which the blacksmith would melt iron to be shaped into weapons and shields. As he walked into the dark interior to seek whom to talk to a small figure bumped into him with surprising strength almost knocking him to the floor.

I also make my way through the full corridors, being small has its advantages. I start running by the blacksmithing. It was five-thirty in the morning and the place was already boiling. All five furnaces (that looked more like the volcanoes in the illustrated books) were lit and dozens of blacksmiths raised and lowered their hammers. Pang, Pong Pum. Horrible noise. Even worse is the smell of smoke, coal, metal, and other burning things. (That I don't want to know what it is) Gray-haired blacksmith looks at me and says, —Hey boy! We need more copper here! —Other Blacksmiths start to notice me too.

The fate of Valtor depended on it. The next morning, I woke up with a restless feeling, like something was about to happen, but I didn’t know what. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch, a tension that wouldn’t go away. I tried to shake it off, but it clung to me, making me uneasy. Needing to clear my mind, I decided to take Luka out for a ride. Luka, my spirit animal, was a massive black lion, bigger than any human bear. His presence was always a comfort, especially when my thoughts were as tangled as they were today. We headed into the Earth Kingdom’s mystical forest, hoping the familiar paths and quiet might bring me some peace.

Iris called out from the main room, and she walked away fast. My mind drifted back to the day I stood outside the forging workshop. I had cleaned all my tools and put them away in my storage box. My mentor looked at me and let out a long breath. "You are really not coming back? You are the most patient apprentice I have ever had." "Metal sounds make my sister sick," I said without looking up. "The healer said she needs a quiet space." Now all the unfinished blades were cooling down in the workshop. They were cold, just like me.

“The one who broke her promise first was you. I told you I’d make you Luna and make sure your child was born safely, but what you should never have done was plot against Lianne.” A flicker of panic flashed in Chloe’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything I did… Wasn’t it all with your silent approval?” Harry ordered his men to throw her out of the estate. “I was wrong to indulge you again and again, but that doesn’t make you innocent. From today onward, the Fangtooth Pack is cutting ties with the Blackmoon Pack. From now on, we’re enemies.” Fear finally showed in Chloe’s eyes.

They were huddled together around the campfire, looking up at the shattered sky with expressions of profound, unscripted terror. "Look at the Blacksmith," Marcus whispered, pointing. Standing near the anvil was a massive, bearded NPC named Brog. In the base game, Brog existed solely to repair player armor for a small f*e of copper coins. His only line of dialogue was, "Steel wins battles, but gold wins wars. Need repairs?" Brog was not offering repairs. He was holding his heavy forging hammer in a two-handed combat grip. He was pacing furiously back and forth, muttering to himself, his pixelated face contorted in a very real expression of panic.

Remi POV The chain seller was at the south end of the market. The blacksmith was in the middle of hammering a glowing strip of metal when they arrived, and he did not stop just because two strangers walked into his forge. “Bram,” he said without looking up. “Orren.” The hammer rang again. Sparks jumped across the floor like angry fireflies. Orren finally lifted his head and looked at Remi once. Just once. Then he snorted. "You're here about the chain."

I was shoved inside a building by one of the guards. It was the blacksmith's dwelling place. The blacksmith forged and repaired weapons for the pack's warriors, ensuring they were well-equipped for battle. It wasn't just for the warriors alone. The hunters, gatherers, and even craftsmen were included. I had been here on several occasions, running errands. But each time, the heat from the furnace was hotter than the last. "She's here," one of the guards with me said to the head blacksmith, Benjamin Robinson. A man in his early forties, maybe with balding hair and wrinkles at both sides of his eyes.

The air inside the lower forges was a sweltering suffocating wall of sulfur, coal smoke, and radiating thermal heat. Down here, deep within the subterranean roots of the Obsidian Hold, the rhythmic thud of heavy iron hammers striking anvils echoed like a frantic metallic heartbeat. But as Silas and I stepped off the stone lift, the sweating blacksmiths and forge masters immediately ceased their labor, dropping heavily to their knees on the soot-stained floor.

He doesn’t look like the guards—his silhouette is taller, broader, cloaked in soot and silver. A blacksmith, I assume. His hands are calloused, his movements quick but calculated. He approaches the forge with confidence, tools clinking at his belt, and when he sees me—his eyes lock onto mine. There’s something strange about his gaze. Not cruel, but… pitying. Gentle.