My Quiet Blacksmith Novels & Stories

[It's a blacksmith! Will started observing the shop from the outside. The back of the shop had a stone wall with a small forge and a chimney. By the smithy was an old man, almost two meters tall. He was very muscular, but also had a very fat protruding belly. He had some patches of beard and hair here and there, but most of it seemed to have been burned off due to occupational hazards. Next to him was a young man, he couldn't be older than fourteen. He was much shorter than the middle aged man, and a lot skinnier too. The boy looked exhausted, but was hammering away at a piece of iron over a large semi-rusted anvil.

I said. My fingers ghosted across a simple but well-made black one. The wool was thick and tightly woven, promising warmth and invisibility. After paying the fifty silver, I stepped back out into the plaza. As I walked, the air grew hazy with the smell of hot metal and coal smoke, and the rhythmic clang... clang... clang of a hammer drew my eye. A small, open-air blacksmith shop, its heat a visible shimmer in the cool afternoon. I wonder… I found him by the gate, a shadow against the stone. He rose as I approached. "Success?"

“Yeah, this would barely cut bread. Have someone to fix it.” Next up was the bows and arrows. I flick through a quiver, pulling out an arrow, The fletching of the first one I picked flapped like a bird with a broken wing. I hold it up to the blacksmith who’s tagging along with us. “This’ll go flying sideways if someone tries to shoot it.” He nodded and grabs it from me. “Yeah, I’ll sort it,” he said promptly. The whole place is full of clanging sounds and a background grumbling and the weird kind of quiet that only happens when everyone knows what they’re doing.

CHAPTER 158 ~3RD PERSON'S POV~ “Have you ever heard about the blacksmith?” Clarabelle asked. "No, I haven't, my queen,” the UNKNOWN replied. Clarabelle shut her eyes and said, “The blacksmith is a legend among the mortals. Some of them actually believe he exists, and some of them believe he's just a myth. They say the blacksmith lives in the deepest, blackest depths of Mystic Meadow and enternaly hammers a glowing piece of metal, waiting for the day he can take revenge on the ones who hurt him.

A man who experimented with steam and iron. "We need a blacksmith." I said. "Specifically, Blacksmith Kaelen." Silas let out a short, dry laugh. "Oh. The one who made the iron pipe that went boom in the military quarters? The elders sent him away. They called his work devilry. Nobody knows where he stays now. Some people say he is dead. Some say he lives in the caves of the Silent Peak." "Dead?" I whispered. My stomach twisted. If he was dead, my plan for the soup was gone.

I know for a fact that if I was truly settled and contented with what I have for the past centuries, I would have died by now. But I’m not dead, so my heart hasn’t reached it’ contentment. And while I don’t wish to see how it ends, there’s a longing curiosity inside of me that seeks to know what it is could sedate a monster like me. There was none, I thought. Until it happened. The black and white scene. Flashing an image of a school's playground with two people talking to each other. One girl and one boy, smiles on their faces as they both let the wind sway their swings.

"It only knows the strike. It only knows the truth of the metal." He looked at the front row—a group of blacksmiths and silversmiths. "You know my father's name. Thomas Silas. You know the House of Aris has been selling you brittle steel and hollow gold for three years. I am the man who stayed in that 'dirt' to make sure the work remained true, even when my name was stolen."

I could not help but cry out from the sharp pain. "You got lucky at the hospital," she whispered, her voice a sinister hiss. "Let's see if your luck holds up this time." No sooner had she spoken than two hulking men in black suits stepped out from the shadows, their eyes murky, their faces all hard lines. They did not say a word when they grabbed me, one on each side, and hauled me off like I was nothing into a pitch-black room that promised nothing good. "Stop! What are you doing to me? Liliana!"

The kind of tension born from months of relentless training. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, big man. Yeah, your muscles show you’re a fighter, but your demeanor doesn’t.” I stare at him, trying to understand where he’s coming from. “Get the hell out!” he roars to the prisoners expecting a second drama. The prisoners scatter, leaving just the two of us… and a few of his men. “I said leave!” he barks again, and the remaining ones disappear from the bathroom. “This prison is home to murderers, rapists, and violent offenders of every kind. Blackridge is a fire meant to purge them of their iniquities… or burn them in it.”

His eyes glazed over. His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. "I was wrong... Don't do this. Don't be so cruel..." All that smugness—gone. Just raw, broken regret. Nobody said a word. The silence was heavy. Then Liam cut through it. "You did this, Elroy. No one else." I didn't fight it when Liam led me away. As we passed, Elroy grabbed my hand, eyes bloodshot. "Don't leave me..." he whispered.