Sao Blacksmith Novels & Stories

He became a skilled blacksmith just like Bowen, his adoptive father, The Genius Blacksmith. One day, hundreds of years ago ... Bowen could feel an evil aura approaching the blacksmith workshop, where he worked. He stopped the work of forging iron, then hurried to block the door with heavy iron bars. The Dwarf hurriedly extinguished the fire by dousing it with water, causing a sizzling hot smoke. The suppressing evil aura drew closer. Bowen didn't know who was out there. Whoever, the intentions were definitely not good. He didn't like the arrival of these uninvited guests. He had a bad feeling.

The sword shined as the yellow illumination of light reflected on its blade. He took one of the swords and thought, |It was a well-made sword.| Then he checked the name of a smith who made the sword, he picked the scabbard after noticing that no marks of sword-smith on the blade itself, good thing that it was written on the scabbard. "SarSmith..." he mumbled as he read the name of the swordsmith. He's not really proficient enough in using a sword. Since he was only 5 years old when his teacher taught him some basic sword techniques.

"Master Hannigan, please instruct us." the scarred manface replied respectfully. Samuel chuckled. "Are there any decent blacksmiths in the city!" "There are indeed a batch of blacksmiths in Castle Demon, but I wonder if they'll catch your eye." Although the blacksmiths were good, in the scarred man's eyes, Samuel was a top-notch man. Therefore, he naturally thought that the blacksmith Samuel was looking for should be an absolute top-notch blacksmith.

I’m selling a flat near the main town square for a large one, preferably on the other side of the stream. He walked away, looking for the nearest blacksmith. Just around the corner, there was a blacksmiths shop. The smith had a serious look to his face. “Do you know how to recast a Giltherin san-mai sword?” Yanta asked. “I know only the typical ones,” the blacksmith answered. “Yours is a special one.” “There must be someone, who can recast them.” “There is, go north, to a small mountain village, there you will find the smith.”

His presence was a constant source of steadiness, a reminder that they faced this challenge together. In the corner of the courtyard, a team of blacksmiths worked tirelessly at a line of anvils. Sparks flew as molten steel was hammered into shape, the glowing metal transforming into sleek blades, spearheads, and arrow tips. Lyra paused to observe a blacksmith as he inspected a freshly forged sword.

"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."