Solitude Blacksmith Novels & Stories

The heat hit me immediately – a wall of scorching air that smelled of metal and coal. "Shopkeeper, I'd like to have this item made. Can you do it?" I asked, pulling a piece of paper from my jacket pocket. A burly blacksmith emerged from the back, bare-chested with skin gleaming with sweat and oil. His muscled arms bore the scars of his trade, and his beard was singed at the edges. I forced myself to look at his face, trying hard to maintain a calm demeanor and hide any discomfort. Men's bodies were still unfamiliar territory to me, especially one so powerfully built.

We were the gardeners of a new, iron eternity, and we were planting our seeds in the soot. ​As the sun reached its zenith, it was a dim, watery light that couldn't penetrate the thick smoke hanging over the valley. I felt the absence of the resonance as a cold, sharp blade in my chest, but I ignored it. I had work to do. I was no longer a legend in an obsidian circle. I was a technician of the human spirit, trying to keep the machine running until we found a better way to live. The legend of the Black Mountain was a story for people who had never known the weight of a wrench or the heat of a forge.

There was warmth from somewhere in her hands that seeped through her veins and into her heart. Daki Travis was the greatest blacksmith in the time of General Dana Rein. Chloe narrowed her eyes and gripped the hilt of the sword, pulling the sheath away from the blade. The sword's blade glowed brightly, filling up the whole room. Jucel and Daki looked away, shielding their eyes from the bright light. Chloe's hands began to shake, the sword rattling in her hold. ~O~O~O~ "MINERIA Town?" Neptos asked as they walked down the road of the Galenus market.

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.

I pushed my way towards the young man and waved my hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Yes, sir. What’s your order?” “I just wanted to ask you, is he the only silver blacksmith in Dargot.” “Indeed! One of a kind, but very reasonably priced!” “And how did he get his silver hammer?” The man pointed over his shoulder to a lance hanging high on the wall. “The killer of the Radiant Sea Serpent. A fearsome beast that claimed the lives of over a hundred men. But no more, thanks to that beautiful piece of workmanship. An exact duplicate can be yours for only one thousand bits.”

"I know you're one of Schneider's men, but I'm not going to let you go in this state. You definitely need proper treatment." With ease, the people lifted themselves up, walking with steady, steady steps in contrast to their less muscular bodies, like Askarovich. It was only when they had walked quite a distance and their eyes were no longer glaring from the sun, did they realised the identity of the man who was carrying them just now. Alec Berthold. The grandson of Pierre Berthold—a human blacksmith who was granted immortality by the goddess Morrigan and renowned as the only master weapon maker from time to time who could resonate with the magical powers of the old man's clients, who were mo

Above the close glass door, the name 'SARSMITH WEAPON WORKSHOP' was written in bold fonts and in blue paint color and having the design of shield, sword, and gun. Yman pushed the glassed door, then he together with Sistela stepped inside the workshop. They were greeted by the smell of metal that invaded their nostrils, although Sistela doesn't have it. However, she could read the data surrounding her. After all, she was a super high-end system who was capable of five senses. The inside was illuminated by yellow brilliance from the big circle lamp on the ceiling. Inside the weapon shop, different types of weapons were lined accordingly. Some were neatly hung.

He didn’t seem to notice. “I got up before the sun and was at work well after it got dark. Then I had to walk home. I was lucky to get a single break after arriving at the shop. The master blacksmith training me, Henrik, was well sought after. Our shop flourished, but we had more work than he could keep up with. It also meant my work was never-ending.” “But you learned a lot, right?” Blake scoffed. “Well, you got big and strong.” She teased, squeezing his arm muscles.

He looked at the woman in black leather armor and reminded her, “Blossom, don't be careless. You underestimate the Black Dragon’s strength.” Rumble! Suddenly the ground shook with a loud rumble. The crowd turned toward the sound. The source of it was a short man—only 156cm tall. Although he was relatively short, the ground trembled with his heavy footsteps. Every step he took sounded like the ground was being crushed underneath his feet. “I, Solomon Tate, swear to kill the Black Dragon if he dares to show himself here.” “That’s the spirit!” At the same time, another gruff voice boomed from another direction.

Her fragile, imperfect little piece of freedom… blackened. The chair was toppled, furnitures burned through. Bottles of ink lay shattered on the floor, their colors bled together into an ugly smear across the tiles. The counter was scorched, the walls blackened where flames had gone up before dying out. Ashley staggered forward. Her hands trembled as she reached for the ruined machine on the counter. The same one Cole had tested with a grunt of approval. Now it was nothing but twisted metal. This was theft. Whoever did this hadn’t just burned a shop. They’d stolen the one thing that made her feel like she still had herself.