The Blacksmith Daredevil Novels & Stories

That cool-looking monkey became Walter’s idol and future goal. Walter’s stick was the result of his hard work. It was with great difficulty that he managed to obtain Star Divine Metal and later found the renowned blacksmith, Devon Stronghold, the Infinite Divine Ox, to forge it. As a master blacksmith and a rarity among monsters, the weapons he forged were well-known in the nether realm.

he asks. “Yup.” “Then forget it.” “No?” He stares at me like I just reprogrammed his brain with HTML code. “Why didn’t that work?” he mutters. I shrug. “Maybe I’m stubborn.” “That wasn’t stubborn.” His voice returns to normal. “Humans can’t resist alpha command.” “Well,” I say, “Congratulations, I just did.” For a moment he looks almost thrown. Damon Black…yes, the Damon Black, leader of the most feared biker gang, everyone is scared of, actually looks confused.

That made the majestic King fall helplessly on the floor with a shatter. "The God is checkmated, Papa," he continued before, to his father's surprise, crashing the White King more using his expensive shoes. "Relax. We've trained the Amati well. He is furious. Watch how he will kill the god." He grinned. "The Black Knight will kill your enemy soon." . . . AND THE BLACK KNIGHT WAS ROARING IN FURY, INDEED. The sound of his black Ducati burning the street was just as deadly as how the man was riding it—cutting through the dark and passing through the night like the silent murderer he was made to be. The anger in his fearless eyes was screaming for blood. Rome. Wanted. Blood.

We stopped before a heavy door made of darkened metal, marked by old dents, soot stains, and deep scratches near the lock. “The Blacksmith lives here,” Darrow announced, his voice echoing with dark reverence. “He makes every weapon in Verisure.” Darrow knocked twice with his closed fist, hard enough for the metallic impact to vibrate through the door and echo down the corridor. A few seconds later, we heard the heavy sound of locks being moved on the other side. When the door finally opened, a wave of heat immediately escaped, striking my face after the street’s biting cold. The contrast was so abrupt that I felt my skin tighten.

But lately, reports have been of the Dark Knight’s men snooping around, waiting for me to make one wrong move. “I—I don't know what you're talking about. I d—don’t even know who you are.” She stammer out, whimpering, afraid of my demon form before her. It's exactly how I like my captives to be, Afraid. Trembling at my feet. Scared of my unpredictable nature. “Liar!” I growled, grabbing on her neck. I want to go easy, but easy never gets the job done. “You knew exactly where I'd be. At the exact spot I'd be standing, perfect timing, and you want me to believe you're innocent?” I tighten my free hand to a fist, guarding myself from showing mercy.

He’ll never admit it but David always fantasized about blacksmithing since it was a skill that was the polar opposite of what he knew in his previous life. In his life, he was an average person who landed an obsolete job that could be handled by any drone at the time. But in Foserense, David was not an average person and blacksmithing could be considered as an extremely important job that couldn’t be done by drones, as there were no drones in Foserense. David continued his steel-making process for the whole day. It was grueling and very tiring but he knew that it would be worth it. Eventually, David manages to fish out a weak form molten of molten steel. Despite being pathetically weak compa

"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

Sweat broke across his forehead. But he refused to scream. He refused to show weakness. His jaw clenched until it felt like bone would crack. “Sir,” a nurse said quietly, stepping forward. “Please, you’re going to open your stitches...” “Back away,” Damian snarled. The nurse froze. Everyone froze. This wasn’t the fragile man who had cried in the dark. This was Blackwell. The king of a blood empire. The man who didn’t beg. The man who didn’t wait.

His hands and foot were tied to it with tape, and so was his mouth, so that his head bobbed about with tiredness and exhaustion. “By night, we are criminals. We sell guns. We deal drugs to the fiends who want them. We kill. Now, and because you have come of age, you have become a part of that life, Damian Blackwood. Will you be a coward and run away in fear, or will you conquer until you lead the Blackwoods?” “Leading is my birthright. Only cowards turn and run.” I answered.

I replied and his lips stretched into a sinister smirk. "And if I win, you let me walk away with the bike of course or I will kill you" I interjected. "I don't bargain Princess, I'm sure you should have known that by now after what happened to your brother" He grinned as my grip on the pins tightened. "You are a coward. And I thought the big bad Kaden Blackwood would be impressive, he is just a boy with a gun and a gang of brainless bikers he controls. Spineless worthless-"