Rise of the Living Forge - Chapter 231 (Patreon)

Arwin plunged an ingot of steel into the hot ball of lava once more. He sent his attention deep into the sphere of molten stone as the mental’s history echoed through it. It had goals and desires, just like every other piece of metal he’d ever worked with.

They were far too loud to just completely ignore. Listening for anything with the metal’s thoughts ringing in his ears was just impossible. It was like trying to hear the whisper of a fairy in a roaring thunderstorm.

For the last few hours, Arwin had been trying to find a way around that. He’d assumed the ingot would have both, or that he could circumvent the song entirely just by listening to its thoughts.

Now he realized that was impossible. Not because the thoughts were too loud or because his class had somehow limited him from doing what the dwarves could, but because it wasn’t his ears he was meant to be listening with.

The song of metal was not a song that was meant to be heard. It was a song that was meant to be felt. Arwin sent his intent into the magic-infused lava in his palms, not trying to decipher the metal within it or listen to anything at all.  He just relaxed. He relaxed — and waited.

And, in turn, he felt a faint thump within the lava almost akin to the distant beat of a heart. Arwin instinctively gave the lava a gentle tap, sending a small amount of extra [Soul Flame] to infuse the hot rock and raise its temperature.

The metal continued to speak in the back of his mind. Arwin barely even noticed. He was completely focused on the ball of lava before him. Another distant thump came after the first, then another one after it.

Arwin felt his consciousness sinking deeper and deeper into the lava. The thumps grew louder. It was the feeling that came with the strike of a hammer against metal. The vibration of the hammer in his hand and the warp of metal as it was forged.

Every beat of the song was the movement of metal lungs, breathing life into its still body.

In his previous attempts, Arwin had been so focused on making the future the metal wanted that he hadn’t actually stopped to ensure everything was ready in the present. But now, when he focused on feeling the song, his attention was entirely on the metal as it was now, not what as it could be. The magic-rich lava surrounding the metal could bring change — but it could also bring destruction.

Realization flooded into Arwin’s mind like a river and practically drew a picture in the air before him.

In many ways, dwarven smithing was like raising a plant. Every sapling sought to be a tree, and they needed water and sunlight to grow. But nothing in the universe liked waiting. It wanted to grow faster. It wanted more water. More sunlight. That was a trap. Too much water would drown a plant, and too much sun would burn it.

The metal had desires, but it didn’t know what was best for it. Thus was the purpose of a true smith. Not just to bring the desires of metal out as soon as possible, but to craft it in a way that would allow it to achieve those desires.

Magical energy poured from Arwin’s hands and into the ball of lava as he felt the impurities slowly and steadily melt away from the ingot. He kneaded the metal within the lava like a ball of dough, purging every last scrap of trash within it relentlessly.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t worry about how much magical power he was using. The beat of the song was the only thing on his mind, a symphony played for his ears alone. All the whispering voices in his mind slipped away and a smile pulled across his lips as he worked.

And then it was done. The song faded away and left Arwin in silence, aware of the smithy around him once more. His eyes had closed and his back was soaked with sweat, but somehow, it wasn’t anywhere near as uncomfortable as it had been before.

His mind and the lava in his palms were one. Arwin could feel the ingot perfectly within the orb as if his hands were wrapped directly around it. A droplet of sweat rolled down his brow and dripped into his eye.

Arwin finally let the ball of molten rock lower as he wiped his face with the back of a sleeve and raised his gaze — and he nearly jumped as he found Wallace’s face about half an inch away from his.

“Shit,” Arwin cursed, nearly dropping the ball on the spot as his heart jumped in his chest. “What are you doing, man?”

“Teaching an oaf,” Wallace replied as he straightened back up, a wry smile hidden by his bushy beard. “Did you like my example? I’m quite proud of it.”

“Example?” Arwin’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, now. You could at least say thank you,” Wallace crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I guided you through your first song. Coming to understand the song of a material is not a simple task. I gave your mind a little help to direct its focus.”

“He was whispering something about trees into your ear,” Lillia provided.

 Arwin’s eyes widened. “That was you? How? It was so vivid!”

“Dwarven smithing puts you in a state that isn’t all that dissimilar from a trance,” Wallace said with a chuckle. “All I had to do was say a few choice words and you fill the rest in on your own. I trust you were successful?”

In response, Arwin reached into the ball of magma with a [Soul Flame] encased hand. He pushed through the glowing rock until his fingers wrapped around a mass of metal and he pulled it free.

 The ingot had been turned into a rough sphere about the size of his palm. It was bumpy and uneven, but it glistened like pure silver even though Arwin knew full well that it was just steel. Wallace plucked the ball from his hand and studied it.

“Not bad at all,” Wallace said with a small nod, a smile pulling across his rugged features. “I’ve seen far worse first attempts. I can see you’re not a particularly neat person. Fix that. An organized mind makes organized weapons. None of this… mess. The sphere should be smooth and shiny, not bumpy.”

“I was a little more focused on it being pure than it looking pretty.”

“Function and form are not independent of each other.” Wallace’s words were gruff and firm, but there was a faint note of respect buried deep within them. “A dwarven smith pursues excellence, not mediocrity. The next ball you make will be a perfect sphere, not dragon dropping.”

“Noted,” Arwin said with an appreciative nod. Wallace was far from kind, but there was no doubt in his mind that the dwarf knew what he was talking about. Right now, all Arwin wanted to do was soak up as much knowledge as he could. Just because he couldn’t see the value in something yet didn’t mean it wasn’t worthwhile — he just didn’t have the experience to tell yet. “What about the purity of the metal? Is it good?”

Wallace’s expression flickered and he handed the lumpy ball of steel back to Arwin. “It is good. You may be a clumsy human, but you did acceptably in linking your song with the metal. I have not seen a smith that could feel the song of their materials this quickly in a very long time.”

A small grin formed on Arwin’s lips. “So I’m good?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Wallace said with an irritable glare. He pulled another ingot of unpurified steel from his extradimensional space and set it down on the anvil. “I would take a dwarf that had practiced a thousand times just to become competent over an arrogant prodigy. Hearing a single song with my guidance is nothing to wet your pants over. Do it again. Then keep doing it.”

“How many times?” Arwin asked.

“Until you can make something that actually resembles a sphere. And, before you ask, ovals do not count. I want something as close to perfectly smooth and round as you can do. If you lack a reference, I suggest looking at your own brain.”

Ouch.

Arwin looked down at the lumpy ball resting in his hand, then over to the new ingot. He could have claimed that his creation was roughly spherical if he really squinted, but it did kind of look more like a hairball. He had a long way to go.

“Something tells me I might not be making it to dinner,” Arwin muttered. “Will you open a portal back for Lillia so the others don’t start worrying? You’ll have to open it again after a bit, though. She isn’t going to leave unless there’s a way back.”

“Hold on. I’m not leaving you here,” Lillia said. “It’s not going to be the end of the world if I miss one day.”

“Can they? You rely on satisfaction and people eating your cooking,” Arwin said, craning his head back to look at Lillia. “And you won’t be gone forever. If Wallace was going to try something, he’d have done it after we were alone. It’s fine. Just cook dinner and then come back.”

Lilla pressed her lips thin, then sighed. “Fine. You’re right. He can open a portal.”

“Perhaps you’d like me to serve you some tea while I’m at it?” Wallace asked, glaring at them. “Do I look like a personal maid to you?”

“Well, Lillia does have some dresses. I’m sure one of her imps can spare one.”

“At cost,” Lillia added. “I don’t have any imps as wide as you. I don’t think you’d fit.”

“I do not want one of your dresses,” Wallace snapped. He blew out a sigh and shook his head, grabbing his hammer from the wall and bringing it over to them as its head heated to a glowing molten color. “But if it gets you both to shut up, then I’ll open the portal. At least I’ll be spared of watching you flirt while in the sanctity of my workshop.”

“Flirt?” Lillia asked, affronted. “We haven’t been flirting. We’ve just been sitting here! I’ll show you flirt—”

A thrum of energy ripped from the head of the hammer and a portal split open behind Lillia, revealing the inside of the Infernal Armory. Wallace pushed her through the portal with the butt of his hammer.

“Three hours,” Wallace ground out. “Be back here. Do not be late.”

The portal snapped shut.

“Thanks,” Arwin said. “I appreciate it, Wallace.”

“I don’t want to hear it. And don’t expect me to sit around massaging your shoulders just because the lass is gone.” The dwarf let out an annoyed grunt, then thrust his finger at the unpurified ingot. “Now get back to work. I don’t want to hear another word from you until you can make something worth looking at.”