Meanwhile, a blazing furnace cast dancing shadows onto Adam’s sky-blue hair and twitching eyes.
If someone told him one day that he’d craft a trash item intentionally, he knew he would have lashed out at the fool. Yet, here he was, sweating over an anvil to make the metal as horrible as his pride would allow.
’Shit! Why is it harder than when I made my mythical blade?!’
He cursed, swinging his Qi-infused hammer with all his strength.
Sparks flew, illuminating his twisted lips. The bright metal underneath bent, a slight crack forming at its core.
’I won’t make it ugly no matter what! It’ll be stylish but broken inside. Hahaha!’
His crazed laughter terrorised the disciples who took the exam with him. Their heads snapped in his direction, and their jaws dropped at the frenzied hammering. What did the kid go through to display such ferocity at his age?
They shook their heads, bitter smiles curved their lips as they imagined the worst. Perhaps his parents were sick, or maybe he was an orphan desperate to earn sect points before being kicked out. In any case, Adam’s relentless pounding nursed their imaginations.
As the older ones secretly cheered for him, Adam shaped his creation.
To avoid attention, he went for something simple and unpopular: a throwing knife. Therefore, each strike shaped the short double-edged blade in a meticulous symphony aimed at altering its balance and imbuing it with his Qi. Once satisfied with the rough piece’s flaws, he used smith’s tools for the first time to sand it.
This made him sigh in relief since he didn’t know the technique, meaning he wouldn’t have to mess it up on purpose. After all, he had always used miniature wind blades of different sizes to achieve flawless results.
Instead, he wrapped an old cloth filled with a mixture of sand, clay, and oil and rubbed it against the metal by hand.
A grating noise assaulted his ear, so unpleasant that he vowed never to use this method again. Still, he rubbed for several minutes until he held a polished throwing knife. The edges were still rough, and cuts showing his inexperience covered the frame.
Yet, a few spectators gasped upon seeing the practical design and the metallic circle crowning the handle. The polished parts reflected the ceiling despite its flaws, while the edges made them understand how sharp the end product would be.
However, their awed gasps turned into choked horror, and their eyes widened when they saw him grip a smaller hammer and a chisel. What was he doing?
The ones who cheered him earlier shook their heads. This little brother would fail for the saddest reason: his desire to prove himself. But sometimes less was more—something he would learn the hard way.
Meanwhile, Adam reheated the metal until it glowed a soft red. With masterful precision, he carved stylish channels around the frame and added a few calligraphed characters as flourishes. Nodding in satisfaction, he threw the knife into an acidic tube, gripped a piece of copper ore, and melted it inside a crucible.
Qi forging had almost nothing in common with magical enchantment. For example, he had imbued the knife with his Qi during the shaping—when he should have placed his enchantments. Yet, one thing remained the same: he didn’t like others to see his methods. That’s why he had faked it, and his real enchantment would be on the part he valued most—the style!
Once he heard the copper bubble, he gripped large pincers used to manipulate the scalding crucible, then poured the steaming, viscous liquid into a thin thread mold.
As the metal cooled, he retrieved the knife and observed it. Now corroded by the acidic solution, the bright metal turned lusterless dark. Even if it seemed unimportant, it wasn’t. After all, it didn’t reflect light anymore, making it deadlier.
Now in the final phase, he picked up his hammer again and, before the onlookers’ disbelieving glares, he pounded the copper thread into the channels, adding a thin line of reddish-brown to raise the knife’s style to a new level.
Simultaneously, he infused his Qi into the copper to give the weapon the most common enchantment he could think of: enhanced sharpness.
But that was also the part that made him frown the most. Even the onlookers gazed at him, pity and encouragement melding in their eyes as sweat covered his forehead.
The sensation of his abundant energy, akin to a raging torrent, suppressed into a thin stream—what a horrible feeling. Enduring it, he sighed when the edges vibrated.
Slightly at first, the intensity increased until the rough layer shed like a chrysalis to reveal razor-sharp edges.
’Did I still overdid it?’ He cursed as he passed a finger into the circular part that crowned the handle.
Then, he spun the dark throwing knife and threw it at a wooden board.
Dragged by the flawed balance, the knife tilted mid-flight and clanged on the ground.
’At least I thoroughly messed it up. It’ll also break after a few uses, so it should be fine.’
With a smile, he picked it up and jabbed it into the wood.
The blade pierced a few millimeters before it stopped, reassuring him further about his successful failure.
Eager to present it, he turned, finally noticing the flabbergasted gazes of the crowd.
"What’s wrong with the glares?"
He raised his palms, a vein throbbing on his forehead.
Instead of the fellow disciples, a middle-aged man walked to him, the anvil crest embroidered on his chest and the five golden stars surrounding it glinting.
The man’s green eyes darted between the boy and the throwing knife before his dark hair fluttered over his smith’s robes as he turned.
"Follow me. I’ll introduce you to a few friends and discuss the rank we should attribute to you."
’Shit...’ Adam facepalmed, his jaw clenching. ’Look at what you’ve done with your stylish obsessions!’
He cursed under his breath, knowing he had messed up. After all, the man spoke about what rank to attribute to him.
’Just give me one star and leave me alone!’ He clenched his fist. ’I’ll break the knife before them if push comes to shove.’