After Gerald finished his meditation, he silently looked at the last Tusk of the Empyrean Boar left.
'This is my final chance,' Gerald thought. 'If I fail here...'
"You're not going to fail, Pops."
Gerald was broken out of his daze by the voice of his son, who was standing beside him.
"How can you possibly fail when you still haven't taught those Assassins a lesson?" Thirteen smirked. "In fact, you should treat this Empyrean Boar Tusk as if it was that Assassin Organization. You should smash them to oblivion.
"Do they really think that they can crush our family so easily? Those fools who looked down on you, ridiculed you, and called you a coward, are the same fools who would not even last a single blow from you."
The seven-year-old then rested his hand on Gerald's hand that was holding the hammer in a tight grip.
Rough hands covered with calluses he gained from doing his best to fight alone in Solterra in order to provide for and support his family.
Hands that picked up the sword and, now, the hammer to give his children a better tomorrow.
"No, Pops," Thirteen said firmly. "You will not fail. Smash those who stand before you. If they refuse to submit and yield, force them to submit! If they refuse to yield, then smash them repeatedly until they do! No one is allowed to step on our family.
"No one is allowed to ridicule us!
"No one is allowed to look down on us!
"All those who dare to do so must be crushed!
Gerald felt his blood boiling after hearing his son's words.
He had been working tirelessly for many years in order to support his family without the help of his Father.
The number of people who looked down on him when he chose to marry Alessia instead of a daughter from one of the other Prestigious Families was countless. But that didn't make him back down, and he proceeded to marry for love, not for political ambitions.
Then came the Assassin Organization, Death Wish. They, who had been hired to assassinate him for who knows what reason, had forced him to take another path.
As a proud warrior, how could he not feel angry?
How could he not feel depressed?
Even though he fell in love with Blacksmithing, he still wanted to return to Solterra.
To show the fools who thought that they could make him yield and the fools who thought that they could step on him and make him submit that he would crush them all.
With hate and anger fueling his strength, Gerald smashed his hammer down on the Empyrean Boar's tusk.
Each blow sent sparks flying in every direction.
His hammer swings were no longer filled with doubt and uncertainty.
They were filled with firm, powerful resolve to crush all the foes who dared to stand before him.
All the haze that clouded his head disappeared, and only the sound of his hammer permeated his mind.
The Martial Technique, Hammer for all Seasons, started to circulate through his body, creating golden flames that covered his hammer with its radiance.
Gerald was unaware of what was happening as he was too focused on his work to notice anything else.
He glared at the Empyrean Boar Tusk in front of him as if daring it to stand against him.
As if waiting for that moment, the Spirit of the Empyrean Boar emerged from its tusk and roared at Gerald.
Gerald roared back and smashed the head of the bastard who dared to roar at him.
He continuously pummeled the poor creature until it was forced to submission.
Finally, when the sun was at its highest peak at noon, Gerald smashed his hammer for the last time.
His breathing was ragged, and sweat drenched his entire body. He had neither eaten nor slept for the past three days because he was too immersed in what he was doing.
Only when he had finished his craft did all the exhaustion wash over him like a tide, threatening to drag him into their depths.
But Gerald held on, wiping away the saliva that seeped from the corner of his lips. He looked at his creations with pride.
"You did well, Pops," Thirteen said as he handed Gerald a potion to drink. "I'll handle the rest."
Gerald nodded and drank the potion that Thirteen had prepared for him. After he emptied the vial, a strong sense of drowsiness assaulted his senses.
He then laid down on the ground, with his arms spread wide.
A few seconds later, loud snoring sounds echoed inside the Smithy, making Thirteen smile faintly.
His father had truly worked his ass off for the past three days, hammering intensely with conviction and resolution.
And with that, he had finally unlocked the final requirement of the Martial Technique, Hammer for all Seasons.
Failure was part of their craft, but as long as one had an unyielding resolve to move forward despite the setbacks, without a doubt, one would find their way to greatness.
Even Thirteen didn't expect that his father would achieve what he had pulled off during the past three days.
In front of him, there were four completed pieces, and all of them were of the Adamantine Rank.
A Great Sword, a Shield, and two Short Swords.
< Empyrean Great Sword >
Rank: Low Adamantine-Grade
Active Abilities: None
Passive Abilities: Indestructible
Weapon Type: Great Sword
< Empyrean Great Shield >
Rank: Low Adamantine-Grade
Active Abilities: None
Passive Abilities: Indestructible
< Empyrean Short Sword >
Rank: Low Adamantine-Grade
Active Abilities: None
Passive Abilities: Indestructible
Weapon Type: Short Sword
The Indestructible passive skill, although rare, was much sought after by crafters.
Since most items could only have up to three skills maximum, they wanted to have the indestructible trait on one of them.
This would ensure that the equipment would never be destroyed, making its value higher.
"To think that he could forge four pieces using the last Empyrean Boar tusk... it really is a windfall," Thirteen muttered. "Even if he only crafted one, it would have been enough help to recover all our losses. With four of them... kukuku! We're rich! We're filthy rich!"
Thirteen couldn't help but laugh out loud, drowning out his father's snoring.
After he finished laughing, he gave his sleeping father one last glance before taking out several Jinn and Majin cores from his storage ring.
It was now his turn to turn the Adamantine Equipment into Mythical Equipment, which would make the Leventis Family cough out mouthfuls of blood the moment they saw them.