The sound of hammer striking metal continued to echo through Elder Garron’s personal smithy.

Vulkara stood in front of the anvil with both hands gripping the plain hammer.

Her short red hair was slightly damp from sweat, and the heat from the furnace made the air around her shimmer. Even so, her eyes were bright, focused, and full of excitement.

The red-hot iron on the anvil had already been hammered several times.

At first, its shape had been rough and uneven, but under Garron’s instructions, it slowly became flatter, cleaner, and more stable.

CLANG!

Vulkara brought the hammer down again.

The strike was still a little heavy, but compared to before, it was much cleaner.

Garron stood beside her with his arms crossed, watching every movement carefully.

He did not speak for a while.

Only after Vulkara finished another round of hammering did he nod slightly. "Yeah. Not bad."

Vulkara immediately stopped and looked at him. "Really?"

Garron rubbed his rough beard and grinned. "Yeah. Not bad at all. To think you actually learned this fast."

Vulkara’s eyes brightened.

For someone like her, praise from a normal person was one thing.

But praise from the Hall Master of the Blacksmith Hall was completely different.

Even if Garron only said "not bad," Vulkara could still tell that he meant it.

She looked down at the iron ingot on the anvil, then at the hammer in her hand.

A fiery smile slowly appeared on her face. "Then I want to forge a sword."

Garron blinked as his face immediately darkened. "Hey, hey, hey. Don’t get ahead of yourself so fast."

Vulkara frowned. "Why not?"

Garron pointed at the iron on the anvil. "Because this thing is still ugly."

Vulkara looked at the iron.

It was not that bad.

At least, in her eyes, it looked much better than before.

Garron seemed to understand what she was thinking and snorted. "Don’t look at it with beginner eyes. From your view, this thing probably looks decent. But in my eyes, it is full of problems."

Vulkara raised an eyebrow. "Problems?"

Garron walked closer and tapped the ingot with his finger.

TINK!

"The left side is thinner than the right. The middle is not compressed enough. The edge is slightly warped. Your rhythm is better now, but your strength still changes too much between strikes."

Vulkara stared at the ingot again and looked at it more carefully.

After Garron pointed it out, she finally saw the problems.

Vulkara’s mouth twitched. "Damn. I thought it looked fine."

Garron laughed. "Of course you did. That’s why you’re still a beginner."

Vulkara clicked her tongue but did not argue.

Garron pointed at the furnace. "If you want to forge a sword, you first need to learn how to prepare the steel properly. If the ingot itself is not perfect, then the sword you forge from it will also be flawed."

He looked at her seriously. "A sword is not born when you shape the blade. A sword is born the moment you start preparing the metal."

Vulkara slowly nodded.

For once, her smug expression faded, and she listened properly.

Garron continued, "A bad foundation makes a bad weapon. It doesn’t matter how pretty the blade looks later. If the inside is uneven, brittle, or full of impurities, then that sword will break the moment it meets real danger."

Vulkara thought about it for a moment before muttering, "So it’s like cultivation."

Garron’s eyes flashed with approval. "Exactly."

Vulkara looked at him.

Garron grinned. "If your foundation is trash, then no matter how flashy your techniques are, you will still collapse sooner or later. Blacksmithing is the same. The metal is the foundation. If you can’t even prepare a proper ingot, you have no right to talk about forging swords."

Vulkara looked back at the iron, and her fingers tightened around the hammer.

She had originally wanted to forge a sword immediately because the idea sounded exciting.

After all, what cultivator would not want to create their own weapon?

But now she understood that blacksmithing was not that simple.

It was not just throwing metal into fire, hammering it a few times, and pulling out a cool sword.

There were steps, rules, and control. If she skipped them, she would only embarrass herself.

Vulkara took a deep breath and nodded. "Then what should I do?"

Garron pointed at the ingot. "Keep training until it is perfect."

Vulkara blinked. "Perfect?"

"Perfect," Garron said firmly. "Same thickness, proper compression, balanced shape, stable rhythm, and no wasted strikes."

Vulkara stared at the ingot.

Then she looked at Garron again. "How long will that take?"

Garron smiled like an evil old man. "Depends on your talent."

Vulkara narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like a trap."

"It is," Garron said shamelessly.

Vulkara’s mouth twitched.

For some reason, she suddenly felt like Damian was not the only shameless person in the Heavenly Sword Sect.

Garron waved his hand. "Don’t look at me like that. You said you wanted to learn blacksmithing. This is blacksmithing."

Vulkara exhaled, then lifted the hammer again. "Fine."

Her eyes became sharp. "I’ll make it perfect."

Garron’s grin widened. "Good. That’s the spirit."

He used the tongs to put the ingot back into the furnace.

WHOOSH!

The red-orange flames swallowed the metal again.

Heat rushed against Vulkara’s face, but she did not step back.

Instead, her eyes became even brighter.

After a while, Garron pulled the ingot out again and placed it on the anvil.

The metal glowed bright red, ready to be shaped once more.

Garron stepped aside. "Again. This time, control your breathing before every strike." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Vulkara nodded and adjusted her stance again, raising her hammer high.

CLANG!

Her strike was cleaner than before, surprising Garron slightly, but he still did not say it.

"Again."

CLANG!

"Don’t rush."

CLANG!

"Lower the shoulder."

CLANG!

"Better."

CLANG!

"Do not let your excitement control your strength."

Vulkara gritted her teeth and slowed down.

Her fiery Qi stirred inside her body, but she did not use it.

She only relied on her physical strength, breathing, and rhythm.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

Vulkara continued to hammer the ingot again and again.

The more she struck, the more focused she became.

Her goal was simple.

If possible, she wanted to perfect the ingot in one day.