Elias blinked awake, the glowing system text still fading from his vision.
His body felt… different.
More settled.
Like every bit of training, instinct, and stubbornness had finally slotted into place.
Before he could fully gather himself, a gruff voice cut through the haze.
“First evolution, huh?”
Elias turned to see Harren standing nearby, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
The older smith squinted at him, clearly measuring something in the air—maybe the faint shimmer of power that still clung to Elias.
“You must’ve been at level 9, maybe peak level 8 when you first walked in here,” Harren said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Not terrible for your age… but honestly? With the skill you’ve shown, I expected much better.”
Elias scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling the weight of the words—and the irony.
“Right…” he muttered.
If only Harren knew.
He’d been barely scraping level 1 when he first stepped into this forge.
It hadn’t even been a week.
Just hard work, a few lucky breaks, and apparently a system that was very keen on pushing him forward.
He offered a weak half-smile, but Harren had already turned away, heading back toward the forge.
“Don’t let it get to your head, boy. Evolution’s just the first step. You’ve got a long way to go before you’re anything special.”
The words were blunt, but not unkind. A challenge, not an insult.
Elias tightened his fist, feeling the subtle new strength humming through his veins.
He didn’t say anything.
He just nodded once, firmly, and followed after him.
__________
Later, when the forge quieted and Harren busied himself with paperwork, Elias found a quiet corner to sit.
He exhaled slowly, the tension from the day bleeding out of him, and summoned the system interface with a thought.
New notifications waited for him.
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[Class Evolution Complete: Alloywright]
[New Skills Gained:]
- [Alloy Sense]
- [Temper Mastery]
- [Adaptive Forging]
- [Minor Blessing of the Forger]
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Elias leaned back against the wall, studying each line carefully.
[Alloy Sense] — He could already guess. He focused on the description, and a short explanation bloomed.
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[Alloy Sense]: You instinctively detect the composition and potential reactions of any alloyed material. Unknown or impure metals reveal their properties with extended observation or touch.
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He whistled under his breath.
That… is absurdly useful.
No more slow, painstaking testing of scraps or guessing the balance of unknown metals. He could feel it now, almost like a second skin and it synergised exceptionally well with his [Metal Comprehension]
He flicked to the next one.
[Temper Mastery]
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The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
[Temper Mastery]: Your control over heat treatment processes (hardening, tempering, annealing) is enhanced. Forged items maintain better internal structure, leading to improved durability and performance.
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That one made him grin.
Tempering was critical. A weapon’s life or death could be decided by how it cooled, how the structure inside settled. A thousand unseen fractures—or none at all.
[Adaptive Forging] came next.
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[Adaptive Forging]: When working with unfamiliar metals or alloys, your crafting efficiency is slightly increased. Partial resistance to forging mistakes caused by unknown material behavior.
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He leaned forward, excitement stirring.
New worlds of metals meant new risks. This skill gave him a cushion, a little forgiveness where normally failure would have been brutal.
Finally, [Minor Blessing of the Forger].
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[Minor Blessing of the Forger]: Your works are subtly infused with the blessing of an ancient craft deity. Items have a small chance to possess unique traits or improved affinity for future enchantment. Effects are minor but permanent.
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Elias sat back, heart thudding slower, steadier.
It wasn’t flashy.
It wasn’t world-breaking.
But it was real.
He could work with this.
No shortcuts. No fireworks. Just cleaner work, better results, and a future steadily built—hammerstroke by hammerstroke.
Exactly the way he wanted it.
Elias didn’t rush.
Instead, he turned the rest of the evening toward something he’d been thinking about for days: a new hammer. One that actually suited him.
The one Harren had given him when he started was fine—serviceable, balanced enough—but it was mass-made. A basic tool for basic work. Now, with new skills humming under his skin and an evolution still fresh in his mind, he wanted something personal.
He rummaged through the scrap pile, setting aside a few promising chunks of high-carbon steel. Not the best quality, but nothing [Alloyweaver] couldn’t clean up.
Slowly, methodically, he began.
First, he refined the steel, using his innate understanding to drive impurities out more precisely than before. He mixed in a touch of softer iron for the core, creating a hammer that wouldn’t crack under stress, but still carried the punch he wanted.
Heavy face, short handle, he decided as he sketched a rough shape in the soot on the anvil. Thicker neck for control, a slightly wider peen side for detail work.
He heated the metal, shaping it with slow, deliberate strikes. Each hit felt cleaner now, like the hammer was listening better. Temper Mastery whispered in the back of his mind, helping him judge when the structure was just right, when to reheat, when to let it cool.
When it came time to temper the head, he tried something new.
He used [Quench] without liquid first—letting the mana in the metal settle slowly—and then plunged it into oil for a proper finish. The result was subtle: stronger resilience without losing flexibility.
Finally, he carved a simple but sturdy handle from seasoned ashwood, wrapping the grip with treated leather for comfort. Nothing fancy. No decorations. Just a craftsman’s tool, built for endurance and precision.
When it was done, he turned the finished hammer slowly in the forge light.
It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t flashy.
But it was his.
Heavy enough to smash stubborn metals. Balanced enough for fine work. Durable enough to grow old with.
He tested the weight, let it rest in his palm.
Perfect.
A quiet notification flickered in the corner of his vision:
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[You have crafted a Personalized Tool: Forgemaster’s Starter Hammer.]
[Minor Resonance detected: +2% forging efficiency when using this tool.]
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Elias smiled slightly and tucked the hammer into his belt.
Tomorrow, he’d get back to work properly—with a real hammer, in a real forge, chasing a real dream.
_______
Harren sat by the forge’s side door, an old, battered pipe clamped between his teeth, watching the smoke rise and vanish into the night air.
He was tired. Sore. The usual.
But his mind wasn’t on the ache of his joints tonight. It was on Elias.
The lad wasn’t normal. Not in the slightest.
It wasn’t just his skill—though, stars above, it was sharp enough to draw blood. It was the way he moved. The way he worked. Like someone who didn’t just learn forging, but lived it. Every action had a certainty to it, even when he was experimenting.
And yet… for all that surety in his craft, he was awkward with everything else.
Harren noticed it early—the way Elias barely spoke unless spoken to, the way he seemed more comfortable staring at a half-molten blade than meeting someone’s eye. How he’d answer questions in the fewest words possible, and stand there stiff as a sword when the apprentices tried to joke with him.
Like a man out of place, Harren thought, puffing thoughtfully.
It wasn’t shyness, exactly. Harren had seen shy apprentices—jumping at every word, flinching from attention. Elias was different. Like he didn’t see the point of talking unless it was about the work. Like people were strange tools he hadn’t figured out how to use.
And that knowledge—knowledge of metals, alloys, techniques no apprentice should know—only made it worse.
He didn’t just learn fast. He came prepared.
He’s not just talented, Harren mused grimly. He’s remembering.
There were stories—old ones—about the reborn. Souls who returned to the world the were born in, their attachment not allowing them to pass on. Rare, but not unheard of. Some became great warriors. Some, feared sorcerers. Some, they said, simply lived again quieter than before, their old knowledge leaking into new hands.
And now, maybe, a smith.
Harren grunted, adjusting his chair.
It didn’t scare him, not exactly. Elias hadn’t given any reason to fear him. No madness in his eye, no dark aura clinging to him. Just… quiet focus. Obsession, even.
If anything, it made him wonder what would happen when the boy’s ambitions outgrew this little forge.
Because Harren knew, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, Elias wasn’t made to stay here hammering miner’s swords and farm tools forever.
He blew out a long stream of smoke, watching it vanish into the stars.
“Don’t burn too bright, lad,” Harren muttered under his breath. “World doesn’t like those who shine too much.”