Chapter 3
The forge was easy to find.
It sat near the edge of the town’s main square, tucked between a weathered tannery and a two-story building that looked like a storage house. Smoke drifted lazily from its wide chimney, and the scent of hot iron grew stronger with every step. A broad awning extended from the front, shading racks of tools and a display of horseshoes, nails, hinges, and farming implements.
Elias approached at a measured pace, eyes already cataloging.
The furnace was coal-fired, judging by the heat and coloration of the smoke. Manual bellows—sturdy, well-worn. Anvils pitted from long use, but maintained. He counted three workstations. Only one was occupied—by a grizzled, broad-shouldered man hammering out a crude iron blade. Functional form. No artistry.
Not that he blamed them.
This wasn’t a city. It was a survival town. Get it done, make it last.
The man didn’t look up as Elias stepped closer, so he waited, quiet and still. The rhythm of the hammer was steady, if uninspired. When the metal was quenched and the tools finally set down, the man wiped his brow with a rag and turned.
“Help you?” the smith asked, voice gravel-thick and flat.
“Looking for work,” Elias said simply. “I’m a smith by trade. Got my own tools. Mini forge. Mostly did specialty stuff—repair and alloys.”
That earned a slightly longer look. “Alloys, huh? Not many around here bother with ‘em. Too finicky.”
“Not if you know what you’re doing,” Elias said, calm and even.
The smith snorted but didn’t argue. “You registered?”
Elias held up the token.
“Alright. You looking for coin or forge space?”
Elias hesitated for half a second. “Both. But I’ll settle for space, if you’ve got any spare. I’ll pay my way with output, or repairs.”
The smith considered that, then gestured toward a smaller, unused station near the back corner.
“You’ll need to clean it. Been sitting a while. You break anything, you fix it. You don’t touch my stock or my commissions.”
“Deal.”
Elias stepped past him and knelt beside the workstation. The tools were dusty, but usable. He reached into his worn leather bag and pulled out a compact set of gear—foldable tongs, a small crucible, and his travel forge, built from firebrick and steel plate. It wasn’t much, but it burned hot enough for tests and melts. He also had a few coffee cans full of charcoal and ore shavings, plus a few vacuum-sealed snacks.
Setting the forge down, he began clearing the area with swift, efficient movements.
The smith watched him for a moment longer before turning back to his own work.
______
It didn’t take long for Elias to get the space cleaned up. His hands moved with practiced precision- brushing, checking the anvil’s surface, inspecting the quenching barrel, testing the bellows for pressure and tear. The old tools had seen years of wear, but they were still usable. Nothing he couldn’t work with.
Once his mini forge was set up beside the anvil and the coals were lit, he took a moment to observe the nearby scrap pile. Bits of broken plows, twisted horseshoes, nails bent at odd angles. Crude iron mostly. Some steel, low grade. Nothing special.
But enough to begin.
He turned back toward the smith, who was now prepping a set of iron bars near the main furnace.
“I’ve got a question,” Elias said.
The man grunted, pausing to look over.
“I can work. Properly, I mean. Not just repairs. Blades. Components. Even alloy refinement, if the tools are good enough. I’d like to stay here long-term—keep using this space. If I put in hours for your commissions, do I get to keep a cut of the scrap and a share of the workspace?”
The smith scratched his beard, frowning thoughtfully.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Hmph.” He looked Elias over again—his setup, the cleaned bench, the lit forge already crackling steady. “You keep pulling your weight, don’t slack, and don’t mess up my orders… yeah. I can work with that. I’ll give you material from the scrap pile to start. Commissions come in, we split work. You finish one of my backlogs right, I’ll even pay you a cut.”
Elias nodded once. “Deal.”
The smith didn’t offer a handshake—just returned to his work without another word.
He walked back and sat down ready to start.
As he lifted a warped iron bar from the pile and felt Metallurgical Comprehension flood his mind with details—density, weaknesses, heat thresholds—he felt something else spark in the back of his thoughts.
The system was watching.
This work counted.
Every piece he reforged. Every blade he shaped. Every alloy he perfected. It would feed into his class, into his levels, into his evolution. Not through combat or quests—but through craft.
Exactly how it should be.
_____
The first thing he did was test the local metal.
He picked out a chunk of scrap—low-grade steel, warped and twisted from age—and set it in his crucible. His mini forge roared low, focused and hot, as he fed in charcoal and adjusted the airflow with practiced ease. The metal began to soften, and Elias leaned closer, watching intently.
Something shimmered just under the surface of the molten steel.
Mana.
It wasn’t visible, not directly—but he felt it, like a vibration just outside the edge of hearing. The structure of the alloy pulsed with it faintly, like the way heat distortions danced above fire. Not enough to destabilize the process, but enough to alter it—just slightly.
He dipped a long-handled rod into the crucible and stirred. As he moved the mixture, Metallurgical Comprehension parsed it in real time. The properties were mostly consistent with what he knew: carbon content, trace impurities, tensile strength. But layered beneath it was a faint magical resonance, integrated like another variable in the alloy equation.
Mana didn’t change everything.
But it added something. A low, ambient hum in the structure. For basic metals, it wasn’t disruptive—just passive. It wanted to align. His class, he realized, must be smoothing the interaction.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
When he poured the molten steel into a mold and let it cool, the ingot set faster than he expected. Not unnaturally fast—but efficiently. Purposefully.
He ran a hand over the finished surface.
Clean. Uniform. Slightly warmer to the touch than it should’ve been. His eyes narrowed.
This world’s metals weren’t mundane anymore. Not truly.
They had potential.
After his fifth or sixth ingot, the older smith—who had been watching out of the corner of his eye all afternoon—stepped over.
“You’re not bad,” he said simply. “Not fast, but you know what you’re doing.”
Elias glanced up. “Just getting used to the material.”
The man snorted. “You’ve used mundane iron before, haven’t you?”
Then he reached down and dropped a thick bundle of iron bars on the bench.
“Think you’re ready to earn your keep? Got an order due by the end of the week. Nothing fancy—pair of short swords. Mining company wants them as sidearms for their guards. Standard pattern. I’ll sketch the specs.”
Elias picked up one of the bars, already mapping out the heat points, balance, impurities. He felt that quiet spark of pressure tighten in his chest.
He’d never forged a weapon before.
Decorative pieces, yes. Fittings. Jewelry. Reinforced tools. But not a real weapon.
Still, the design wasn’t complex. The smith handed him a rough diagram—standard miner’s sidearm, single edge, thick spine, full tang, about eighteen inches. Functional. Mass-producible. Meant to scare, maybe kill, not impress.
He could do this.
“Alright,” Elias said. “I’ll have the first one done by tomorrow.”
“Then we’ll see if I waste coal on you,” the smith replied, but there was no bite in the words.
As the man turned away, Elias rolled his shoulders, stretched his hands, and got to work.
He prepped the metal—removing impurities with Alloyweaver, smoothing the crystalline lattice, rebalancing the carbon mix just slightly to improve durability. With each step, instinct guided him, but not the way it used to.
Now he felt the system watching.
He didn’t see notifications. Not yet. But he felt it. A low weight behind his hands, like a judge measuring the value of his every swing.
He heated the bar, drew it out in stages, folded the core, quenched it, re-tempered it.
The mana in the steel aligned willingly, almost eagerly, the longer he worked. His craftsmanship wasn’t just forming metal—it was forming intent.
By the time night fell and the final quench hissed steam into the cooling air, he had the rough blade shaped. The edge wasn’t honed, and the hilt needed wrapping, but it was a weapon.
It felt solid. Functional. Clean.
He held it up to the forge light and turned it slowly, his own eyes critical.
Not perfect.
But decent.
Then, without fanfare, a subtle chime echoed in his head—soft, almost reverent.
[You have crafted: Miner’s Shortblade – Common Grade]
[Item Quality: Above Standard]
[XP Gained: 32]
Another chime followed, this one sharper.
[First Crafted Item Bonus – XP Doubled]
[+32 XP]
Then a third,
[Unique Item Type (Shortswords/Dagger) Crafted – Bonus XP Doubled]
[+64 XP]
Total: 128 XP.
Elias looked at the total XP and blinked. The bonuses from his first weapon and the unique type hadn’t been something he’d expected. 128 XP, that sounded like a large amount,
[Level Up!]
[You have reached Level 2.]
[XP to next level:153/100]
A second notification appeared.
[Level Up!]
[You have reached Level 3.]
[XP to next level:53/200]
Elias watched the numbers shift with a mixture of satisfaction and contemplation. That was faster than he expected.
Elias felt the familiar sensation of the system’s presence in his mind once again. He’d leveled up twice now, and with it came the shift of power—a strange, subtle weight in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was… new.
A third notification flashed before his eyes.
[You have gained 3 Stat Points from Level 3.]
[You may now allocate your stat points as you see fit.]
The words were simple, but they carried an undeniable weight. Elias blinked at the text, frowning slightly as the implications settled in. Stat points… So, this was how it worked.
As if sensing his confusion, the system chirped in his mind.
[System Tutorial: Stat Allocation]
[As you level up, you gain Stat Points. These points can be allocated to the following attributes:]
A series of bars appeared in his vision, each labeled clearly.
[Strength] – Affects physical power, weapon handling, and carrying capacity.
[Dexterity] – Affects agility, speed, evasion, and accuracy.
[Constitution] – Affects health, stamina, and physical endurance.
[Intelligence] – Affects problem-solving, learning speed, and magical affinity.
[Wisdom] – Affects awareness, intuition, and decision-making.
[Charisma] – Affects persuasion, negotiation, and influence over others.
[You currently have 3 Stat Points available.]
[You may choose to distribute them freely between the attributes listed above.]
Elias felt the familiar sensation of the system’s presence in his mind once again. He’d leveled up twice now, and with it came the shift of power—a strange, subtle weight in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was… new.
A third notification flashed before his eyes.
[You have gained 3 Stat Points from Level 3.]
[You may now allocate your stat points as you see fit.]
The words were simple, but they carried an undeniable weight. Elias blinked at the text, frowning slightly as the implications settled in. Stat points… So, this was how it worked.
The system’s presence pulsed again, this time with a light hum as if responding to Elias’s curiosity. The tutorial continued.
[System Tutorial: Status Screen]
[To access your current stats, you may say ‘Status’ aloud, or open the system menu manually.]
[Your status screen includes information about your attributes, level, available skills, and more.]
As the system spoke, Elias felt a brief flicker of a new window opening in his mind. He hadn’t said anything aloud, but his inner thoughts were enough for the system to respond. A new screen appeared before him, displaying detailed information about his character.
[Status]
Name: Elias Varnen
Class: Crafter
Level: 3
XP:53/200
Stat Points: 3
Attributes:
Strength:9
Dexterity:8
Constitution;9
Intelligence:8
Wisdom:7
Charisma:3
[System Information: Average Human Stat Values]
[The average human value for each stat is 6.89, with a standard deviation depending on age, gender, and ethnicity.]
[For a human of your age, gender, and ethnicity, the average stat value would be 8.5.]
Elias stared at the stat screen for a while, rubbing a bit of soot from his thumb across his jaw. His eyes kept drifting back to the numbers. The Strength and Constitution felt right—he was strong. Years at the forge had chiseled that into him whether he wanted it or not. Dexterity too, considering the kind of precision he needed when working alloys with tight melting ranges.
But the number that stuck out like a warped blade?
Charisma: 3
He let out a breath through his nose. “Fair,” he muttered.
It wasn’t like he had friends. Not on Earth, not really. People were noise—complicated, messy, emotionally exhausting. He didn’t hate them. He just didn’t need them. He preferred alloys. Metals never lied. They bent, cracked, endured, or failed—but they never pretended.
Still… seeing it quantified like that?
“Guess the system agrees I’m not built for speeches.”
He opened and closed his hand a few times. The interface hovered there obediently, waiting.
[You may now allocate your Stat Points.]
[To open this menu in the future, say or think: “Status.”]
Status, huh? That would take getting used to. But at least it was intuitive. All things considered, the system was smoother than most tech interfaces he’d dealt with back home.
He tilted his head, thinking about where the points should go.
Elias stood in silence for a moment, the faint blue interface hovering in front of him.
Three stat points.
He didn’t need to overthink it—at least, not right now. The sword he’d just forged had taken more effort than expected. The mana in the metal resisted shaping at first, and while his perks made things smoother, it was still metal. Real, heavy, stubborn.
He shifted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulder.
Yeah. Strength would help. More than anything else.
And Constitution… not a bad idea either. Just in case.
With a thought, he selected the attributes.
[+2 Strength]
[+1 Constitution]
[Stat Allocation Confirmed.]
A subtle weight shifted in his frame.
It wasn’t dramatic—no burst of power, no halo of light—but it was real. A deeper ease in his joints. A sense of more give in his grip. Like a lifetime of effort just clicked one notch higher.
He flexed a hand, nodding slightly to himself.
The clang of hammer on steel cut through the silence, and the smith stepped back from his own anvil, eyeing Elias with a half-grin.
“Level-up, huh?” he said, voice low enough that only Elias could hear. He nodded toward the faint glow that still flickered around Elias’s form—the shimmer of system magic dissipating from the air. “You seem to be around twenty-eight,” he guessed, rubbing his chin. “I’m thinking you’re—what—level nine or so by now? Maybe even past your first evolution.”
Elias froze, the breath caught in his throat. “What?” he managed, voice tight.
The smith shrugged, picking up a horseshoe with leather-gloved hands. “Auras don’t lie. Most folks your age and profession don’t spike that high unless they’ve been grinding for years in deep ruins or fighting goblins. Haven’t seen that kind of shine from a simple crafter before.”
Elias’s mind raced. He’d only been in Arlen for half a day—no more than that. And he’d just hit Level 3. Three. Not nine. Not an evolved class. His heart pounded. Had the difficulty curve really been that flat? Or had the system been juicing his progress somehow?
Elias nodded numbly. He felt the weight of their unspoken agreement: keep forging, keep leveling, keep pushing. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out why the world was so generous with him.
He straightened, his gaze drifting back to the rough blade cooling on the bench. Despite the shock, a small spark of excitement flared in his chest. If this chapter of his life was going to be a sprint rather than a crawl, then all the better.
He picked up his hammer, shoulders squared, ready for whatever Arlen had in store next.
