Chapter 183 - 178: Forging Iron
"I’ve brought Skullcrusher back, Uncle. All these years, not a day has passed that I haven’t thought of returning it."
"I was too young back then, always trying to prove to you that I could become a true Warrior even without pure Dwarf blood. I took the axe to the Northern Territory and fought for more than a decade. I went through hell and back to earn my place—not for glory, but just so people would stop calling me ’half-breed’."
At the words ’hell and back’ and ’half-breed,’ Bolin’s anger dissipated.
In his youth, he too had roamed the world with his warhammer on his back; he knew the weight of the honor a Warrior earned through blood and sweat.
Ola seized the opportunity, his tone growing urgent.
"Uncle, I came back to ask for your help! I need three Dwarf wind crossbows!"
Bolin, who was wiping a mug, froze. His gaze turned serious.
"Wind crossbows are restricted items. What do you want them for?"
"For my friend, Velin Klein!" Ola explained frantically. "His territory is under threat from a Level 5 Magical Beast, and thousands of lives hang in the balance! We’ve exhausted every option. Only the wind crossbows can give us a chance to slay it!"
"Friend?" Bolin’s voice was laced with a Dwarf’s typical skepticism.
"A human noble, friends with a Half-Dwarf? Ola, you’ve been out in the world all these years, and you still don’t get it? He doesn’t care about you; he cares about that axe in your hand!"
"That’s not it!" Ola’s fists clenched, his knuckles cracking. "He’s different! He..."
"Impossible!" Bolin cut him off. "No wind crossbows. And even if I had them, I wouldn’t give them to you. They are masterpieces of Dwarven artisans, not toys for you to suck up to some human noble."
Ola’s heart sank.
Once his uncle made a decision, it was set in stone, but Ola couldn’t give up.
"Where’s the warehouse?" he asked through gritted teeth.
Bolin said coldly, "Planning to steal them a second time?"
"If you won’t give them to me, I’ll take them by force." Ola’s gaze was resolute.
Bolin fell silent.
After a long moment, he picked up an iron ingot, tossed it into the forge, and worked the bellows, sending flames roaring to life.
"Get out."
Ola didn’t move. He knew if he walked out that door, he would lose his only chance.
He spotted a wooden crate of scrap iron in the corner and sat down on it.
"I’m not leaving until you give them to me."
The forge fire silhouetted Bolin’s back as Ola stubbornly held his ground.
Time trickled by to the rhythm of the hammer striking iron.
「Two days passed.」
Ola felt like a piece of iron being repeatedly hammered on an anvil; every second was an ordeal.
He barely slept. His mind was filled with images of the sand table of the Grey Marsh Territory, of the menacing giant serpent, and of the look in Velin’s eyes as he assigned their tasks.
Anxiety was like a thousand ants gnawing at his insides.
Bolin acted as though Ola didn’t exist.
He went about his usual routine—firing up the forge, hammering iron, quenching the metal, and resting. But he would leave a simple meal on the floor in front of Ola.
During that time, Ola tried everything he could think of.
He tried reasoning, describing the prosperity of Newly Town, Velin’s leadership, and the enthusiasm sparked by the merit point system—the only response was the clang of a louder hammer blow.
He tried money, offering a sum large enough to buy a mansion in the Royal Capital—Bolin just snorted, exhaling a puff of coal-dusted air.
He tried playing the sympathy card, recounting why he had left and the hardships he’d endured for years—Bolin didn’t even bother to lift an eyelid.
Ola was at his wit’s end. The network of underground warehouses in Qishi City was a complete labyrinth; without a key and a map, he could search the entire city and never find it.
All he could do was wait. All he could do was try to wear his uncle down.
On the morning of the third day, a sudden chill woke Ola, who was curled up on the crate of scrap iron.
Bolin stood in the middle of the smithy and tossed him a thick leather apron.
"Put it on and get over here. Work the bellows."
Ola’s eyes lit up. He shot upright and quickly tied the apron around his waist.
"Hmph." Bolin grunted disdainfully and walked to the forge.
Today, he was going to forge a Pavis Giant Shield.
Ola gripped the rough handle of the bellows. It was an unspoken understanding between uncle and nephew.
WHOOSH—WHOOSH— The heavy breaths of the bellows fed air into the furnace, and the charcoal from the Golden Oak Sea turned from dull red to incandescent white.
"Not enough air!"
"Rhythm! Keep it steady! Can’t you see the flames changing color?!"
The rebukes were punctuated by the blows of the hammer.
Ola gritted his teeth, sweat soaking his beard and dripping to the floor. His arms screamed in protest, feeling as if they might tear apart.
In the past, he would have quit and started a fight within half an hour.
But now, only one thought consumed him: ’Keep going.’ Velin, Barrett, the Rock Breakers, and thousands of people were all waiting for him. He couldn’t stop.
When the red-hot shield blank was removed from the forge, Bolin commanded, "Tongs!"
Ola dropped the bellows handle, snatched up a pair of long-handled iron tongs, and rushed forward.
He had to grip the searing hot steel shield, which weighed hundreds of pounds, hold it steady on the anvil, and adjust its angle on command.
The wave of blistering heat was suffocating.
"Higher!"
"To the left, a finger’s width!"
"Hold it steady!"
The force of Bolin’s thunderous blows threatened to split the webbing of Ola’s hands. He gripped the tongs for dear life, his knuckles white, concentrating with all his might to anticipate each command and hammer fall.
For a split second, his focus wavered, and the shield’s angle went slightly askew.
Bolin’s smaller hammer struck the handle of the tongs with lightning speed.
DANG!
The impact sent a numbing shock up Ola’s arm.
"The steel will tell you when it’s ready; you have to learn to listen. On the battlefield, a single breath from your enemy is an opportunity for you to survive."
Ola froze, his mind flashing back to Velin’s many strategy meetings.
’So the principle is the same,’ he realized.
He no longer saw this as his uncle making things difficult for him, but as a test.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down and began to observe the color of the forge’s fire, listen to the groans of the metal under the hammer, and feel the power within each vibration.
Gradually, his movements became steadier.
Bolin remained expressionless, but between hammer blows, his eyes would flick to Ola.
He saw the once impulsive, hot-tempered nephew now covered in sweat and grime, his eyes filled with a tough, focused resolve.
He saw the scars on his nephew’s arms, and the thick calluses on his hands earned from years of gripping an axe.
’Just how much has this boy suffered out there to become the man he is today?’
’And what kind of person did he meet that would make him willing to come back and bow his head to a stubborn old coot like me?’
By dusk, the main body of the Pavis Giant Shield was complete, radiating a faint glow as it rested on the cooling rack.
Its curvature was perfect, its structure solid. It was truly a masterpiece, fit to be an heirloom.
The next step was to install the shield’s lining and handle.
The TAP-TAP-TAP of a copper hammer on rivets echoed through the smithy.
"This Velin," Bolin said suddenly, "what’s he like?"
Ola didn’t stop his work, carefully threading a leather strap through a rivet hole as he answered.
"He’s young. He’s not like a noble, more like a... hmm, a foreman. He introduced this incredible system that gets everyone to work toward a common goal."
"Velin always says, ’It doesn’t matter who you are. If you want a better life, you have to work for it.’"
Bolin paused what he was sharpening.
"So, he rules not by bloodline and crest, but by contract?"
"You could say that," Ola said after a moment’s thought. "A contract for labor and compensation that everyone agrees to."