Of course I understood what Lucas Zuo meant by 'tempering a thousand times.' After all, I know quite a few smiths who work that way—hammering the forged item, striking it repeatedly until it takes shape, and only then is it considered finished.
"When we forge a sword, we strike it at most a few thousand times. Once the blade takes shape, we move on to refinement, and when the form is set, we're done. But that master swordsmith was different. He hammered far more than we did—at least ten times as much."
I let out a sound of surprise. Lucas Zuo continued, recalling how frustrated he felt at the time. In the workshop, all the masters produced similar weapons, except for that one master whose creations were in high demand. Most customers waited for his work, never rushing, because his weapons were truly exceptional.
Whether it was sharpness or durability, his weapons far surpassed the others. Eventually, Lucas Zuo couldn't hold back his curiosity. He started investigating the master's secret and found that, aside from spending much more time forging and using ordinary materials, there was no real difference.
Unable to suppress his doubts any longer, Lucas Zuo asked directly. The master only replied, 'Just hammer it more,' and said nothing else.
"So what exactly was different? The materials weren't special, so why were his swords better than yours?"
I asked in confusion. Lucas Zuo smiled and stood up. The stones in the furnace had melted, and he began pouring the molten liquid into the mold. He waited for it to cool, then took the sword, now solidified to a certain degree, and placed it on the forge, starting to hammer it with his mallet.
"Every material has its strengths," he explained. "That master forged weapons according to the nature of the material, not by using the best materials to make the sharpest swords. Each sword he made was unique. The time and effort required were extraordinary. Back then, I never had the patience to ponder such things."
Lucas Zuo kept hammering. After a while, I lost count of how many times he'd struck the blade, but it was starting to take shape. Then, he switched to a smaller hammer, continuing to work on the sword's body.
"The surface of the sword looks smooth, but in reality, it needs to be coated with a thin outer layer to appear even. If you strip away that layer, the blade itself is actually uneven and bumpy."
I reached out and touched it, and sure enough, the surface was uneven to the touch.
"That master crafted each sword perfectly smooth, ensuring its balance. He tailored the thickness to the material, so the blade wasn’t just balanced—it could absorb every blow, dispersing force evenly. Even with inferior materials, the sword’s lifespan was extended, and its sharpness remained consistent. To reach that level... honestly, I still can’t do it."
Lucas Zuo kept working with meticulous care, reheating the blade after a certain point, then resuming his relentless hammering.
"The kind of sword you forge depends on the material, and how much material you use, and what you turn it into... that’s another matter entirely. Sadly, I’ll never reach that master’s level."
Soon, Lucas Zuo finally plunged the sword into water with a sharp hiss. When he took it out, I ran my hand along the blade—it was remarkably smooth. By now, night had fully fallen.
"Smooth, but not perfectly so. That master’s swords were flawless—not only smooth, but razor-sharp and enduring."
Skeptical, I held the sword. Lucas Zuo took down an old, idle blade he’d forged long ago and struck the two together. With a ringing clang, the older sword chipped, while the new one remained untouched.
Stunned, I stared at the impossible scene. The older sword had been made of better material, yet Lucas Zuo handed me both blades.
"Try breaking both swords. See how much force it takes—you’ll understand."
I nodded. The chipped sword snapped with barely any effort, but the new one took all my strength to break.
"It really is uncanny."
Lucas Zuo grunted in agreement.
"Come on, let's go drink."
Resigned, I forced myself to join Lucas Zuo at the tavern, continuing to drink.
"Brother Qingyuan, you might not believe it until you try for yourself. If you're still doubtful, you should try forging with your own hands."
I shook my head.
"Brother Zuo, you've already cleared up my doubts. Let's just drink slowly."
Lucas Zuo and I drank from morning until the next dawn. Only then did he finally fall asleep. Black Moon still hadn't arrived, and I grew restless, deciding to see for myself where Ou Yezi forged his weapons.
But when I returned to the Heart of Hell, I found Ou Yezi hadn't started forging at all. He spent his days staring into the solution drifting above the Ghostflame Pool.
"What's going on?"
I asked again, but Ou Yezi just smiled at me. Even after all this time, he still hadn’t begun forging.
Another endless wait followed. For days, Ou Yezi simply sat in silence, showing no intention of starting.
Watching the Ghostflame Pool, I saw the orange-red solution ripple under Ou Yezi’s stirring. My patience was wearing thin.
"When are you actually going to start?"
I asked, but Ou Yezi only shook his head.
"Maybe I’ll start, maybe I won’t. It all depends on what this creature wants to become—a sword, or something else."
I made a sound of disbelief, staring at Ou Yezi, unable to comprehend his words.
"Boss, if you can’t wait, go wander for a few days. If anything happens, I’ll let you know immediately."
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Black Moon spoke again. The other wardens had already left, but this time I stayed, quietly watching the orange-red solution. It floated on the Ghostflame Pool’s surface, now swirling in a regular pattern—different from before. The sight unsettled me.
In the days that followed, Ou Yezi simply watched the orange-red solution in silence, stirring it with a stick, doing nothing else. Occasionally, he would come over for a drink, then return to his vigil.
After more than ten days, just as my patience was wearing thin, Ou Yezi finally rose. He picked up a heavy mold and poured the orange-red liquid from the Ghostflame Pool into it. As soon as the sword took shape, he placed it on the forge—not using a heavy hammer, but a small one, striking with precise taps.
I watched in confusion as the sword, once vaguely formed, now looked more like a flat cake. Ou Yezi kept scooping out orange-red solution from the Ghostflame Pool, sprinkling it over the blade, and resumed hammering.
For three days, the sound of hammering never left my ears. Slowly, the sword began to take shape, its blade developing rings of red ripples and turning a deep shade of orange.
Finally, Ou Yezi picked up the heavy hammer and began striking. The process dragged on, with Ou Yezi occasionally plunging the sword into the Ghostflame Pool before resuming the relentless pounding.
The sword was finally taking shape, but Ou Yezi kept hammering away. This time, I didn’t leave. I sensed a faint glow emerging on the blade’s surface—a promising sword, but something about it felt disturbingly wrong.
Red ripples multiplied across the blade, which darkened to a deep orange, then began to blacken.
The forging continued, Ou Yezi tirelessly swinging his hammers, alternating between large and small. I watched in silence, drinking, unwilling to interrupt. There was a feverish light in Ou Yezi’s eyes—a passion burning as he hammered away.
When Ou Yezi had been human, his stamina was limited. Back then, he’d forge for days, sometimes falling asleep mid-process. But now, he was utterly lucid, never tiring—he would never know exhaustion again.
"How many days has it been?"
I asked Black Moon beside me. He waved his hand, whispering softly.
"It's already the thirty-seventh day."
"Really!"
I replied weakly. Ou Yezi kept hammering away—the sword looked finished, but he showed no sign of stopping.
Finally, on the fifty-third day, Ou Yezi stopped. He plunged the sword into the bitter water nearby. Smoke billowed up as he placed the blade back on the workbench and resumed hammering.
Days passed. I began to doubt he was even forging a weapon—the sword hardly changed, its broad back marked with red ripples, but otherwise unchanged.
With a final clang, Ou Yezi set down his tools and turned, smiling at me.
"You can try it now."
I nodded and walked over, picking up the broad sword. It felt weightless in my hand, almost unnaturally light. Spotting Zeng Yu nearby, I called her over and had Black Moon spar with her using the sword.
"Is this a good idea, Boss? What if the sword breaks..."
Black Moon spoke as I glanced at Ou Yezi, whose expression had grown solemn.
"If this sword is destroyed, then that is its fate. In the end, it all depends on the one who wields it."