Chapter 120: Chapter 120: Fate and Forge
The sun had climbed higher in the sky by the time Li Wei departed from the merchant union. The parchment handed to him by Tang Li now rested securely in the folds of his inner robe, the weight of its contents far heavier than mere paper.
He moved with quiet strides, his steps drawing him toward the western part of town, where the sharp ringing of iron against iron echoed through narrow streets like a blacksmith’s hymn.
He had no logical reason to seek the blacksmith—no prior acquaintance, no trusted words passed from a friend. It was a notion born not of logic, but instinct. In a world shaped by will and fate, allies could be found even in the hands of strangers.
The walk was brief and untroubled. The town, despite the undercurrent of unease, bustled with its usual rhythm. Market stalls lined the main street, cluttered with baskets of salted fish, cured roots, and handspun textiles. A merchant haggled loudly with a wrinkled fisherman, waving his arms over a pile of still-flopping carp.
"You call this silver-scale? That’s a mud guppy if I’ve ever seen one!" A man clad in a yellow robe spoke with a gruff in his voice, that only a merchant could possess. Haggled fervently for wares with his colleague~
"Bah! Silver-scale or not, it’s fresher than your tongue, old goat! " His compatriot a fellow in purple silk robes clapped back immediately, as the quarrel went on both sides refused to relent ~
Children darted between legs, laughing, dragging sticks through the dust like miniature swordsmen.
A woman beat a rug outside her shop, sending clouds of dust into the road. All of it painted a picture of life clinging stubbornly to its habits. It was the sort of bustling simplicity that only made the recent disappearances more unsettling.
In a place so tight-knit, every absence echoes louder, Li Wei thought. A community like this knows its faces. For people to vanish without a whisper... there is something here that feasts on silence.
He passed a shrine near the corner of the street, where a few elderly townsfolk placed incense for lost souls. The fragrance followed him, sweet and bitter, like memory steeped in smoke.
Soon, he arrived at the smithing keep. It was a squat building of stone and timber, its beams blackened with soot, the windows perpetually open to vent the fumes. The door groaned under his hand as he pushed it open.
~creeeak~
The interior was hot—oppressively so. A forge blazed at the center of the room, its light spilling across the walls like molten gold. Sparks danced up the chimney, and the rhythmic thump of hammer on anvil echoed in time with the smith’s grunts.
The blacksmith was a hulking man, though not tall. He stood just over a meter, but his body was a collection of corded muscle and solid mass, like a tree stump that had learned to walk. His arms glistened with sweat, and his face bore the hardened expression of someone who had lived too long with fire as a companion.
His clothing was nothing more than a linen tunic and hide apron, both soaked with soot and effort. The sleeves were rolled back to reveal scarred forearms, thick and sturdy as iron bars.
Li Wei stepped closer, the heat wrapping around him like a second skin. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Still, he said nothing.
The smith remained focused on the furnace. He held a pair of tongs in one hand, turning a glowing hunk of metal with practiced precision. The tool within the flames—some sort of pick or gouger—expanded rapidly under the controlled heat.
Li Wei watched, arms folded.
This man is no ordinary craftsman, he thought. There’s rhythm in his movements... harmony between muscle and mind. He bends metal like a dancer weaves silk.
There was artistry in it, a quiet war between man and element. Every twitch of the tongs, every pump of the bellows, was measured, deliberate. The smelting chamber seemed to pulse with power—not spiritual, but the power of discipline, repetition, and toil.
The tool emerged at last, white-hot and shimmering. The smith lifted it from the furnace and set it on an anvil, where he began to hammer with short, forceful strokes. ~clang! clang! clang!~
Li Wei smirked.
He certainly knows what he’s doing.
It was rare to see such mastery in a world that often favored brute strength or bloodlines. If this man had been born in a cultivation realm, with access to spiritual ores and sacred hammers, he would’ve rivaled the finest weapon forgers under heaven. But fate had cast him here—into a humble village where skill was currency few could spend.
Just as Li Wei’s thoughts turned toward how to approach the man, a sudden jolt surged through his mind.
~DING~
A translucent screen materialized in the corner of his vision, shimmering faintly with the hue of the system’s mark.
New Mission Acquired: "Furnace’s Favor"
Objective: Aid the blacksmith in crafting a special tool for "an unspoken purpose."
Rewards
~ Unknown
Accept? Y/N
Li Wei’s brow lifted. Well, this is unexpected...
The mission was vague, yet purposeful. The system had never wasted effort on whimsy—its tasks, whether twisted or trivial, always led to something greater. He glanced back at the smith, who was now wiping his brow with a cloth, the tool cooling beside him.
The moment stretched. Li Wei considered the flames, the hammer, the parchment folded inside his robe.
Then, he spoke.
"Forgive the intrusion," he began, voice even but respectful, "but I believe we may be of use to one another."
The blacksmith paused, eyes narrowing. "Do you now?" His voice was rough, like gravel scraped across stone.
"I need a tool," Li Wei said plainly. "Something particular. Something sharp."
The smith sniffed. "And what makes you think I’d forge it for you, stranger?"
Li Wei smiled faintly. "Because the world has teeth, old one. And the fire you hold may be the only thing that can temper it."
The smith stared at him for a long moment, then turned his gaze toward the furnace.
"...Name your tool."