The forging of the burin took Elias three days of careful, methodical work. Unlike his previous projects, where supernatural effects had emerged almost accidentally from his linguistic research and cultural understanding, this piece was planned from the beginning as an experiment in controlled enhancement.
He began with a piece of W1 tool steel no bigger than his thumb, heating it in the forge until it glowed cherry-red and became malleable enough to shape. The basic form came together under his hammer with satisfying predictability—W1 was an honest steel that behaved exactly as experience suggested it would. The carbon content was simple to work with, requiring no complex alloy considerations or exotic heat treatment protocols.
The blade section needed to be drawn out and tapered to a precise angle, forty-five degrees from the cutting edge to provide the proper geometry for controlled engraving cuts. Too steep, and the burin would dig too deeply into the metal. Too shallow, and it wouldn't cut cleanly. Elias had forged dozens of similar tools over the years, and his hands moved through the familiar motions with unconscious competence.
But as he worked, his mind was focused entirely on the inscription he would add once the basic metalwork was complete. "Präzision"—nine letters that would test whether his abilities could enhance a tool's fundamental function rather than adding entirely new capabilities like bone dissolution or moral anchoring.
The heat treatment required particular attention. W1 needed to be heated to exactly the right temperature—bright orange, around 1475 degrees Fahrenheit—then quenched in water to achieve maximum hardness. Too hot, and the steel would develop a coarse grain structure that would make it brittle. Too cool, and it wouldn't fully harden. After quenching, the steel would be glass-hard but dangerously brittle, so he tempered it at 375 degrees until it turned a pale straw color, indicating the proper balance between hardness and toughness for an edge tool.
The boxwood handle was turned on his small lathe, shaped to fit his grip precisely and provide the kind of tactile control that engraving work demanded. The steel tang was fitted into a carefully drilled socket and secured with epoxy, creating a bond that would never loosen during use.
Only after the basic tool was complete did Elias begin the inscription work that would transform it from merely excellent into something unprecedented.
He worked late into the evening, using his finest engraving tools to cut the letters into the steel just behind the cutting edge where they would be clearly visible but protected from damage during use. Each letter was formed with the kind of precision that would have satisfied a master engraver, the depth consistent, the spacing perfect, the serifs cleanly executed.
But as he worked, Elias found himself doing something he'd never attempted before—speaking each letter aloud as he cut it, focusing not just on the physical formation but on the meaning it carried. "P-R-Ä-Z-I-S-I-O-N." Each character was pronounced carefully in his mind as his hand guided the cutting tool, building a connection between the concept and its physical representation that felt deeper than mere decoration.
When the inscription was complete, he set the burin aside and waited. With the kukri and the stiletto, the supernatural effects had emerged gradually, becoming apparent only through use or careful examination. This time, he found himself hoping for something more immediate, some sign that the inscription had successfully bound enhanced precision to the tool.
Nothing obvious occurred. The burin looked exactly like what it was—a beautifully crafted engraving tool with professional-quality lettering cut into its blade. But as Elias picked it up to examine his work, something felt different. Not dramatically, not in any way that would be obvious to casual observation, but there was a subtle quality to how the tool rested in his hand that seemed more... purposeful than before.
And then, as he held the burin and examined the inscription in the workshop's bright lighting, words appeared in his mind with startling clarity, as if someone had spoken them directly into his consciousness:
Rule Integrated: Präzision (Precision). Effect: Absolute precision in carving. Authority: Elias Thorn. Duration: Permanent.
The sudden certainty of that knowledge was unlike anything he'd experienced with his previous creations. With the kukri and stiletto, he'd theorized about their capabilities based on observation and testing. But this was different—direct, unambiguous information about exactly what the tool could do and how it would function.
Absolute precision in carving. The words carried implications that made his pulse quicken with excitement and apprehension in equal measure.
Testing began immediately. Elias clamped a piece of soft brass into his engraving vise and began making practice cuts with the enhanced burin. The first stroke was a simple straight line, intended to cut approximately half a millimeter deep. But as the blade moved through the metal, he could feel something extraordinary happening.
The tool seemed to know exactly how deep it needed to cut. Not in any mystical sense, but with the kind of mechanical certainty that characterized precision machinery. When he intended a cut of half a millimeter, the burin penetrated exactly that distance and no further, regardless of how much downward pressure he applied to the handle.
Further testing revealed both the remarkable capabilities and the precise limitations of the enhancement. If he visualized a cut depth of one millimeter and applied sufficient force to achieve that depth, the burin would carve to exactly one millimeter. If he applied twice as much force as necessary, the cut would still be exactly one millimeter deep. The tool seemed to regulate its own penetration based on his intended depth rather than the physical force applied.
But—and this limitation proved crucial—if he failed to apply enough force to naturally achieve his intended depth, the burin couldn't compensate. Attempting a one-millimeter cut while applying only enough pressure for a half-millimeter cut resulted in a half-millimeter cut. The enhancement provided absolute precision when adequate force was applied, but it couldn't generate force that wasn't supplied by the user.
It was a fascinating limitation that revealed something important about how his rule-binding worked. The enhancement could refine and perfect human input, but it couldn't replace human skill and effort entirely. The tool became supernaturally precise, but only when wielded with appropriate technique and force.
After an hour of testing, Elias understood both the tremendous value and the specific constraint of what he'd created. For detailed engraving work requiring consistent depth across complex patterns, the burin would be invaluable. But for heavy material removal or working with particularly hard metals, the force limitation could be problematic.
The solution, when it occurred to him, felt both logical and audacious. If he could bind one concept to metal through inscription, why not two? The burin excelled at precision but was limited by the force he could apply. What if he enhanced its cutting ability as well as its accuracy?
The decision to reforge the tool wasn't made lightly. Melting down a piece that had taken three days to complete felt wasteful, almost sacrilegious. But the experimental nature of his work demanded that he push boundaries rather than accepting limitations he might be able to overcome.
The reforging process began with carefully heating the burin until the steel became malleable again, then working it back into its basic shape. The original inscription disappeared in the heat and hammering, but Elias found that he retained a clear memory of how the rule-binding had felt, how the words had appeared in his consciousness when the enhancement became active.
This time, he planned two inscriptions. "Präzision" would be engraved into the boxwood handle, maintaining the precision enhancement while protecting it from the heat and stress that affected the cutting edge during use. And on the blade itself, where the steel needed to slice through metal with enhanced effectiveness, he would inscribe "Scharf"—the German word for sharp.
The concept was audacious enough to make him pause before beginning the engraving work. If binding one meaning to metal was remarkable, attempting to bind two separate concepts to the same tool represented a fundamental escalation in what he was trying to achieve. It was possible that the effects would interfere with each other, or that his understanding wasn't sufficient to support such complexity.
But it was also possible that a tool enhanced for both precision and sharpness would represent a significant advancement in his capabilities, a step toward the kind of supernatural craftsmanship that might eventually justify attempting something as ambitious as invoking Hephaestus.
As evening light faded outside his workshop windows, Elias began the careful work of cutting letters into both wood and steel, speaking each character aloud as he formed it, building connections between concept and material that he hoped would prove stronger and more versatile than anything he'd attempted before.
The burin would either emerge as his most capable tool yet, or teach him important lessons about the limitations of trying to bind multiple rules to a single object. Either outcome would advance his understanding of abilities that continued to surprise him with their potential and their complexity.