What did a master owe an apprentice?
Aldric had never taken an apprentice in his past life, but he knew the tropes. An oath of loyalty required a token of acceptance. A master provides the tools for the trade.
Since Aldric had agreed to help defend Stoneyard Village, Kevin would inevitably be drawn into the fighting. The boy's cheap, rusted sword wouldn't last three swings against a Skagosi battleaxe. Crafting a proper set of gear for him was both a ceremonial requirement and a practical necessity.
When they had first entered the village, Aldric had spotted a small smithy near the palisade walls. If he couldn't buy suitable equipment there, he would forge it himself. He had spent hundreds of hours maxing out his Blacksmithing profession in World of Warcraft; he was eager to see if the muscle memory translated as perfectly as his combat skills.
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, Aldric and Kevin hauled a sack of scavenged pirate weapons to the smithy.
Inside, a stocky man was bent over a large wooden workbench, carefully cutting a thick hide of boiled leather.
Aldric waited patiently. Only when the man finished his cut did Aldric speak. "Friend. Do you have any weapons for sale?"
The smith wiped his hands on a greasy apron and looked up. "No weapons here, my lord. Just plowshares and horseshoes... Ah! Ser Aldric."
Aldric recognized the curly hair and the soft layer of fat over thick muscle. It was the militiaman who had charged him at the gates yesterday.
Aldric grinned. "Oh. It's you."
He stepped up to the anvil, picked up a heavy forging hammer, and tossed it lightly in his hand. "Good weight. Is this what you tried to cave my skull in with yesterday?"
The young smith flushed deeply, his stubbled cheeks turning red. He stammered, "I—I apologize, Ser. I was too hasty. Everyone knows Hanwei the Smith is an honest man. I can tell right from wrong..."
"So, no compensation for the attempted murder?" Aldric teased.
Hanwei nervously wrung a rag in his hands, glancing around his meager shop. "I don't have much coin, Ser. But if your armor or weapons need maintenance, I will clean and oil them for free."
Maintenance. Aldric's gear was epic-tier loot from the Icecrown Citadel raid. Before the server wipe, he had summoned a repair bot and spent a fortune on durability. His armor was currently sitting at ninety-nine percent. The local smith's whetstone held no appeal.
But Aldric was only messing with the boy. He waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it. I'm here to outfit my squire, Kevin. You know I'm staying to help with the defense?"
"Yes, Elder William told the whole village."
"Good. Kevin needs gear. This is a smithy. You must have something with an edge. Bring it out."
"Weapons..." Hanwei frowned, rubbing his neck. "I mostly make farm tools. But I forged a few pieces for practice. If you don't mind them, you may take one as my apology."
Weapons were expensive. A free sword was a generous offer. I accept your sincerity! Aldric thought.
Hanwei disappeared into the back and returned with two sheathed short swords and a flanged mace. He laid them on the bench.
Aldric picked up the nearest sword and drew it. A single glance told him why it hadn't sold. The edges were wavy and uneven, the spine was warped, and the steel was pitted. Striking armor with this would likely snap the blade and blind the wielder with shrapnel.
Aldric kept his face perfectly neutral and drew the second sword. The tip wasn't even pointed; it was rounded off like a butter knife. The legendary sword of pacifism, Aldric mused.
He met Hanwei's expectant gaze, coughed politely, and sheathed the weapons.
"Ahem. Hanwei, your craftsmanship is... distinct," Aldric lied smoothly. "But we don't want to take advantage of your generosity. I have a different proposal. I confiscated some scrap metal from the Skagosi. I want to use it to forge my student's gear myself. I would like to rent your forge and tools."
Aldric tapped the leather hide on the bench. "And if you can work leather, I need you to alter some pirate armor to fit Kevin. I will pay you for your time, your coal, and the leatherwork."
Hanwei looked relieved that he didn't have to give away his work. He took the sack of pirate leather from Kevin and dumped it on the floor.
"The hide is decent," Hanwei muttered, inspecting a boiled leather vest. "But the stitching is savage work. I can take it apart and tailor a breastplate and bracers for the boy. I'll have to add some of my own hide to finish it. Let's say... fifteen silver stags for the leatherwork. As for the forge, use what you need. Charcoal is cheap."
Fifteen silvers. Aldric didn't know the exact exchange rate of Westerosi currency. His coin purse was filled with digital gold and silver from Azeroth.
He pulled out a heavy silver coin stamped with the crest of Stormwind and tossed it to Hanwei. "Will you take this?"
Hanwei caught the coin, tested its weight, and bit it lightly. His eyes widened. "I don't know the mint, but the silver is pure. Very pure. Ten of these will cover everything."
Aldric nodded. Deal struck.
Hanwei took Kevin into the backyard with a measuring string. Left alone, Aldric inspected the shop.
The tools were standard: tongs, hammers, a quenching trough. In the center sat a stone furnace holding a large clay crucible. It was cold, filled with ash.
Beside the furnace was a primitive air pump. A leather bag was sandwiched between two wooden boards. To operate it, the smith had to manually pull the top board up to draw air in through a valve, then push it down to force air through a clay pipe into the coals.
Aldric pumped it a few times. The airflow was pathetic. It puffed like an asthmatic old man. He would never reach the white-hot temperatures needed for proper steel folding with this.
When Hanwei returned, Aldric pointed at the contraption. "What do you call this?"
"The bellows," Hanwei said, looking at Aldric skeptically. "You squeeze the boards, air goes into the fire, fire gets hotter. Do you actually know how to smith, Ser?"
You don't even know what a bellows is? Hanwei's silent judgment was loud.
Aldric didn't argue. He drew his hunting dagger and tossed it onto the workbench, the blade biting deep into the solid oak.
"I forged that myself," Aldric said.
Hanwei pulled the dagger free. He tested the edge with his thumb and hissed as it instantly drew blood. He sliced effortlessly through a thick scrap of leather.
Hanwei handed it back, his skepticism replaced by awe. "I have never seen steel fold an edge like that. I couldn't make this if I had a hundred years."
Aldric nodded. He didn't mention it dropped from a dungeon boss. "Your bellows are too weak. I'm going to build a double-action piston. If you have spare lumber, let me use it. Add it to my bill."
A double-action piston bellows was a marvel of pre-industrial engineering. Unlike the leather bag that only blew air when pushed, a piston bellows forced a continuous, high-pressure stream of air on both the push and the pull.
Aldric drew the schematics in the dirt. He had Hanwei and Kevin saw and sand the wooden planks to form a tight, rectangular box. Aldric carved a solid wooden block for the piston head, ensuring it fit flush against the inner walls.
By noon, they had the pieces. They ate a quick lunch brought over by Gabry, then Aldric assembled the machine.
He installed the internal valves—simple leather flaps that opened and closed based on the air pressure—and connected the output pipe to the furnace. He sealed the joints with wet clay.
"Try it," Aldric told Hanwei.
The smith grabbed the wooden push-rod. He shoved it forward. A roar of air blasted into the cold furnace, kicking up a cloud of ash. He pulled it back, and an equally powerful blast followed.
Hanwei's jaw dropped. "By the Seven..."
Kevin took a turn, easily operating the smooth, continuous pump with one hand. The boy looked at Aldric with a mixture of reverence and fear. Hanwei thought this was just fancy southern technology. But Kevin knew Aldric had practically appeared out of thin air.
Advanced machines. Godlike combat skills. Epic armor. Who are you, Ser Aldric? Kevin wondered silently.
With the forge upgraded, it was time to melt the scrap.
Aldric had inspected the Skagosi weapons. They were cast iron—hard, brittle, and incapable of holding a fine edge. Worse than gray-tier vendor trash. Furthermore, Kevin was a boy. Swinging a heavy, unbalanced axe would leave him wide open to counterattacks.
He needed reach and speed. A spear and a short sword.
While Hanwei lit the charcoal, Aldric took the heavy sledgehammer. With terrifying, effortless strength, he smashed the pirate axes into jagged fragments. Hanwei watched Aldric shatter thick iron hafts with single blows, silently thanking the gods he hadn't actually hit the man yesterday.
Aldric packed the iron shards into the crucible.
The new bellows worked perfectly. Aldric pumped the handle in a steady, relentless rhythm. Within an hour, the intense, continuous blast of oxygen pushed the coals to a blinding white heat. The iron in the crucible melted into a glowing, viscous liquid.
Hanwei wiped sweat from his eyes. "Ser, the iron is ready to pour. Have you prepared your sword mold?"
Aldric stopped pumping. He frowned at the blacksmith.
"Mold?" Aldric asked. "What for?"