Chapter 16 The Trial of the Craftsman

Perturabo's forging continued.

He melted two pieces of iron into a golden and white whole, then wrapped them with two pieces of soft steel, connected them in series with a long spiral iron rod, and placed them on the anvil. His work was neither hurried nor slow, and was full of rhythm and skill. Rather than being a physical labor, it was better to say that the movement of swinging the hammer itself was part of the art.

The hard iron became soft and plastic under the high heat and hammer, and from its original form, it became fused, unified, and gradually stretched. The tyrant Dammex saw a rectangular outline, about ten inches long, with a sharp end and a thick and stable bottom.

A knife, he said to himself, and joy rose in his heart because of satisfaction. He saw the prototype of a sharp blade, which was presented to everyone through forging.

Morse watched Perturabo's every move intently. Dammex thought that the craftsman was probably observing the boy's specific expression in some inhuman way. Morse read Perturabo.

Perturabo's movements were more precise and swift than any boy of his age Dammex knew, and even better than most of the craftsmen in the kingdom; the remaining craftsmen were better than him only because of the natural advantages brought by age and physical strength.

Perturabo had already thought about the strength, center of gravity and landing point of the next hammer when the previous one fell. His hammer was as accurate as the machine in the factory, without any dullness or ambiguity.

The blade showed a bright red edge from the incandescence, and the temperature cooling and the rhythm of the blade forming formed a unity. Perturabo sent the iron into the furnace for the second time, raising the heat again, allowing more high temperature to change the structure of the iron.

Then he looked around, confident and bold.

"Give me a stick." He said.

The courtiers, craftsmen and priests present looked at each other, and no one was prepared for this.

Damex immediately raised his voice, full of energy: "Patroclus, give him your weapon!"

The soldier named Patroclus shuddered, looked at the giant wooden stick in his hand that was used to hammer people's heads, and handed it to the messenger who was jogging over in confusion. The messenger then handed it to the priest, who ran to Perturabo. Perturabo lowered his head, with disappointment between his brows.

Morse shook his head, and a gust of wind blew towards the stage. The shape of the wooden stick was trimmed and perfected, becoming smooth and easy to exert force. Perturabo looked up at him and immediately took over the tool.

"The iron hammer easily destroys the shape of the blade." Morse murmured.

The steel under Perturabo's hands was more docile than anyone expected. The indestructible iron was docilely turning into the new form that Perturabo needed. They were silent, hot, and honest, responding to every hammering in the best way, and Perturabo did not hide his love for steel at all.

The boy's heart beat as the steel yielded. For the first time, he showed his joy on his face. The fire in his eyes did not represent anger, but pure satisfaction and enjoyment.

Damekos could not see clearly, but even from such a distance, he could understand Perturabo's mood.

He held the handle of the golden scepter with satisfaction, and began to imagine how his army would be transformed in the future because of the addition of such a two extraordinary blacksmiths.

On the entire planet of Olympia, the war between the twelve tyrants and other small countries has never been eliminated.

They only occasionally truce, spend a precious period of peace and preparation, and then continue to fight for land and power. Tyrants must do this, otherwise the land will be ravaged and the subjects will be plundered.

He still remembered the record of Axes taking the women of Lokos as wives a hundred years ago. In fact, this is the origin of the nursery rhyme known to everyone in the country. Any child can sing a few lines of the shepherdess' song who strayed into the battlefield.

A blacksmith who serves the war can always increase his chances of winning.

As for the Olympic Games, which made the whole world choose to jointly maintain a short-lived peace and those who started the war would be besieged, it has been as long as a legend.

"Your child will forge the most perfect weapon." Damex said to Morse. Even though Morse never admitted his relationship with Perturabo, the king felt that it was not wrong to call him that.

Morse, who was standing aside, had an unpredictable look on his face, watching Perturabo's work. After hearing Damex's question, he smiled and continued his unfinished story: "You have to be careful, my son. If your wings are heavy, it means they are soaked by the sea water; if your wings are light, it means the sun has burned them. But don't be afraid, my son, if you are carried away by the tide, I will find you back."

Damex savored Morse's riddles. He had been communicating with the priests of the cult who made things clear for a long time, and he knew that he could not ignore any puzzle that was brought to him.

Then he frowned, and it was not because of the overly old term "seawater" in his words.

Damex confirmed that Morse had given him a warning.

So he reflected: What did he say wrong?

On the round table, the blade was quenched for the fifth time, and then the sixth time. Hammering and cooling, the golden red fire attached to the knife burned on the water surface, and then replaced with a thin white mist. Perturabo wore invisible gloves, and the flames seemed to ignite from his hands and leap into the air.

Damex was fascinated by it, just like everyone in the audience. Whether it was the craftsmen present or the ministers who had no interest in forging and came to witness it only at the king's order, they also unconsciously devoted their full attention to watching.

For the last time, the blade entered the ice water for the last time. The boy walked with the flames. If the god of fire in the Olympian mythology came to the world, perhaps this would be his posture.

Then, he raised the finished dagger, the cold light on the blade gleamed, and it was sharp even without being sharpened.

The bright light shone over Perturabo's body. The boy wiped the black charred layer on the blade with his fingers. The blade was smooth and flat, reflecting the faces of everyone present.

The priest immediately knelt in reverence, forgetting the tyrant Dammex whom he was supposed to kneel to. "Son of God!" His excitement made him burst into tears, "Your skills are perfect!"

Dammex also stood happily beside the wooden fence, opened his arms, and as the king of a country, he showed his welcome without reservation.

"Perturabo, Locus will be honored by your forging, and your craftsmanship will give the whole country a new life."

Dammex was a little careful, and his words were both exaggerated and cautious. He remembered that when he said the word "weapon", Morse did not encourage him.

Perturabo's calmness was quite surprising. He was not happy about the king's praise, nor was he angry about the words used by the priest. He just looked up at the second floor, and his gaze was very clear.

Then, he threw the whole work into the flames, and in the surprise of everyone, he ruthlessly melted the sharp blade that had just been completed under the high temperature of the fire.

"Your praise is premature." Perturabo announced bluntly.

Damex heard a sigh, and he looked to his side, and from the smile that Morse finally showed, he was sure that it was a chuckle.