Chapter 164
Heat up the steel.
Hammer the steel.
Fold the steel.
Heat up the steel.
Hammer the steel.
Fold the steel.
It was a process he was long used to, something he could do in his sleep, with one hand tied to his back, though the steel that came out would probably be completely ruined. There was no denying that he was intimately familiar with it, and any observers looking from the outside would immediately recognize him as being experienced, his movements swift and unhesitating, each blow of the hammer flattening the steel and forcing out the impurities, turning the steel into something worthy of being used.
Trimming the excess, doing away with defects, to obtain material that could be shaped into the sharpest of swords that cut things beyond the flesh.
Over and over, the process was repeated, without pause. The ringing of the hammer was ever-present in the forge, metal always thrust in the fire, the bellows pumped to feed the flames. Gazing at the steel, he was constantly analyzing it, judging when it was ready, how far it could be used, how many times he needed to hammer it, where the best spots to do so were, the strength he needed and many other things. How many people would the sword cut? If he polished it in this way, would it turn out better or worse? Applying the clay for quenching in this style or that style? How many foldings did it need?
All these, and more occupied his mind, until his brain was overflowing, every bit of his body and mind devoted to the work in front of him. It became a natural part of him, the art of making a sword as natural to him as breathing, with his entire being focused on it daily.
In the past, he used to have disciples to help him in the forge, but he had also had times where he had to work alone throughout the entire process, possessing the ability and will to do so.
In the end, his products came to be known throughout the country, and then the world. His name became immortalized through the many kabuki dramas, shows, movies and franchises borrowing his name, his swords often becoming legendary weapons of calamity that cursed their wielders, a blade of rebellion poised against the shogunate, a bloodthirsty creation that hungered for slaughter.
In reality, the man himself had no desire for such things. There was only one goal for all his blades, and in pursuit of that final line he had to cross, many blades were forged, and broken or cast aside, with few ever making it to the quenching stage, and fewer still actually sharpened into a usable edge.
Yet in the end, he had failed to achieve his dream in his lifetime, and in death he continued to seek the end of his dream, uncaring of when or how, simply toiling at the forge until he could make it with his own hands, see it with his own eyes. The cutting of karma, fate and destiny. If one wanted to do so, cause and effect could be severed, the threads of the universe itself vulnerable to the keen edge that would reach beyond the gods. The god of forging Hephaestus himself had looked upon his works, and deemed him as 'having stepped into the realm of the gods'. For a divinity to recognize him, bespoke of his ability and sheer skill.
But in the end, he was nothing more than a simple blacksmith, and was more than content to practice his craft until he died, nothing more, nothing less.
He was also a half-way decent cook as well.
"Here ya go. Don't eat too fast kid, you seem like the type who'd do so. Savour the taste and embrace the flavour."
Assassin gulped, remembering the times in Cosmo Chaldea Academy when she'd slurp the Space Cup Ramen too fast and ended up choking, with Ecchan slapping her back so hard that the ramen would come shooting out of her mouth into the wall as a wet mess of mashed ramen, ingredients and soup. Good times.
Picking up the chopsticks, she took her first bite of the ramen, her mouth sucking in the thin, but firm strands of noodle into her mouth, the white soup broth dripping down it's length.
*Slllrip*
Chewing on the ramen, she was surprised to find that it was just the right texture she wanted it to be. Chewy and firm, giving her mouth a good sense of its solid presence, with the soup complementing it well as the pork bones and collagen had bled into the water, giving it considerable flavour. The savoury scent wafting off the bowl was no lie, and he was generous with the other ingredients as well. It was a bit oily though.
"Mph, slrp, nomnom"
Assassin dug into the bowl enthusiastically, eating up the entire bowl with gusto, though she did pace herself as the man had suggested. Still, eating fast was in her nature, and she couldn't help but devour the food at a much higher rate than other people. Within 15 minutes, the entire bowl had disappeared down her throat and into her stomach, with only a few specks of the broth left staining the bowl. She had also gone through the various pots and shakers of condiments, every bite carrying a different flavour with the mix and matches of the condiments. Some were spicy, some were salty, some were refreshing and also a mix of all of them, though her favourite was the garlic with pepper.
Looking at her eat so happily, Gray couldn't help but feel her appetite rise as well, her eyes slightly envious as she watched her Servant own the food.
When she finished, Assassin's mouth opened wide, and she let out a large burp.
"Aaaahhh, it's nice to have my belly full for once. What do I owe you old man?"
He looked young, but his mannerisms and gruff speech was definitely that of an elder getting on in his years. He didn't mind being called an old man, since that was exactly what he was.
"Let me see your sword."
Both Assassin and Gray stared at him.
"My sword? I'm not giving it away though."
"I mean what I said, I'm just going to look at it."
The blacksmith/cook folded his arms and stared at Assassin, his impassive stare silently pressuring her, though it wasn't really his intention and just the serious air he exuded.
"Say, why don't I demonstrate how the sword does, wouldn't you learn a lot more from that."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Got no problem with that, as long as yer willing."
Assassin started turning her body towards her right, where the couple were sitting, her right hand reaching up to the hilt of the sword sheathed on her back.