Chapter 45: Vanquishing Evil and Dispelling Violence

Tie Nan held pliers in his left hand and a small hammer in his right. As his small hammer gently tapped the Starfall Steel, Tie Yong’s massive hammer fell rhythmically and relentlessly. Tie Yong’s body was built like a tower, his arms thick and powerful, the muscles of his forearms as solid as granite. With every strike of his hammer, the ground of the small courtyard trembled.

Under the heavy blows, the Starfall Steel slowly began to change shape. Its irregular mass gradually stretched out, first into a square, then a rectangle, and finally into a long strip. Sparks flew as impurities were constantly stripped away with each hammer blow, the metal lengthened and folded over itself, again and again.

Whenever the material cooled, it was returned to the forge for tempering, and another piece was brought out for forging. Sweat pooled at Tie Yong’s feet, a testament to his effort. Lingtchi, holding his own hammer, nodded to Tie Nan.

“Rest a while, Yong. Lingtchi will take over,” Tie Nan announced. Only with the chief smith’s word could Tie Yong step back; in this workshop, his authority was absolute.

Lingtchi took Tie Yong’s place and began hammering. Though he was much leaner than Tie Yong, his strength was in no way inferior—perhaps even greater. Bare-chested, his muscles corded and rippling with every swing, each strike shook the ground more violently than before.

He did not count the blows, his focus fixed on the rhythm of Tie Nan’s small hammer. Even though it was their first time working together, a tacit understanding began to form between them.

The sound of their hammers set a unique rhythm, so much so that even the apprentices at the bellows unconsciously fell silent. The only sounds left in the smithy were the crisp tapping of the small hammer and the heavy thunder of the great one.

Lingtchi lifted the two-hundred-pound hammer to a precise height—one calculated and perfected by experience—letting it fall in perfect harmony with the small hammer. The golden essence on the anvil gradually shifted from a blinding red to a bright gold. Tie Nan gently tapped the anvil to signal Lingtchi to pause.

Another piece was swapped in for forging. Lingtchi, tireless as a perpetual machine, showed no sign of fatigue. Sweat poured from his body, making him look like a living sculpture.

Five pieces of material shrank and thinned under relentless hammering. Finally, Tie Nan scattered his secret powder over them, combined them, and began forging anew.

Tie Nan’s movements grew ever faster, and Lingtchi matched him, undeterred by the sparks that danced across his skin. Tie Yong and the apprentices watched in awe—where had this little monster come from? Did he not know exhaustion? They had been at this for three full hours!

Tie Yong wanted to speak but was cowed by his father’s authority. Even Tie Nan could not help but admire the boy—what a promising talent for forging!

The five materials, under constant hammering, folded and twisted, beaten into strips and then twisted together again. Lingtchi entered a trance-like state, as if creating new life, or witnessing the rebirth of an old friend. His hammer swung faster and faster—the joy of forging a companion weapon with his own hands was something only a martial artist could understand.

Under the guidance of the small hammer, the strip grew longer and longer. Lingtchi knew the blade blank was nearly complete.

Sure enough, Tie Nan produced an extra-large chisel, set it to a specific spot, and motioned for Lingtchi to strike. Lingtchi swung the great hammer in a wide arc, bringing it down over a hundred times before the metal finally split into one long and one short piece.

Tie Nan tossed the short piece back into the forge, while his small hammer signaled Lingtchi to continue. Watching the horse-cutting saber take shape, Lingtchi’s heart surged with joy.

Tie Nan took out a special tool to continue shaping the refined blade blank. Half of his skill was in his eyes—though they appeared cloudy, they worked with the precision of the finest instruments, correcting every flaw for perfection.

With the long blade adjusted, he turned to the short one. At Lingtchi’s special request, Tie Nan sprinkled powder over the short blade so it would become black after quenching.

The short blade was much quicker to finish—a few dozen hammer blows sufficed. Tie Nan let out a long breath. Before the final quenching, he told Lingtchi, “Prepare two drops of your heart’s blood. Drip them onto the blade before quenching—they’ll be more attuned to you.”

Two thick drops of golden blood fell onto the crimson blade, not vaporizing but seeping in directly.

Tie Nan eyed Lingtchi with a strange look—what a little monster, to have refined his body and blood to such a degree at such a young age. Blood like molten gold, bones like crystal—few masters of external cultivation could achieve this in a lifetime. How could he know the pain Lingtchi had endured, bathing in thunder’s essence?

Lingtchi ignored the gaze, his own eyes fixed on the blades until both were lifted and plunged into an unknown liquid for quenching.

A billow of white steam rose as the scorching blades entered the fluid. Lingtchi did not blink—this was the moment of truth.

Tie Nan, however, was unfazed, knowing in his heart that the forging had already succeeded.

An apprentice readied Lingtchi’s original hilt, to be fitted to the new blade—at his special request. New clothes may be finer, but nothing matches the comfort of the familiar; tools used for years hold their own sentiment.

The scabbard and hilt were the same as before; only the blade had changed—or perhaps, nothing had changed at all.

The new horse-cutting saber matched the previous one in size and shape, its surface adorned with mysterious patterns unlike the Damascus steel of his previous life—these were natural, enigmatic, and beautiful.

The blade gleamed in bright silver tinged with gold, perfectly complemented by its golden hilt.

The short blade, from tip to guard, was pure black—a weapon seemingly born for the shadows.

The horse-cutting saber weighed over a hundred pounds, while the short blade was more than twenty. For Lingtchi, such weight was nothing.

Gripping both blades, he could almost feel their living pulse—their excitement, as if they shared in his own.

Unable to wait, Lingtchi stepped into the courtyard and executed a set of the Taiyi Tribulation Blade technique. The heavy blade brought with it an overwhelming might, whistling through the air with a shrill wind.

The saber crackled with lightning, growing ever more dazzling; even the sea of thunder within his body roared in response, amplifying his presence and oppressive force. All those present felt their spirits suppressed; even Tie Nan’s heart raced with unease.

As the final movement ended, Lingtchi was thoroughly satisfied.

Tie Nan, after more than four hours of forging, did not possess Lingtchi’s boundless stamina.

Seeing Tie Nan’s fatigue, Lingtchi offered a heartfelt thanks and took his leave, which Tie Nan did not oppose.

Pausing at the threshold, Tie Nan suddenly called out, “Aren’t you going to name them?”

But they had already been named years ago.

“The long blade is called Evil’s Bane, and the short one Justice’s End.” Without looking back, Lingtchi strode from the courtyard, his quiet words drifting on the late autumn wind, vanishing like a wisp into the dusk.