บท 135: Chapter 135 - Making weapons
"Ah, this place is nostalgic," Ryu said as he looked at his old smithy.
The humble stone smithy was tucked away amidst a forest of trees, its silhouette merging with the shadows. Despite its years of abandonment, it still carried an aura of stoic resilience.
The cobblestone pathway, the one he made after Naruto complained without stopping, was carpeted with a layer of moss. It crunched softly under Ryu's boots, the smell of damp earth rising in puffs with each step. Going through the cobblestone pathway, Ryu made his way toward the sagging wooden door of the smithy.
The door creaked open, revealing the inside of the smithy, blanketed in a shroud of dust and neglect. Sunlight spilled in from cracks in the roof, illuminating the smithy. The air was heavy with the scent of rusted iron, mingled with the musky aroma of aged wood and the faint, lingering smell of coal smoke. It was as if time had frozen, waiting for the heat of the forge to once again breathe life into it.
In the far corner, the anvil sat stoically, its surface pitted and scarred with the tales of countless hours of toil. A cobwebbed hammer lay beside it, its wooden handle worn smooth from the Ryu's relentless grip. Ryu picked it up, feeling the weight, familiar and comforting in his hand. The sound of metal against metal rang through the silence, a poignant symphony of what once was.
To his right, a stone fireplace stood, its hearth cold and soot-blackened. The bellows, brittle and faded, lay beside it. Empty hooks, once laden with swords and shields of the finest quality, lined the stone walls, their silent vacancies speaking volumes of past glory. Ryu traced his fingertips along the coarse stone, etching memories into the dust.
Opposite the fireplace, a worn wooden table sat against the wall. An old leather apron, edges frayed and stiff with age, was thrown over the back of a worn-out table. It held the ghostly outline of Ryu's younger self, a silhouette forged in sweat and steel. He touched it gently, the memories of its once-supple texture filling him with a sense of sweet melancholy.
Ryu stood in silence, allowing the sensory overload to wash over him. The sights, sounds, and smells of the old stone smithy stirred a nostalgic symphony within his heart. He could almost hear the echo of the hammer against the anvil, the crackle of the fire, and the satisfied sigh of a day's labor coming to an end.
This was his first smithy, he couldn't let this place stay in such a ruined state!
Stepping back into the center of the smithy, Ryu decided to use his authority over magic for the job, feeling the magic surge within him, a familiar hum against his bones. A look of anticipation crossed his face as he began to chant, his voice low and resonant.
The ancient words wove a tapestry in the stale air, intertwining with the dust particles that danced in the sunlight. Each syllable was a spark, a tiny ember igniting the forge of his power.
The magic spiraled from Ryu, reaching out like ethereal tendrils to touch everything within the smithy. A shiver ran down the stone walls, dislodging years of dust and grime. Cobwebs trembled and evaporated into thin air, and the rusted iron began to gleam as if freshly forged.
The wooden table straightened its bowed back, groaning as its fibers knitted back together. The leather apron softened, regaining its lost suppleness, the color returning as if freshly oiled. The wooden handle of the hammer shed its cobwebs and regained its sturdy texture, and the anvil shimmered, its surface smoothing, reflecting the stray beams of sunlight.
The once cold hearth flickered to life, a flame kindling from nothingness, fed not by coal but by magic itself. It danced and crackled, casting a warm, inviting glow throughout the room. The bellows seemed to inflate, standing at the ready. No longer silent, but humming with the anticipation of work.
Finishing his incantation, Ryu opened his eyes, a deep, burning fire reflecting in their depths. The smithy, once a specter of its former self, now echoed with the vibrant hum of life and labor. The air smelled of molten metal and burning wood, the pleasant tang of iron and smoke filling his lungs.
"Now with this, I can work," Ryu smiled enthusiastically as he put on the apron and got to work.
First up, a new gourd for Gaara.
The fires of the forge danced around as Ryu laid out a parchment, a pen appearing in his hand. On the parchment, the blueprint for the gourd began to take shape. He visualized Gaara, imagining the height and size of the gourd, designing it to be a perfect fit for Gaara's physique. The design embodied sandy motifs, like dunes rippling in a desert, or whirlwinds of sand. The gourd was in an hourglass shape, mirroring Gaara's current gourd's shape.
With the design set, Ryu summoned his tools. Though the ones in the smithy brought up memories, they weren't up to his standards in terms of quality. With a snap of his fingers, Ryu conjured a raw block of Dwarven Steel, its metallic golden sheen glowing amidst the fiery forge. His fingers trace over the rough metal, feeling the dormant power within.
Next, with a flick of his wrist, all the needed tools materialize around him. Hammers with heads imbued with magic, tongs forged from Uru, an anvil created from a fallen star, and countless other tools, each fit for a god of the forge.
With the forge roaring, the Dwarven Steel was placed into its heart, where its magical fires danced with fierce intensity. Ryu fed the flames with the essence of Muspelheim, causing the heat to intensify dramatically. The steel started to glow a deep, glowing red - ready for shaping.
Ryu, having invoked the wrath of his forge's flames to the point that they danced like furious dragons, held the tongs with an expert grip. The metal between its clasp was now a vivid spectacle of radiant red and seething oranges, mirroring the very fires from which it was birthed. He removed the block of Dwarven Steel, a sight so bright it could rival the sun itself, and brought it onto his anvil.
In Ryu's other hand was his hammer, a tool so powerful it could create anything. As he brought the hammer down onto the heated metal, the echo that followed was akin to the primordial sound of creation, resonating through the smithy.
With each strike, sparks erupted from the contact point, cascading around the anvil like a shower of fiery blossoms. The rhythm was hypnotic, a methodic pattern of impacts and echoes. Ryu's hands moved so fast they weren't even a blur, a testament to his godly prowess. The symphony of blacksmithing filled the space, a testament to creation itself.
Under his relentless assault, the stubborn block of Dwarven Steel began to yield. It was a grueling ballet of strength and precision as Ryu coaxed the stubborn material into submission. Each strike shaped the metal, the silhouette of a gourd gradually manifesting from the formless mass. The broad base, its slender waist, and the wide top, all took shape under the unyielding onslaught of the hammer.
With the required shape achieved, Ryu lifted the golden gourd and walked towards a massive vat filled with an ethereal, gleaming liquid - oil imbued with the essence of the desert. Without hesitation, he plunged the glowing gourd into the vat. The forge fell silent, save for the sizzling and crackling as the gourd cooled rapidly.
The gourd was then removed and placed back into the heart of the forge, but the flames were gentler now, heated to a lower, controlled temperature. After an adequate time, Ryu removed it, allowing it to cool slowly in the open air.
With the quenching done, Ryu prepared for the next step, conjuring his chisel. Crafted from Uru, Ryu's favorite metal, it was engraved from handle to tip with archaic runes, each one shimmering with latent power.
Taking this tool in hand, Ryu approached the now cooling gourd. The golden surface, though majestic in its own right, was still a canvas that the master blacksmith was about to transform. His midnight eyes narrowed, the intense light of the forge fires dancing within them as he began his work.
Ryu's motions as he worked were almost meditative, every strike purposeful yet delicate, every scrape a harmony of metal against metal. The sandy motifs he was etching were a visual symphony, a tribute to the desert and its ever-changing landscapes.
There were dunes that seemed to ripple with invisible wind, the curves and slopes brought to life under Ryu's masterful hands. A whirlwind took form, the swirling sands captured in a moment of furious movement. Camels made their way across the gourd, carrying delicately carved merchants on their backs. Each detail was a testament to Ryu's intricate understanding of his art, the physical representation of sand's fluidity captured in the unyielding strength of Dwarven Steel.
As he worked, the air within the forge seemed to thicken, the heat pulsating with the rhythm of creation. The surface of the gourd changed under the relentless chiseling, from rough and raw to detailed and refined. Tiny sparks flew with every impact, the golden steel singing under the force, the intricate patterns growing more profound and pronounced.
Once he was satisfied with his etching, Ryu set his tool aside. He took a moment to admire his work, the gourd now an epic poem of sandy motifs brought to life on metallic canvas. He then took a piece of cloth, its material woven from several concepts, and began to polish the etched steel.
The grinding and polishing process was rhythmic, almost a dance, as Ryu's hands moved in synchronized patterns across the surface. Every stroke smoothed a rough edge, every rub enhanced the mirror-like sheen of the golden gourd. The sandy motifs began to gleam under the forge's light, the shadows dancing along the etched lines, creating an illusion of movement.
In the end, the gourd stood radiant, the sandy motifs etched so beautifully and detailed that they seemed to shift and move like a real desert, an oasis of breathtaking beauty born from Dwarven Steel.
Now, the gourd, looking majestic in its golden sheen, underwent the final process. Ryu summoned a specially prepared cloth, woven from the concepts of purity, and started cleaning the gourd, removing any residue. The metal gleamed brightly, reflecting the flickering flames of the forge.
Ryu then retrieved a small pot filled with a coating solution - a mixture of divine blood and stardust. He meticulously applied the coating to the gourd, its surface becoming more radiant with each stroke. This layer will protect the weapon from rust, corrosion, and overall harm, allowing it to retain its glow even in the harshest conditions.
In the end, standing tall in the center of the forge was Gaara's weapon - the Sands of Creation. A true masterpiece, it was a testament to Ryu's skills, holding an ethereal charm that went beyond its stunning aesthetic. This golden gourd, almost as tall as Gaara, with sandy motifs representing the desert, was now ready for the battles to come.
"One down, three to go. Let's get it done!" Ryu said excitedly as he started designing the next weapon.
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