Yoriichi moved deeper into the hall, drawn by a specific sound.
Most hammers sounded dull: Thud. Thud. But one hammer sounded different.
Ping. Ping. Ring.
It was the sound of high-carbon steel. The sound of a blade that could sing.
He reached the back of the hall, where the heat was most intense. Here, the main furnace roared, a towering structure of black brick that breathed white-hot fire.
Standing before the master anvil was a man.
He was huge—easily standing a head taller than Yoriichi. His skin was the color of old bronze, scarred by burns and cuts. He wore thick leather gloves and a heavy apron, and his beard was singed at the edges.
This was the Master Smith of the Xiao Clan, Tie Shan.
He wasn't hammering. He was staring.
He held a pair of long tongs, gripping a glowing bar of metal that pulsed with a faint, eerie blue light. He turned it over and over, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He looked frustrated, like a man trying to read a book written in a language he almost understood.
On a workbench nearby lay a piece of parchment, pinned down by a heavy iron nut.
Yoriichi stepped closer, ignoring the radiant heat that would have blistered a normal man's skin. He looked at the parchment.
It was a blueprint. But not for a broadsword or a heavy cleaver, which were common in the Dou Qi Continent.
It was a sketch of a slender, slightly curved blade. A blade designed for speed, precision, and slashing.
It looked remarkably like a Tachi or an early Katana.
Master Tie Shan groaned, a deep rumble in his chest that rivaled the furnace. "The core won't stabilize," he muttered to himself, oblivious to Yoriichi. "If I fold it again, the Ice Silver will become brittle. If I don't, it won't conduct Qi. Damn it."
He was trying to forge a weapon that combined conflicting elements—likely a request for a specific high-ranking clan member or a commission from the Miteer Auction House. Ice Silver was a rare metal found in cold mountain streams; it naturally repelled heat. Trying to forge it in a normal fire furnace was a nightmare.
Yoriichi watched the metal. Even without the Transparent World, he could sense the problem. The color of the glow was uneven. The center was cooling faster than the edges, creating internal stress fractures.
And he could hear it. A high-pitched, screeching vibration coming from the bar.
"The wind," Yoriichi whispered, almost to himself.
Tie Shan froze.
He turned his head slowly, his neck muscles corded with tension. He hadn't expected anyone to be standing so close to the main furnace, let alone a skinny boy in dirty robes who looked like he had just crawled out of a swamp.
The two men locked eyes.
The Smith's eyes were narrowed, blazing with the irritation of an artist interrupted, and the fierce intensity of the fire he worked with.
Yoriichi's eyes were wide, dark red, and utterly, disturbingly calm. He didn't flinch at the Smith's glare. He didn't step back from the heat. He simply stood there, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, looking at the glowing metal as if it were an old friend in pain.
For a long moment, the only sound was the roar of the fire and the distant clanging of apprentices.
"You," Tie Shan grunted, his voice like grinding stones. "You're the First Elder's grandson. The one who got smashed in the arena."
Yoriichi nodded once, slowly. "I am."
"You're standing in my light," Tie Shan said bluntly, turning back to the metal. "Get lost. This isn't a playground for crippled birds. Go play with your sister."
Yoriichi didn't move.
"The metal is crying," Yoriichi said softly.
Tie Shan stopped. His tongs hovered over the anvil. He turned back, his expression shifting from annoyance to confusion.
"What did you say?"
"The Ice Silver," Yoriichi pointed a slender, bandaged finger at the glowing bar. "It is crying. You are heating it with a Wood-based flame from the bellows. The wood smoke is suffocating the ice nature. It creates air pockets in the core."
Tie Shan's eyes widened. He looked at the metal, then back at the boy.
"How..." the Smith stammered, his grip on the tongs tightening. "How could you possibly know that? You've never held a hammer in your life. That is an Advanced Smithing theory!"
Yoriichi stepped forward, the firelight dancing in his crimson eyes.
"I may not have held a hammer," Yoriichi said, his voice dropping to a register of absolute authority. "But I know the breath of steel. And if you strike it now, it will shatter."
Tie Shan stared at him. The air between them crackled with tension—not of violence, but of a challenge issued and accepted. He looked at the fragile boy, then at the stubborn metal that had plagued him for days.
"Is that so?" Tie Shan turned fully, placing the glowing metal on the anvil. He held out a heavy, short-handled hammer toward Yoriichi.
"Then show me," the Smith challenged, a dangerous grin splitting his singed beard. "Show me how to silence the crying, boy. Or get out of my hall."
Yoriichi looked at the hammer.
The second life of the Sun Breather was about to strike its first blow.