Victor and Arin went straight for the forge the moment the village stirred awake.
The smithy still smelled faintly of old smoke and rusted iron, but Victor didn't hesitate. He rolled up his sleeves, tied his hair back with a strip of cloth, and got to work. The furnace was coaxed awake first, slow, patient feeding of fuel, airflow adjusted by instinct more than thought. Soon the low glow deepened, heat rolling outward in waves that made the air shimmer.
Arin leaned against the wall at first, watching.
Victor started with the raw black iron. He didn't rush it. Each chunk was inspected, tapped, and rotated under the light. The Blackforge Technique hummed quietly in his awareness, not flashy, not overwhelming. Just… present. Like a second set of hands guiding his own.
He fed the iron into the crucible and let it melt down completely, skimming impurities as they surfaced. Slag hissed when it was pulled free, dark and useless. What remained glowed deep and heavy, not bright like normal iron but dense, almost reluctant to flow.
"Still feels weird," Victor muttered to himself. "Like it doesn't want to be anything else."
Arin raised an eyebrow. "That good or bad?"
"Good," Victor said immediately. "Means it'll hold shape once it decides."
The alloys came next. Carefully measured. Carefully timed. Blackforge Technique let him adjust the heat in ways that shouldn't have been possible, micro-shifts in temperature, pressure changes applied through controlled strikes, even before the metal ever touched an anvil. It wasn't magic in the flashy sense. It was control. Absolute, stubborn control.
Once the alloy reached the right state, Victor did something Arin hadn't expected.
He took Arin's old shortsword.
"You sure?" Arin asked, suddenly hesitant.
Victor didn't look up. "Yeah. It's decent steel. Not great, but it'll do."
He fed the blade into the forge.
Arin watched it disappear into the heat, strangely quiet. That sword had been with him since the start. It wasn't special, but it was familiar.
Victor melted it down completely, folding the material into the alloy mix. The Blackforge Technique held the composition together, allowing a steel formation that would've been impossible under normal conditions. When the crucible was finally poured, what came out wasn't just recycled metal.
It was better.
By the end of the day, Victor had turned ten full bags of black iron into refined black iron steel. Dense, clean, and perfectly balanced.
The first thing he forged wasn't armor. It wasn't a weapon for anyone else.
It was a hammer.
His forge hammer.
Black iron steel, compact and brutal, weighted exactly how he liked it. He tested the balance once, twice, then nodded.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "This'll do."
While Victor worked, Arin spent most of his time outside. He trained lightly, footwork, timing, and controlled swings with a wooden blade. Nothing intense. Just keeping his body honest. Raul joined him now and then, mostly to mock him, sometimes to spar seriously. Practice swords clacked and scraped, laughter mixing with sweat and dust.
Arin went to see Mina once. She hadn't made up her mind yet. She talked with him for a bit, then said she needed more time. He didn't press her.
Two days passed like that.
On the morning of the third, Victor called out from the forge.
"Arin. Get in here."
Arin wiped sweat from his brow and stepped inside.
Victor stood beside the anvil, arms crossed. Something long lay wrapped in cloth between them.
"Your shortsword was inefficient," Victor said bluntly. "Too light for your reach. Too short for how you move. You compensate with timing, but you shouldn't have to."
Arin blinked. Then smiled. "So?"
"So I made you something that fits," Victor said. "If you hate it, I'll pretend it never happened."
He unwrapped the cloth.
The blade was a longsword.
European-style. Straight. Clean lines. No unnecessary flares. The blade itself was black, not painted, not coated. The metal simply drank the light. The fuller ran straight and shallow, precise enough to guide the eye without weakening the structure.
The hilt was pale, wrapped in tight white cloth over a reinforced core. Victor had treated and sealed the inner material himself, hardening it until it held shape without biting into the hand. The grip felt firm, steady, made for long use rather than show.
The crossguard was simple, gently curved toward the blade, nothing ornate, just enough to protect the hand and keep the sword honest. The pommel carried just the right weight.
Arin lifted the sword. It settled into his hand without effort, the weight lining itself up the moment he moved.
"Feel it," Victor said. "If something's wrong, say it."
Arin rolled his wrist once, then took a short step and swung. The blade moved clean, no drag, no pull. He tried again, faster this time. The sword followed, obedient, balanced.
His grip adjusted on its own.
"…Yeah," Arin said, a small smile breaking through. "This works."
Victor exhaled slowly. "Good."
Raul, who had been leaning in the doorway, whistled. "Damn. That thing looks expensive."
"You should name it," Raul added.
Arin turned the blade slightly, watching the light bend along its edge. "I'm terrible with names."
Victor smirked. "Shocking."
"You do your job, Master Blacksmith," Arin said, handing the responsibility over immediately.
Victor thought for a moment. "What about Midnight Howl?"
Arin nodded once. "Sounds right."
"Midnight Howl it is."
Raul clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough romance. My turn."
Victor groaned. "You don't waste time, do you?"
"Nope," Raul said cheerfully. "If you're making custom weapons, I want mine sharp."
Victor grabbed a strip of cloth and gestured for him to come closer. "Measurements first, don't move."
"Hey—"
"Don't move."
Raul froze exaggeratedly, arms out. "Can you be quick?"
Victor ignored him and started measuring. Length of forearm. Grip width. Preferred blade angle. Raul answered honestly for once, even offering feedback without joking.
"I want them to be agile," Raul said. "Not heavy. Enough bite to get through weak points, but not so thick they slow me down."
Victor nodded.
Arin watched the two of them smiling, sword resting on his waist.
"Well, I'd better start practicing too."