Mannat turned his first knife around in his hand. It was a small ingot once before Mannat straightened it. Lost in a sea of worries, he would have completely forgotten its existence, had his father not pulled it out from the depths of his memories and put it into his hands. The knife made him nostalgic, as it reminded him of the reason he strived to become a blacksmith.

The straight thin knife passed a glare onto the wet polishing stone in front of him when the skylight caught its thin wet face at the correct angle. Wet, gleaming, and polished to mirror finish; it was ready to be fitted with a handle and sharpened but he would do those things some other day. 

Cleaning the knife with a rag, he put it back in the wooden case his father had made for him.
He stored the box on an empty ledge in the storeroom, and in the process of leaving knocked over a covered crate, which crashed, opened, and spilled its contents all over the floor. Mannat for a moment felt like a thief on the run who had spilled his loot. His eyes went straight to the open door, at his father working on the other end of the workshop. The man hadn’t noticed, or he didn’t want to embarrass his son. Whatever the case, Mannat went straight to the floor to correct his mistake. The crate was filled with knife cases and knives. A few had leather sheaths and just beautiful round handles and others were built to last, but all the knives were of the same size.

He wanted to hold one and look at it, but his father called him.
“What’s taking so long?”
Mannat hurriedly cleaned up the mess, closed the crate, and left.

Raesh new skill, ‘replicate’ was already up by a level in the few days since he had unlocked it. The skill fed into hi his dexterity and increased his intelligence, two attributes that were very difficult to improve for a blacksmith and related professions. It was a second-tier skill for a reason.

He hadn’t stopped practicing his craft though his progress had stagnated over the last decade. He reaped the reward of years of accumulated effort. The skill would not have leveled so easily, otherwise.

Mannat took a seat on the bench to sharpen the arrows and practice his skill, ‘Inspect’. He was trying to improve the attack power of the arrowheads by applying different amounts of force at different angles while sharpening them.

 In the days, he had only gotten better at doing his job. He learned the importance of holding the arrowhead with a tight grip while grinding it with soft hands. Any deviation resulted in the removal of too much material from the edge or the expulsion of the job from his hand. Thankfully, there were no disasters. His effort and focus brought a meager, but positive increase in the attack power of the arrowheads. The increase even earned him his father’s praise. However, it was only praise because the arrows sharpened by his father had on average the minimum value of seven and the maximum value of twelve. Meaning, the arrowheads had the sharpness to penetrate leather armor and kill a man.

“How are things on your end?” The voice fell on Mannat’s ears and he raised his head towards the furnace. His father stood over the anvil, like a giant. The furnace was spitting fire at him like an angry dragon and he was taming it with a tong.

Mannat rubbed his eyes to get the glare out of his eyes. He was beginning to imagine things. Was he tired? He didn’t think so, but both of them didn’t like to talk about the topic of his business at the clearing. Talking about it meant talking about his mother, and that was a heavy topic to discuss at work. Mannat had his hesitations and his father had his pride. This time, however, he decided to indulge the man.

“Slow… but steady.” He said after some thinking. What else could he say anyway? “Why do you ask?”
Their eyes met and Raesh said after a deep exhale. “Sardar came over the house, yesterday.”

No wonder his father had been solemn and quiet since the morning. Mannat had noticed the stiffness and thought he wanted to talk about the rabbit. He was sure the whole village knew about it. He was sure the topic would shift in this direction, and he was surprised when it did not.

Raesh said, “He came to apologize for breaking the engagement… and he said you agreed. Is that right?”
“Yes,”
“Did you talk to the girl?”
“No,”
“Then you decided it yourself?” Mannat felt his father leading him. A question arose in his mind.

“What did you tell the old man?” Mannat asked, clenching his fist. Thankfully, the arrowhead in his hand had a dull, unsharpened edge, or it would have definitely cut his hand and drawn blood. His reaction wasn’t hidden from Raesh either, who unusually grinned. The man really needed to trim his mustache. That thing was starting to take root under his lips.

“I said I don’t agree.”

Mannat didn’t notice it but his lips had curled up. “And?” He whispered, excited. How could he be excited? Didn’t he make up his mind about this? Then why did his heart rate increase and its sound echoed inside his ears?

Raesh laughed loudly in return. The pigeons nesting near the skylight got scared to death. They flapped their wings and flew away in a hurry, raining feathers into the smithy through the open skylight. The feathers followed the breeze blowing into the shop and lightly, one of them fell atop Mannat’s anvil.

Mannat couldn’t hold himself back either. His father’s laughter was contagious. For a while, the people outside on the street heard the sound of heavy laughter from the smithy, instead of the usual groans of metal and roars of a hammer.

Suddenly, the bell rang at the front shop and the two looked over.

“I’ll go,” Mannat said and sprung away, unable to contain his mood. Raesh watched Mannat’s small back retreating into the dark corridor and his smile faded. A complicated expression washed the laughter out of his eyes.

He had actually wanted to talk to the boy about the beast. Thank God, he changed the topic when he noticed Mannat growing defensive.
He never thought the boy would laugh. That was the cherry on top of the cake.

He didn’t have much to say either; the conversation wouldn’t have solved anything, but spoil their moods. Raesh knew his son. The boy was stubborn like his mother and prideful as him. They were two of the worst traits to have together. He could only sigh and get back to work. The barrel was filling up quicker than he thought it would. If everything went right, he’d be done with the task with over a week to spare.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Raesh mumbled. He pulled the tong out of the furnace and set the job on the anvil to get back to work.

At the front, Mannat greeted the customer, his best friend Pandit. The tall, bulky boy looked ready to go hunting. He was wearing a heavier set of clothes, leather armor on top, high boots, and a hat to hide his brown hair. He had brought his cleaver along and it looked to be in a pretty bad shape.

“What happened to it? It was fine two days ago.”
“I haven’t a clue shopkeep,” Pandit replied in an overly nasally and highlands tone of voice. “I fetched it this fine mornin’ to go hunting in your fine woods when I noticed my fine cleaver had the startings of rust growing along its mighty sharp edge,”
Mannat pursed his lips in response to his friends… antics. “Whom are you trying to imitate?” He was not impressed.
“The count, of course! Who else speaks like this?
Mannat grew curious. “You have met the man?”
“Of course, not,” Pandit let out a snort. “But our guide sometimes imitates the nobles when he gets drunk, and it’s always funny. What do you think?”
Mannat nodded. He picked up the cleaver to a good look and said, “I think you are full of shit.”

“Language, boy,” Pandit pursed his lips and imitated his mother next. “You better clean your tongue or I’ll make sure you clean the floor with it. If you want to treat it like a rag, then I’ll treat it as a rag, too.”

Mannat raised his head and took a good look at his friend. “You are usually chirpy today. Is there something you want to tell me?” Mannat asked moving his hand over the knife’s face.
The cleaver had serious rust damage in various places and there were minute cracks all over the blade. He knew at a glance the cleaver couldn’t be saved. He was sure his friend hadn’t tried to ax a tree with the knife because the cracks weren’t stress fractures. All the cracks were originating from the rust patches.

Mannat gently put the cleaver on the shelf and looked up. Pandit's eyes had grown into two crescents and his lips had curled up. “Nothing much, no. Not at all,” he mumbled in a daze, almost as if prodding him to ask more.
Mannat didn’t indulge him. Why would he needlessly fan the flame?

“So,” Mannat said gravely. He tapped the counted top with a finger to draw Pandit’s attention to the cleaver and said, “What do you want to do with this? You want to buy a new one or--”
“Can’t you repair it?” Pandit interrupted. Mannat knew his mood after all. That was his brother’s cleaver, but it really was a helpless case. The weapon had crossed the line of no return. Mannat sighed.
He was going to refuse when he remembered something. Didn’t he have the perfect skill for the job?
 
He had gained two skills from his blacksmith job. One was ‘blueprint library’, and the other was ‘healing strike’. 
Suddenly, Mannat’s eyes shone brightly. “Perhaps, I can repair it.”
Pandit slammed his hands hard on the counter. “…Really?” He shouted, eyes shining and goosebumps rising up his arms.
That was his brother’s cleaver. He was a hunter and knew his tools the best. It was the first thing his father had taught him when he decided to take his brother's place. He knew the cleaver had reached the end of its life. He actually wanted to get a new one forged using the old one as the base. He had already made his peace with it.
No wonder he was shocked at Mannat’s proposal. He wouldn’t believe if someone else had told him so, but he knew exactly how his friend's mind worked. The boy never made promises he couldn’t keep.

“You are a good friend,” Pandit said and held Mannat’s shoulders. “I don’t know how you are going to do it, but I believe you.”
“Do you want to buy something else for the time being? It might take me some days to--”
Pandit shook his head. “No need,” he said. “I’ll wait for the good news.”

They talked a bit about the rabbit they had killed and then Pandit took leave. Mannat didn’t go back to the workshop just yet. He inspected the cleaver to see what he was dealing with.

[Iron cleaver][Common]
[Durability: 5/51][Attack: 15]

What a horribly low level of durability. The blade was on its last breaths. Mannat wasn’t sure how it actually survived the journey to the smithy.
However, low durability was exactly the first blockade he needed to safely clear. The weapon durability needed to be below 5% for his skill ‘healing strike’ to work, and it was exactly under that limit. He would have definitely broken the cleaver into pieces if he had to lower the durability manually.

Mannat picked a wooden hammer from a shelf under the counter –it was there to test the jobs brought for repair—and lightly tapped the cleaver's face after activating the skill. There was only a 1% chance of it working, so he was ready to be there for a while. Perhaps, it was his lucky day, because not only did the skill activate, it activated at full bloom.

A strong light flashed from the claver the moment his hammer touched its surface. Mannat felt weak for a moment, before both the light and the feeling vanished, leaving a miracle over the countertop. The cleaver was new again. The cracks had vanished, the surface was shining, and even the handle had recovered from years of wear and tear. It was so cool!

However, the surprises weren’t over. Suddenly, bells tolled in Mannat’s mind and a breath-taking message appeared floating in front of his eyes.

[Congratulations! Your skill; healing strike has risen to level 2. Your intelligence has increased to 17.]

He jumped over the countertop and ran out of the smithy, after Pandit. It would surprise him for sure.

He grinned all the way. That extra point in intelligence came at the perfect time. He had worries about his chances of evolving ‘Inspect’ in a month. The skill was only level four at the start of the month; it had surely leveled up twice since then, but his worries were not for nothing. He really had his hands filled with trying to learn how to perceive mana inside others. Who was to say ‘Inspect’ wouldn’t have a similarly unreasonable demand to get over the last level?

With that extra point in intelligence, he could finally have some room to breathe. His mind did tell him to try to improve the same skill again, but he buried the thought in a dark chamber before it could take root. There was only a 1% chance of the skill activating; it was dependent upon mana and that durability requirement was too much. He didn’t want to chance the life and death of his mother to luck. The skill had done enough for him for now.

Pandit had just entered the butchery when the doorbell rang right behind again. He turned around to see who was coming and was surprised to see Mannat behind him, smiling.
Mannat was a beautiful boy with a small face and soft features, but he didn’t know how to smile. Pandit almost cringed to see Mannat’s bare gums and teeth. He knew he was going to have trouble sleeping again, but then his eyes fell upon Mannat’s hands, especially on the cleaver he was holding and Pandit’s heart skipped a beat.

At first, Pandit thought his friend had given up and brought him a new cleaver, but he knew the shape and the size of his weapon. That remarkable white fang hanging from the handle was as familiar to him as his own toes.

Pandit held his head with both hands in disbelief and exclaimed at the top of his voice, “You fixed it!”
“Yes,” Mannat relied on a similarly loud voice.

“How did you--” Pandit stuttered and blabbered understandable words, before snarling at his inadequacy to make a speech and giving up.
“Can I hold it?” He finally said, panting.

Mannat raised the blade flat in front of Pandit, who grabbed it by the handle.
The hair on Pandit’s arm stood up straight from freight. It was the same weapon. The handle felt odd in his hand, but that was because of how snuggly it fit him. It was the same size, the same weight. He gave it a swing, and the blade made the same -whoosh- sound as it cut through the air. There were no cracks on its surface. All the chips and the damages had disappeared. BLOODY HELL, he really repaired it!

“How did you do it? This is a miracle!” Pandit couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon.
Mannat nodded. “I agree with you. The skill has a very low activation rate. All I can say is that we were lucky.”
“Unbelievable,” Pandit said. His eyes were slowly turning red. “How much do I owe you?”
Mannat shook his head. “Forget it. My gains weren’t small.”
“No wonder you look so happy.”

Pandit stared at his friend. He wanted to show his happiness, but he was speechless. He could only put his arms around Mannat and squeeze hard, both the boy and the cleaver. He was afraid to lose the weapon, but he knew he was more afraid to lose his friend.
Mannat didn’t follow Pandit in the act. His arms remained by his side. He hoped the boy would let him go. He used to think his father was a hard hugger, but couldn’t help wondering if the man had actually been holding back, because his friend didn’t.

Pandit sniffled and said, “Tell me if there’s anything I can help you with. I promise. Whatever you do, I will always be there for you.”

“Let me go then; I am starting to suffocate,” Mannat said and Pandit hurriedly scrambled back. He almost stumbled and fell to the floor, but found balance at the right time and managed to keep his feet. They both looked at each other and smiled. One was bashful and the other was happy.
“I’m not joking.” Pandit suddenly said with all seriousness. “Ask me anything and I’ll do it. We can even kidnap Sharmilla if you want. We can do it now.”
 
Mannat really didn’t want anything, but when he saw Pandit acting so serious he suddenly thought of something. Didn’t the Witch say he would be fighting more and more beats in the future? She also asked him to find the rabbit’s origin. An idea crept into his mind. He knew Pandit would never agree to take him hunting under normal conditions.

Just as how his swift friend didn’t have a proper place in the smithy; Mannat, who was short, of average strength and constitution, also had no place in the woods -- other than being prey, maybe. This was his chance, and actually, he really wanted to see how hunters hunted and trapped prey. He didn’t get to see Pandit work his magic in the old man’s fields, but the woods was a hunter's territory. He was sure this one trip would teach him more about his friend’s life and hunting in general than a hundred books could.

He tried a few sentences in his mind, before finding a good meaty one. He tasted it a few times in his mouth. Liking its taste, he said his thought aloud with burning enthusiasm, “Take me hunting with you.”