Jack awoke early in the morning due to the excitement. He was up in a dash, rushing to the nearby guard station to train within the field. He repeated his training routines of running two laps and lifting weights for several sets, before then working on his sword play. He practised the first step of the Bloodied Turtle Sword Art for a short while before returning back to the inn to bathe and change into his work clothes and then set out for the smithy.

The smithy was just beginning to show signs of life, a faded heat seeping out. He could hear the gentle rhythm of someone striking metal, but it seemed to be a smith warming up rather than someone actually making something. 

He was set to work right away, as Terry guided him towards the bar he was going to be using today. “Take your time,” he said. “There’s no need to rush such precious work.” 

Jack nodded, his eyes filled with an eagerness as he took the bar and then checked it, counting the sparks before warming it up. He needed just the right amount of orange, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to shape it properly. With two parts cobalt, twenty percent of the entire rod being made of the precious metal, he would need to be especially careful. Smith Kanders was someone who had a great rate of success with such weapons, managing to create a weapon nine times out of ten, and even that tenth time was adequate. 

Jack went right to work, his mind slowly fading away until he could focus on the rod. He was following the motions from yesterday, though this time struck a little softer. His arms were already aching due to the work of the day before, but also the training in the morning. Working the metal was much more difficult than yesterday.

Even Terry wasn’t entirely sure that Jack should have made a large jump. Even the difference between ten and eleven percent was pretty large, so to go from ten percent to twenty percent, it was setting him up for failure. However, if the boy could somehow manage to slip into Absolute Focus, all the while working away on such a difficult task, then his future would be guaranteed. In fact, Terry would find it difficult to justify to himself in keeping the young man as his Apprentice. 

He noticed the look on Jack’s face, seeing the wincing, seeing the thick sweat, seeing the glaze in his eyes.

“Do you think he can do it?” Merri asked. She had been utterly surprised the night before when he had made three daggers in a single day with one part cobalt.

“I don’t know,” he said. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted Jack to succeed.

Merri, on the other hand, could feel the excitement. If Jack truly could make this dagger with relative ease, then wouldn’t that mean their smithy would catapult upwards? Never mind the Lord of this City, wouldn’t they attract the attention of greater people? Her father’s future would become secure, and he wouldn’t have to worry too much about comfort. He could work for a half decade and then retire, and she could finally pick up shop and head out to explore the world to learn all manner of different techniques. 

Though she may have disliked nobles, but it was known that anyone who became a personal smith of a noble would live a life without difficulty. They would work to create only masterful weapons perhaps once a season, and that was it. It was a comfortable life, one which she needn’t have to worry about the future of her father. 

“Get back to work,” Terry said, slapping the back of her head gently. “I can see you’re off day dreaming, so why don’t you use that time to make us some money instead?”

Merri rubbed the back of her head and frowned, narrowing her eyes at her father. “Just you wait, you damn geezer!” She tried to kick him, but he pushed her away. She tumbled down but then stood up, grabbing a hammer and going off to smith away her frustrations.

Terry supposed he should do the same since it wouldn’t make much sense for him to lollygag when he had just berated his daughter. It wasn’t as though Jack was going to finish the dagger in a single day, nor would he finish it using a single rod. That would be truly outrageous.

Jack dropped down onto the seat and gasped for breath. He had almost passed out, but had managed to catch himself. He sat there, gasping for breath for a minute, loosely dangling the hammer between his fingers. His eyes were twitching, unfocused and glazed over with exhaustion. His arms burned with great effort, more than just a night’s hard work, they felt as though they would fall off at any second. He closed his eyes and almost fell when Terry slapped the boy’s back to wake him up. He jolted upright. 

“How did it go?” Terry asked, checking on the nearly collapsed boy first. He could see that Jack had no energy left, and then he glanced to the dagger.

“I think I did okay,” Jack said. “Needs a little polish if it’s alright.”

Terry glanced over towards the dagger, watching it cool. He picked it up with a pair of tongs and brought it up to his face. His eyes noted the cooling metal, checking the pattern on the blade, and then the twist of the handle. He squinted his eyes and then looked to Jack. 

“You did well,” he said. “It’s not good, but it’s acceptable. Considering you’re still an apprentice, it’s the best I could really ask for. Go take a breather and I’ll polish it.”

Jack managed to drag himself away to the house, noting that he couldn’t hear Merri working. He wondered what she had made today.

All the while, Terry polished the dagger the Apprentice had made. It was a little difficult to judge considering it was still newly formed. It was fairly easy to make a dagger from a single rod, so most Smiths had their Apprentices work the single bar into a dagger to test their abilities. If he wanted one which he could sell then he’d probably import some wood for the pommel. There was a certain style among noble where the pommel would be a wood which came from their region or city. Then there was the grip, which could be wrapped with a leather from the nearby area, or of a creature which was hard to defeat. 

As he finished polishing the blade, noting the pattern along the dagger, he froze. He blinked a few times and then went to sharpen the dagger, taking his time in trying to get it perfect. The pattern along the blade was near perfect, one which implied that the dagger was of higher quality than he initially assessed. 

There was no way he could have made such a fine dagger in a single day on his first try, right?

Terry began to sweat as he thought about the monster the Bloodwalls had sent his way. He continued to sharpen the dagger. Then he glanced around to find another piece of scrap iron he had laying around. He swiped the dagger across it, tearing it like it was made of paper. He grabbed another piece of scrap iron and then one of the daggers from last night. He cut into the iron, which gave way to the dagger, but not as much as the dagger which had been made today, more like solid butter rather than paper. 

Terry placed the dagger down on the table beside him and then placed his head into his hands. Had they sent him a boon, or was this a nightmare? He wasn’t sure yet. If news of this got out, then his smithy would be targeted, and they would all be in danger. He would need to keep Jack on a leash for now, since someone moving up so quickly would bring too much unwanted attention, even from the nobles above that of the Lord. 

He grabbed the dagger and then walked over to Jack and Merri. He opened the door to see Merri in the middle of bullying Jack, smirking at him with that stupid look she always had. He stared at her daughter, wondering if perhaps there was something more to the bullying.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Merri said, narrowing her eyes at her father. She felt as though he was thinking something poorly of her. 

“I was just thinking that you were an idiot,” he said, as politely as he could while bringing up his leg to block her kick. “Sit down, I have something to tell you.” 

There was a rasping at the door. Terry placed down the dagger, which Merri then picked up to check. She looked at it in confusion, almost gasping. Terry opened the door to see the unmistakable figure of a Knight.

Slightly tan skin, more like olive. Short dark hair, naturally curly, like waves of a storm. His eyes were hazel, though were filled with a piercing gaze. His face, though naturally a smile, was currently staring at Terry with shock, surprise, and the most malicious killing intent. 

Terry didn’t need to see the sigil on the man’s breastplate to see who it was, not on the two Knights beside him.

“Sir Ozcar?” Jack called out in both excitement and surprise. He looked past the Knight to see both Sir Bartholomew and Sir Anya. What were they doing here?

Sir Ozcar noted the young woman beside Jack, who was currently holding a rather vicious looking dagger. ‘She looks to be the same age as Jack,’ he thought. ‘That’s old enough.’

Finally four chapters ahead! I'm going to try for five before I sleep!