Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 505: First Blacksmithing Lesson (2)

Every material possessed its own nature. Just like cultivators.

Some metals were naturally conductive, channeling energy with ease. Others were resilient, absorbing impacts without deforming.

Some were flexible, capable of bending without breaking. Others were rigid, maintaining their shape even under extreme pressure.

And each of those characteristics served a different purpose, a different application in the art of blacksmithing.

As Kyrian reflected on all of this, Sun Luguo walked toward the largest furnace.

The structure was impressive, nearly three meters tall, a massive construction that dominated the center of the workshop. Its entire surface was made of a dark, heat-resistant stone, covered with countless spiritual inscriptions that glowed with a crimson light whenever the temperature rose.

Inside, crimson flames burned continuously, a fire that never went out, that never diminished. The dance of the flames was hypnotic, each tongue of fire moving in unique patterns, creating shapes that existed for only an instant before disappearing.

The old man rested one hand on the enormous anvil positioned beside the furnace.

The metal surface was marked by thousands of tiny impacts. Each mark represented a forged weapon, a completed project, a work of art brought into existence. A story. A client. A battle. A life saved, or perhaps one brought to an end.

Kyrian could almost feel the stories engraved into that anvil. The decades of work, the sweat that had been shed, the sleepless nights, the moments of frustration, and the moments of triumph.

Sun Luguo remained silent for several seconds, his eyes tracing the marks on the anvil as though reading a familiar book.

Then, he smiled.

“Welcome to the true heart of my shop.”

His voice echoed throughout the workshop, reverberating against the stone walls.

Kyrian slowly approached, his eyes fixed on the anvil. Even without using his special eyes to see more clearly, he could sense that this piece was different from the others. It emitted no spiritual pressure, and no visible flow of Qi radiated from its surface.

Even so… it seemed to carry the weight of countless years of labor. It was as though the anvil itself had absorbed the essence of everything that had ever been forged upon it.

“It was here…” Sun Luguo said, gently stroking the darkened metal surface with a calloused hand.

“…that I forged nearly every weapon of my life.”

His eyes revealed a rare trace of nostalgia. For a brief moment, he was no longer the famous blacksmith, the respected master. He was simply a man remembering his journey.

“Some were sold for only a few coins, to travelers and adventurers who needed something practical and inexpensive,” he continued, his voice soft.

“Others… were worth fortunes, purchased by nobles and experts who recognized the value of true craftsmanship.”

He smiled, a smile that contained decades of memories.

“But every one of them began right here. On this anvil. Beneath this roof. Every single one was born from fire, sweat, and relentless work.”

Kyrian remained silent, respecting the moment. It was rare to see the old man so serious. Sun Luguo was usually loud and cheerful, his laughter echoing throughout the shop. But here, within this sacred space, he was different.

Sun Luguo slowly removed his hand from the anvil. His expression became firm once more, returning to the professional focus Kyrian had come to know.

“On the day I accepted you as my disciple…” He looked directly at Kyrian, his dark eyes meeting the young man’s violet gaze.

“You managed to forge a Spiritual Weapon.”

Kyrian merely nodded, neither proud nor falsely modest. It was simply the truth.

“However…” The old man raised a finger, emphasizing his words.

“That doesn’t count.”

Kyrian slightly raised an eyebrow, a silent question in his eyes.

“You merely imitated my movements, mine and those of the other blacksmiths,” Sun Luguo said firmly.

“You copied what you saw before your eyes. You didn’t understand why each movement existed. You didn’t understand the reason behind every step. Why the temperature was set like that, why the rhythm was maintained, why the force was applied at that specific angle.”

He slowly shook his head, as though watching a common mistake being repeated once again.

“And that makes all the difference. A monkey can imitate a human, but it doesn’t become human because of it. A disciple can copy a master, but that doesn’t make him a master.”

Kyrian did not reply. He knew his master was right. That day, during the test, he had relied primarily on his special eyes to reproduce every detail he observed.

It had been an almost perfect imitation, the movements, the rhythm, the posture. But nothing more. An imitation.

There had been no true understanding. No genuine connection with the process.

Sun Luguo crossed his arms, his expression serious.

“Today, we’ll start from absolute zero.” His voice became heavier, filled with authority.

“Forget Spiritual Weapons. Forget Qi. Forget inscriptions. Forget everything you saw or did that day.”

He pointed toward a simple iron ingot resting on a nearby workbench. The metal was ordinary, dull, without any remarkable characteristics.

“Before you learn to create a sword capable of splitting mountains…” He picked up the ingot, its weight settling naturally into his strong arms.

“You must learn to create an ordinary sword. A weapon that any village blacksmith could make. But one that, in the right hands, can be just as good as any other.”

Kyrian carefully observed the block of metal. It was simple, devoid of any spiritual energy. Just iron, ordinary iron, mined from somewhere, melted down, and shaped into a block.

Sun Luguo raised the ingot before his disciple.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice carrying the tone of a challenge.

“What do you see?”

Kyrian spent several seconds studying the metal, his violet eyes examining every detail. His special eyes glowed faintly as his enhanced vision instinctively activated.

Instantly, part of the ingot’s interior became visible to him, not as a solid surface but as a three-dimensional landscape of density and composition.

Tiny dark specks were scattered throughout its structure. Some were larger, about the size of a pinhead. Others were almost invisible, barely perceptible even to his enhanced vision.

In addition, there were small regions where the density appeared irregular, as though the metal had not been fully compacted during the forging process. Areas that were more porous, others that were denser, and places where the crystal structure was misaligned.

After a few moments, Kyrian answered.

“Impurities.”