Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 509: First Blacksmithing Lesson (6)

Kyrian heated the ingot a little longer, giving the heat extra time to spread completely.

He removed it only when the entire interior had reached a uniform temperature, with no cold spots or overheated areas.

He raised the hammer.

‘CLANG!’

The strike was firm but controlled. Neither too strong nor too weak.

Then another. And another.

He soon found a rhythm, not Sun Luguo’s perfect rhythm, but one of his own, naturally suited to his movements.

The sounds began to echo throughout the workshop like music.

‘Clang… Clang… Clang…’

His entire body moved in harmony with each strike. His feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, transferring energy to his hips. His hips rotated, transmitting power to his shoulders. His shoulders remained relaxed, allowing the hammer to descend with precision. His arms guided the impact, adjusting the angle at the very last moment.

Everything worked in perfect harmony.

For the first time, Kyrian no longer looked like someone merely imitating a master. He was beginning to understand, to internalize the process.

As he worked, his eyes revealed every transformation taking place within the metal. The impurities disappeared, driven out by his precise blows. The density increased as the particles compacted into a stronger structure. The internal lines became organized, aligning themselves with the direction of the blade.

‘So this is how it works…’

He thought, a profound realization illuminating his mind.

‘I’m not forcing the metal. I’m not imposing my will upon it.’

‘I’m guiding its transformation.’

That single thought completely changed the way he hammered. His strikes became even more precise, gentler, and more efficient. Every impact was an instruction, not an imposition.

When he finished shaping it, the sword already possessed an elegant form. The blade was straight and balanced, its edge uniform, its weight distributed perfectly.

Then came the quenching. This time, Kyrian slowly submerged the blade, carefully controlling the cooling process. There was no haste, no abrupt movement. He allowed the cooling to spread naturally, without creating internal stress.

No cracks appeared.

Afterward, he began polishing it, using the whetstones with smooth, precise movements. The edge was refined, the finish was applied, and every surface was worked until it shone.

Nearly forty minutes later, Kyrian finally raised the sword.

He spent several seconds gazing at his reflection on the blade. It was simple. Without inscriptions, without spiritual radiance, without any extraordinary characteristics.

Yet… it was beautiful.

Sun Luguo approached, his heavy footsteps echoing across the stone floor. He took the sword, holding it carefully.

He inspected it thoroughly, his eyes traveling across every inch of the blade. He ran his fingers along the edge, testing its sharpness. He balanced it on a single finger, checking its weight distribution.

Then… he smiled. A genuine smile, filled with sincere pride.

“Very good.”

Kyrian remained silent, waiting for the rest of the evaluation.

“It isn’t perfect,” the old man said honestly.

“There are still small flaws. Here…” He pointed to one section of the blade where the thickness varied ever so slightly.

“And here…” Another spot, near the base, where the polishing wasn’t entirely even.

He smiled again.

“But for someone in their first lesson… it’s excellent. You grasped the essence of the process and internalized its fundamentals. The rest is practice.”

Kyrian took a deep breath, feeling a profound sense of satisfaction. Not because he had forged a sword, but because he had finally understood that blacksmithing was more than simply striking metal.

It was about observing. Understanding. Waiting. Refining.

Exactly like cultivation. Something he still lacked full experience in, after all, his cultivation had progressed at an extraordinary pace, propelled by spirit stones and unique circumstances. Now, with his third dantian, he would experience cultivation the same way everyone else did.

Something he found genuinely fascinating, just like alchemy, formations, and now blacksmithing.

Sun Luguo placed the sword on the workbench, a gesture marking the end of the lesson.

“That’s enough for today.”

Kyrian looked at his master, his violet eyes shining with newfound understanding.

“Tomorrow…” the old man continued firmly.

“We’ll begin again. You’ll forge another sword. Then another. And another. Until every movement becomes part of your body, as natural as breathing.”

Kyrian nodded without showing the slightest frustration. On the contrary, he was eager.

For the first time in a long while, he felt he had found another path capable of challenging him. A new field of knowledge to explore, a new art to master.

As he looked at the countless tools scattered throughout the workshop, the hammers, the tongs, the whetstones, a thought quietly arose in his mind.

‘One day…’

‘I’ll forge a weapon worthy of my eyes.’

And for the first time since entering that workshop, Kyrian realized that perhaps he had found not only a master but also a new goal.

Blacksmithing was not merely a useful skill. It was an art, a discipline, a path of growth.

And he was only at the beginning.

…

Kyrian remained still for a few moments, looking at the sword he had just forged. The blade reflected the reddish glow of the furnaces, returning a slightly distorted image of his own face.

It was only an ordinary weapon. No Qi. No spiritual inscriptions. No special abilities.

Even so… that sword carried a different meaning.

It was the first weapon he had truly created with his own hands. Not by copying movements or repeating gestures, but by understanding every step of the process.

Sun Luguo also looked at the sword for a few moments before giving a subtle nod.

“Keep it.”

Kyrian raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Even if it’s just an ordinary weapon, it represents your first step.” The old man crossed his arms.

“Every great blacksmith keeps their first creation. It serves as a reminder of where they began.”

Kyrian carefully took hold of the sword. With a slight wave of his hand, he stored it inside his spatial ring.

Perhaps he would never need to use it in battle.

Even so, he had no intention of parting with it.

It was an important keepsake.

Sun Luguo walked over to a nearby workbench, organizing several hammers and tongs that had been used during the lesson.

“Come back tomorrow afternoon after your next match in the competition.”

His voice returned to its usual calm tone.

“We’ll begin early in the afternoon. Blacksmithing requires repetition. The sooner your body becomes accustomed to the rhythm of the anvil, the better.”

Kyrian gave a respectful bow.

“Yes, Master.”

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the workshop’s exit.

As he stepped through the heavy iron door once more, the suffocating heat remained behind him. Compared to the forge, the quiet atmosphere of the shop felt almost cold.

The dozens of weapons on display still rested upon their stands, illuminated by the golden light streaming through the windows.

Kyrian cast them a brief glance.

This time, however, he saw something different.

Before, he had only seen powerful weapons.

Now, he could imagine the labor hidden behind each one. The hours of heating. The thousands of hammer strikes. The countless attempts before achieving the perfect form.

Every weapon carried a part of its creator’s dedication.

Without realizing it, a faint smile appeared on his face.

Then he left the shop and walked through the streets of the Sky Caravan. The sun had already begun to descend beyond the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange.

Without slowing his pace, he headed straight for his rented courtyard.

The basic saber manual was waiting inside his spatial ring.

Today, he had a new weapon to learn, a new art to master, and another path to strengthen his power.

Today, he had begun his journey as a blacksmith.

Now… it was time to begin another one along the path of the saber.

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