Gray Chronicle

Chapter 9 Forging Swords

Ellie left before dawn.

She emerged from the waterway entrance with the utmost softness, like a mouse crawling through a crack in the brickwork. Old Tok had been adding firewood all night and sat upright by the hearth, his eyes closed, but the rhythm of his breathing told Lynn that he was not asleep.

The sacred iron had been left by the fire pit overnight. The etched patterns on its surface were now more pronounced than the night before, and the natural network of flow channels shimmered with a faint greenish glow under the heat. Lynn reached out and touched it—the iron was warm, close to body temperature. Old Tok had said that the etched flow channels were most active at this temperature.

He placed the holy iron on the anvil. The runic hammer was held in his right hand.

Old Tok opened his eyes.

"The forging method of Holy Iron is different from that of ordinary iron. It does not need to be hammered flat or straightened - the natural etched channels are already open, you only need to do three things."

"First, clear the flow channels. Use the resurrected runic hammer to lightly tap along the natural grain of the holy iron—not to deform it, but simply to allow the etched patterns on the hammerhead to resonate with the natural grain within the iron. Second, shape it. Three hammer blows to define the blade. The first blow defines the curvature of the back of the blade, the second the direction of the edge, and the third the taper of the tip. After three blows, the shape of the blade is fixed. Third, quench it. Use water from the deepest, almost frozen pool of the underground river, mixed with five parts etched powder."

"There are only thirteen pieces of Holy Iron." The dwarf's voice was low. "Bahrain never forged a single weapon made of Holy Iron in his entire life. Not because he lacked the skill—but because he dared not. He left the Holy Iron to me, hoping that one day I could forge this hammer well for him. Now I hand this hammer to you."

Quiet.

The crackling of firewood in the hearth. The sound of water from an underground river.

Old Tok picked up a charred stick from the fire pit and marked the direction of the ash-etched channels of the Holy Iron on the stone slab: one extended to the upper left and was shallower; one extended to the right and was deeper but the channels narrowed; one went straight forward and the channel was wide but began to taper at the end.

"Shallow flow channels – low ash density, used for the tip. Narrow lines – high but concentrated ash density, used for the edge. Wide and open flow channels – used for the back of the blade. The three hammer strikes occur at the starting points of these three flow channels – first the back of the blade, then the edge, and finally the tip. The force decreases progressively."

Lynn closed her eyes for a moment.

The image of the dwarven runes on the blacksmith's stone slab—the "Iron Vein" markings at the four corners—flashed in his mind. He picked up a piece of charcoal from the hearth and traced the approximate shapes of the four runes on the stone slab around the anvil. The traces were imprecise, using only the most basic short lines and intersections to mark their positions. Then he placed the holy iron in the center.

"Rune array. Carved on a Balin stone slab. I can't understand it, but I remember the shape and position of each rune."

Then he raised the runic hammer.

The first strike.

The hammerhead is aimed at the starting point of the flow channel on the back of the cutting tool—the widest and most transparent one. The force applied should be neither too strong nor too weak. There should be no crisp metallic clanging sound when the hammerhead contacts the metal.

A low hum lasted for about half a beat.

The gray etchings on the iron surface began at the point of impact and expanded outwards at a visible speed—the natural flow channels had been awakened. The holy iron trembled slightly, not in deformation, but in response. On the crystal slice, [Rune Awakening - Initial] jumped from 17% to 21%.

Old Torque's breathing was light. His eyes reflected the activated patterns on the surface of the sacred iron.

The second blow.

The flow channels on the blade were dense but narrow. He adjusted his grip, not just using the web of his hand to apply force, but sensing the pulsating gray corrosion transmitted through the handle with his palm. The hammer fell—a crisp "ding," the sound trailing off with a slight vibration. The gray corrosion flow channels were reactivated, the lines widening from narrow to wide, ending precisely at the edge of the iron.

[Rune Awakening - Initial] Jumps to 26%. Ash Erosion Forging (Basic) jumps from 0.7% to 1.3%.

He paused for a moment before delivering the third blow. He closed his eyes, letting the hammerhead rest gently on the surface of the sacred iron, feeling the pulsation that had traveled through the metal during the previous two blows. The third blow had to land on the blade's flow path—the shallowest, requiring the most precise control. He steadied himself, adjusted his breathing, and then delivered the blow with an exhale.

There was no buzzing, no dinging. A shorter, crisp sound, lasting less than a quarter of a beat.

Before the sound faded, the gray-etched patterns on the holy iron lit up completely—the three main channels and all the tiny veins brightened together for a moment, then slowly returned to normal. The shape of the patterns stopped shifting—the holy iron itself curved into a natural arc. This was the arc this dagger was meant to have.

Three hammer blows. Back of the blade, edge, tip. Done.

Old Tok slowly exhaled. Then came the second breath—a heavier one than the first.

"You did the power progression right. The first hammer blow activates, the second expands, and the third settles. The power decreases—but most blacksmiths decrease it too quickly, and the third blow is too light and the flow is loose."

Lynn looked down at the uncut blade. It wasn't his design—it had been shaped naturally by hammering, following the natural grain of the holy iron. The back was slightly thick, the edge gently curved, and the tip tapered precisely at the end of the shallowest runner. The entire blade was about a hand and a half long, a perfect fit for his hand.

The quenching was done using the cold water from the deepest part of the underground river. When Lynn returned with the pot, the ash powder mixed in no longer dissolved into a turbid liquid, but instead condensed into countless extremely fine beads that floated in the water, slowly rotating.

When the water temperature dropped to almost freezing point, old Tok nodded.

Lynn used fire tongs to hold the knife blank and immersed it vertically into the cold pool water.

laugh--

This time, the moisture was almost pure white. The gray etchings on the blade changed from dark green to deep black in the quenching liquid, and then stabilized. The edges of the patterns shimmered with an extremely subtle gray-green fluorescence—not a temporary glow, but a permanent one.

He pulled the knife out of the water.

The blade is dark gray. During forging, the natural flow channels were fixed, leaving behind fine, uneven textures that feel like veins under the skin. The edge is not yet sharpened, but the gray etching is denser at the edge than on the back, as if the iron itself naturally dictates the direction for sharpening.

Old Tork held out his hand. Lynn handed him the knife—blade facing him. The dwarf took the knife and twirled it in the firelight. He examined it extremely closely, not checking for flaws, but reading the grain. Just like reading the hammer marks Lynn had left when he first straightened the nail a few days earlier.

Then old Tok returned the knife to him. No praise. No compliments. But when he turned around and picked up the ceramic cup with his hand, missing half a little finger, to drink water, Lynn could see his Adam's apple bob.

"This sword doesn't have a name yet," the dwarf said. "Sacred iron weapons aren't named by blacksmiths—not by their creators, but by their users. You take it and make it do something. After it's done, it will tell you its name."

The sharpening process lasted a full two hours. Old Tok's whetstone was infused with etched crystals, the blade angle following the natural convergence of the etched patterns. The sound of the whetstone against the blade was monotonous yet rhythmic. A new sub-label appeared next to the basic throwing entry on the crystal slice: Throwing Knife—Enables weapon grip to trigger throwing corrections.

After sharpening the blade, he wrapped the handle with the thin leather strips Old Tok had given him—the strips were relics from Balin, tanned for who knows how many years, dark brown in color and supple in texture. The last loop of leather was left untied, and tucked into the knot of the rope wrapped around the front, just like the dwarves did, so it would feel smooth against his skin.

The Holy Iron Sword is finally finished.

It was already dusk outside the window. Most of the day had passed since Ellie went out to scout.

Lynn sheathed the knife in the newly made leather sheath at his waist and stood up.

"I'm going to find her—"

The sound of gravel breaking came from the entrance to the waterway. Then came the sound of clothes being dragged on the ground.

Ellie was dragged in. A hand gripped her collar tightly. Kirk's orcish face appeared from behind her, a fresh wound on his forehead, the blood not yet completely dry.

She looked up at Lynn, her voice hoarse: "Rice took the Bronze-rank warriors to the cooper's workshop. They thought you were there—and when they found you weren't, they're smashing up all the abandoned shops in the city."

The fingers gripping his collar slowly loosened. Kirk stood at the entrance to the waterway, his orcish body swaying slightly in the firelight.

“I have an older sister. She works as a helper at the docks. Yesterday, the priest came to our alley to register and asked for her name. This morning, she developed a ring of grayish-brown rashes on her ankle—she’s never had any before.” He paused. “Rice brought back an outsider. There’s never been a fight like this in the Lower City.”

Lynn looked at Kirk. Just a few days ago, this half-orc hybrid had cornered him in an alley with a wooden stick. Now, something on that burly skeleton was loosening.

"How many people did Rice bring?"

"Including him, there are five. One is a Bronze-rank, and three are lackeys. But he's been spreading rumors that you're harboring 'unruly professionals' that the temple wants. That's not the kind of rhetoric Rice could come up with."

Old Tok scoffed. The dull thud of a hammer striking rusty iron.

"Wright Steelwrist. Shadow Warrior. Bronze-tier Shadow Warriors move silently in low-light conditions—but their passive ability requires continuous stamina consumption, and they will experience metal fatigue after more than an hour."

Ellie rubbed her neck, which had been pinched red, and used charcoal to draw the alleyways and entrances to the underground streams around the cooper's workshop on the stone slab.

"The entrance to the western mill ruins has not been found—it's covered in ash and dust, and you can't see it unless you crouch down to look for it."

Old Tok stared at the sketch: "The narrowest part of the undercurrent branch is only wide enough for one person to pass sideways. Set up an ambush there—the size advantage of bronze-rank warriors will be limited."

Lynn stared at the sketch for a long time.

"To get him into the hidden passage, I have to let him see me first—tonight, outside the cooper's workshop. I need to make him think I'm still unaware of the inside information and am in a panic to move on."

Kirk remained silent. Then he nodded emphatically, the movement as decisive as if he were stern with himself.

"She doesn't know anything. She just carries boxes at the docks."

Lynn broke the remaining half of the dark bread in half, handing one half to Ellie and the other half to Kirk. Kirk took the bread, but didn't eat it, clutching it between his large knuckles.

It was late at night. The alleyways of the lower city of Gray Fog were filled with fog and the sound of midnight bells.

Lynn emerged from the old irrigation canal, taking his most familiar route—the clothesline, the collapsed courtyard wall, the abandoned shrine. This time was different: he waited a fraction of a second at the corner, allowing just enough time for someone to catch a glimpse of him.

Beneath the ruins of an abandoned mill, diagonally opposite the cooper's workshop. Rice and Wright Steelwrist stood at the workshop entrance.

Wright Steelwrist raised his head.

A bronze-tier shadow warrior. Lynn's shoulder width and arm circumference reminded him of Kirk, but he was more lean and silent. He carried no weapon, only a pair of metal bracers. The bracers bore small runes of the Temple of Nox—three dark purple engravings on each side—which were now emitting a barely visible glow.

Lynn calculated the distance accurately, paused at the edge of the shadow to let the other person see enough, and then turned around and ran as fast as he could towards the entrance of the dark stream branch.

There were no footsteps behind him. But he knew they were coming.

The entrance to the hidden passage was in the back alley of the cooper's workshop—the narrowest crevice, barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways. He squeezed in, scraping a piece of skin off his left shoulder. Then he didn't continue forward, but stopped at the narrowest point of the crevice. His back pressed against the stone wall, his left hand gripping the tempered dagger, his right hand holding the holy iron sword.

Quiet. Only the sound of the underground river.

Then he heard it.

The footsteps were incredibly light, almost blending into the sound of the flowing river—but not entirely silent. Lynn waited in the darkness. He didn't want a direct confrontation. He wanted to throw something through the window.

Wright Steelwrist was caught off guard as he squeezed sideways into the crevice. The runes on his wristband illuminated his profile.

Lynn threw the tempered dagger.

The force wasn't great, but the angle was extremely tricky—not aimed at the chest, but at the loosened brick arch overhead, eroded by ash crystals. The tip of the quenched dagger struck a crack in the brickwork, wedging itself into the ash crystal layer. Lynn had memorized that spot when he was being chased by Rice. The dagger pried open the structure, and a heavy piece of brick arch debris crashed down.

Wright Steelwrist instinctively raised his arm to block. The rune on his right wristband lit up, deflecting the falling debris—but the debris wasn't the attack itself; the attack was the opening he created while blocking.

Lynn has already made his second move.

Three iron nails. [Basic Throw] The feel after solidification is completely different—each nail's release allows the fingers to find the most precise point of impact. The first nail struck a gap in Wright's left knee armor, causing his knee to bend instinctively. The second nail pierced his right shoulder, the force just enough to penetrate the lightweight armor and lodge between muscle and bone. The third—

The third one was pinned to the talisman on the wristband.

When the iron nail touched the rune, the rune's dark purple light flashed intensely twice, then changed—the hue became muddier, and the brightness decreased. The gray-etched patterns of the [Rune Awakening - Initial] rune had already seeped into the iron during the forging process—this was no ordinary iron nail. The iron nail itself couldn't damage the rune, but the gray-etched patterns could interfere with the flow of the rune's energy.

Wright Steelwrist suddenly lost all strength in his left hand. The second rune on the bracer was flashing in the dim light.

"Who are you--"

Before he could finish speaking, Lynn had already disappeared into a deeper crevice and was sprinting toward the docks.

Behind him came Wright Steelwrist's furious roar, squeezed into the narrow passage. It wasn't anger—it was the astonishment of a hunter realizing for the first time that his prey had fangs.

[Complex Terrain Traversal] jumped to 2.4%. [Escape] jumped to 1.3%. There was another line of hints on the crystal slice that he didn't have time to look at closely: Throwing Knife - Recorded.

The dock exit. Kirk was already waiting at the second exit, covering the entrance with tattered planks. Ellie emerged from behind a pile of broken fish baskets, her head covered in dust and debris.

"Where's Wright?"

"We're stuck in the crevice." Lynn glanced at the entrance to the underground passage below. "Did you hit the rune?" Ellie asked.

"The third iron nail was driven into it. The etched patterns were seeped in during my forging—the energy became disordered when the seal came into contact with the etched patterns."

"How long can this last?"

"have no idea."

Footsteps echoed from the depths of the alley—the lower-town boys of Rice. Lynn and Ellie hugged the wall, skirting the old warehouse, and circled back into the mill ruins basement through the sealed back door of Kirk.

The Holy Iron Sword radiated a steady, body-warm heat from its sheath.

Early morning. The old irrigation canal.

Old Tok was still sitting by the fire pit, in the same posture as always.

"You're still alive."

"Still alive."

Lynn drew the Holy Iron Sword from his waist. The quenching and resting time was now sufficient.

Old Tok took the knife and twirled the blade in the firelight. He pressed his thumb against the spine—the etched lines on the blade seemed to leap beneath his fingerprint. Then he closed his eyes and remained motionless for a long time.

"Carbon marks. The standard for identifying a Saint Iron Knife: no carbon marks after quenching. There are no carbon marks on your blade—the natural flow channels were all preserved during quenching, not a single one was broken off. Bahrain will give you that approval."

As he returned the knife to Lynn, the clerk's footsteps came from the waterway entrance.

The halfling clerk still smelled of alcohol, but his eyes were very clear.

"That messenger came again tonight—the third summons. The temple has officially listed you as an 'unregistered individual with potential professional inclinations.' A notice will be posted outside the guild in the central district tomorrow morning."

Lynn gripped the Holy Iron Sword tightly.

The clerk pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket—the joint seal of the Adventurers' Guild and the underground network of the Hephaestus Federation.

"There is an abandoned underground warehouse on the west side of the lower city, which belongs to the old mining area of ​​the Federation. The guild is re-tendering—if you can complete the basic underground river survey and bring back the designated ore within five days, the guild will officially register you as a Bronze-level adventurer. Once registered, the temple cannot arbitrarily summon an apprentice adventurer who is registered with the Federation and the guild."

"This is the guild's camouflage. But even Silver-rank Shadow Priests have spies within the Adventurers' Guild."

"They have informants, but they don't dare to openly tear up the agreement." The clerk placed the parchment in front of Lynn. "The Adventurers' Guild's backer is the Temple of Hephaestus, and the Temple of Nox doesn't dare to openly disregard the guild's registration rules."

Lynn looked at the densely packed clauses on the parchment. Ore sample—designated vein, beneath the underground river. Preliminary mapping—distribution map of the underground river tributaries.

Ellie poked her head out from the corner of the waterway: "You need help with the surveying—you can't possibly record everything and see the path all by yourself. I've navigated underground rivers before."

Kirk stood in the doorway without saying a word. But he didn't leave either.

Lynn tucked the parchment into his pocket.

"We're leaving tomorrow. Five days—surveying the underground river, searching for minerals, and then coming back to apply for registration." He looked at old Tok. "Five days later, if your name is on the registration form—as a registration consultant."

The dwarf didn't speak. But he picked up the runic hammer from the fire and placed it next to Lynn's bag.

Outside the window, the gray fog was dissipating. It was unusually good weather in the lower city. Tomorrow, there would be many things he didn't know about in the underground river. But tonight, there was a fire pit, weapons, teammates, and a dwarf keeping watch by the fire, not sleeping.