The Blacksmith Shop

[3rd Person POV]

A run-down blacksmith shop existed in the corners of Hull. Similar to a first period Georgian style house, the brick construction and square shape only contributed to its dilapidated image.

Windows were placed symmetrically on each side of the door that was situated directly in the centre. An unsightly chimney belching out black smoke extended from the top.

The steep roof showed signs of decay, and several parts had been chipped off. In some places, enough cracks had formed to allow a considerable hole, which showed to the world the conditions inside.

Clang, clang, clang, hammer against metal, metal against anvil. Blacksmiths toiled so tirelessly that it would be more appropriate to call it a test of their own mettle.

Even when the door opened, their eyes did not leave their work. They were so absorbed, that they didn't even notice the intrusion of an outsider.

"Hello? Excuse me!"

Clang, clang, clang.

The ceaseless sound once again echoed. Sweat drops evaporated, smoke blew away, and sparks flew everywhere.

Finally, someone noticed the newcomers.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

The question was expressed with a gruff and guttural tone, an obvious sign of his displeasure at having been distracted from his work.

The man who spoke was of short stature, yet his presence was not by any means weak. The fierce, braided beard did not interfere with his work, but rather provided a natural protection.

"Um… I was assigned here by Cairne, the Guildmaster. This will be my new workplace for the next week."

"So you're a blacksmith now, are ya? If you're gonna make fun of our profession, then do it somewhere else!"

Enraged, the man turned around and stormed off, shaking with anger.

This was not the first time a situation like this had happened. A few years ago, Hull had still been a closed town that was thriving on its own resources.

Out of nowhere, the noble in charge struck a deal with travelling merchants, and allowed cheap, inferior items into the town.

No doubt blinded by money, the residents started importing more and more, until the local industries were in shambles.

It was at that point that the craftsmen grew detached. Working only for survival, no-one enjoyed their endeavour anymore.

Even worse, those damn merchants would send people into local shops to sabotage them.

After that, the industrial sector truly grew distant. No longer accepting apprentices, the shortage of any supplies was obviously filled in for by travelling merchants.

Yet the young lad who had appeared did not seem to carry a malicious air. In fact, the blacksmith who had scolded him was hoping the lad was telling the truth.

Despite that, there was nothing he could do. The young lad would probably not be of any use given his scrawny frame, and the shop had had its fair share of saboteurs in the past.

The blacksmith turned back around, with a distant longing in his eyes. He yearned for the days when there would be at least 20 such youths lining up and waiting for a chance to learn his craft.

As time passed, their number slowly dwindled, and the one who just came would probably be the last.

But as he was reminiscing, he did not notice that the person he had placed his hopes on had already worked his way to a forge and started hammering.

Astonished as he was at the accuracy and efficiency of the boy, he retained his calm and watched silently.

Slowly, more and more blacksmiths were attracted towards the harmonious sound. For these blacksmiths, these sounds filled their ears every day. They could tell a person's mood from them; and recently, the only thing they could hear was depression.

Yet suddenly, a new, vibrant ringing resounds! There was no hesitation. They all gathered, hoping to get a glance at the person who could revive their trade.

What they saw was something that surprised them to no end. With the figure of a boy, the person at the forge swung his hammer with conviction and strength; as if he knew the outcome would not stray from his expectation.

This was the confidence that they had all lost! The confidence in their own work, the confidence that had once been ingrained into their bones. The confidence to rise above the others, the confidence to produce the best equipment!

They were all ashamed. Veteran blacksmiths, each and every one worthy of the title of master, being beaten to the ground by a youth no more than 14 years of age.

Some were even tearing up. Yet there was only one, singular thought within all of their minds.

'When did we get so weak? When did we need to rely on external forces to sell our equipment? All we need to do is make the best possible items, and they will naturally sell!'

The blacksmiths scattered, returning to their monotone work. Nevertheless, they hammered with vigour. With confidence. And most of all, with joy. They had found a new lease on life; one that came from their pride as craftsmen, not one fuelled by money.

Once again, the constant sound of hammers bashing against metal formed a cacophony of sounds within the shop.

The next work they produced would definitely be their best in recent years.

That was one of the things that kept them looking forward. The other, was the image of a young boy filled with determination.

As time passed, the first completed items were created. An exquisite blade made of Noxia, achieving the Rare rank. A brilliant chest-plate made of an alloy between Noxia and Mithril, called Noxil.

A sturdy, Rare grade shield made from Orichalcum and Noxia.

Many more of such items of the same quality were produced.

Things were finally looking good for the blacksmiths of Hull.

Meanwhile, the one who had sparked this 'revolution' had already started making his 21st Noxia Longsword.

In his mind, there were only two thoughts. The first, to make as many swords as he could. The second, was that the intense gazes of old men had finally stopped, allowing him to breathe a little.

He was still totally unaware of the great change he had brought about in Hull.