A New God Of The Forge In DC 1

Essences: Generic Isekai Protag, Involate Self, Archmage.

*Clang*

*Clang*

*Clang*

A hammer is being slammed onto an anvil, and as the metal takes shape, a man with an apron and mask looks on in silence and holds up a sword forged in the fires of his own making. Every hammer swing sends a small shock into his arms, yet the feeling has been dulled with time.

*Clang*

*Clang*

The hammer strikes on and on as the sword takes shape and resembles that of a standard European long sword, and as the man eyes the work searching for imperfections, he nods to himself. Then, he carefully lifts the formed metal and places it into the furnace to heat it and make it more malleable.

Keeping the blade in the furnace for a short period, he removes it, and the metal glows in a yellow light. He then places the metal back onto the large anvil, with the heat created by the blade nearly enveloping the forge, but the man remains undeterred as he places the sword and begins to shape it into its more precise shape. With each strike of the hammer, it forms its edges and ends.

*Clang*

*Clang*

Upon forming the various ends, he inspects the work further, and seeing that both sides are level and flat, he places the blade back into the heat and lets the blade normalize its new shape. Not long after forming a new glow, he removed it and let the red tint of the metal dim before reheating it and re-cooling it three times.

The process takes hours of carefully minded precision but soon enough, the blade normalizes and is then placed in a barrel of oils meant to quench the blade, finalizing the process, and yet again he heats, sands, and quenches the blade. Each movement is seen as brutish and large, yet he shows a modicum of skill.

Finally, the man reheats the blade for a final time in order to remove any stress or brittleness from quenching the blade. As the blade is then cooled once removed from the furnace, the man then turns around to his tool table and takes a sword pommel that is lined with leather and straps and places it onto the sword, completing the design.

But not for taking out a smaller hammer and striking the end of the pommel to keep it in place and tightening its hold on the sword. Placing the sword on the anvil, he inspects the blade and soon, using his tongs picks it up and takes it over to a whetstone to sharpen the blade. Waiting a couple of minutes, he then uses his gloved hands to sharpen his sword, and as the metal hits the stone, sparks begin to fly with the light dancing along the blade, but the man's mask shows no emotion.

The sharpening lasts for a while before he removes the blade and finally takes the sword and holds it in his hands. The man then simply holds the blade. Admiring the work, he then proceeds to pick it up in his right hand and walks to another room connected to the forge. This room shows various puppets and fruits on tables, with the man taking his sword and holding it firmly.

Walking towards a watermelon, he holds the blade over the watermelon and swings the sword downward.

*Clang*

*Crack*

The sword, upon striking the watermelon, then breaks in half, with the sharp end remaining in the watermelon and the other half on the pommel. This event does not seem to phase the man as he takes off the mask, showing a younger man in his mid-thirties with blond hair and brown eyes who looks at the blade indifferently before taking the pommel and blades and throwing them into the furnace to melt the blade pieces down.

"Another failure, how shocking, but I feel much closer to making my sword." The man says to himself as he walks into his home to shower. The man then ran the water and stood in the shower, thinking of what went wrong with the forging. The various questions fill his mind, from the length of time he quenched the sword to the fact that he used it after finishing the design and should have maybe been a bit more patient.

The scenarios play in his mind repeatedly as he wonders what he did wrong. But as the man finishes his shower, the water turns off, and he walks out of the bathroom, ruminating over his thoughts. Deciding to leave such questions for tomorrow, the man sits down in his living room and stares at the various sword models he owns. From daggers to long swords, he basks in the presence of the metal.

He runs his fingers along one of the blades with his gloved hands and can almost feel the history behind the sword. Every day, he tries and tries to forge one of his own, even the very simple designs, but he has failed over and over again. Even after viewing various instructional videos and even taking classes, he has failed to craft even a single blade.

If it was not already obvious enough, the man is a veritable sword nut as his whole life he dreamed of creating various weapons and armor from the media he has seen, and yet his calling rejects him over and over. Was it his own lack of talent? Was it a problem with his mindset or dedication?

Such questions went unanswered as the man held the blade, feeling its craftsmanship and the work that went into it. His parents had once thought that if he had not married a woman, he would eventually end up marrying a sword, as even now, he has yet to find companionship. But that was primarily due to a lack of effort on his part, as with all the time he spends forging and working, it barely leaves time for actual social communication.

Yet this is fine, at least in the man's mind, as he is living his life as he desires it, even if he is not very successful at doing it. A mindset such as this is rare to feel failure over and over again yet remain staunch in their own Hobbies. If someone were to ask him what he did on his own time, he would tell them that he practiced forging, and while it would receive some interest, it was very slim and brief.

The man himself works as a manager at the local Home Depot, which is where he buys a majority of his materials, thankfully, at a good discount due to his position. He is making good money, at least enough to remain afloat with an excellent one-story house that has a basement, with said basement being full of various displays of swords and armor.

Most would question the desire to have such displays if no one but him were ever to see it, but to the man, that was the point: the things he owns and creates are his alone. Greed and desire form such passion in the man, but he remains unsuccessful. On a couple of attempts, he has even attempted to forge various swords he has seen in movies and books and a couple of comics, precisely one sword of Superman.

Such an attempt was met with utter and complete failure, but the fact that he tried was enough and to him, his failure was met with almost a joke, as mortal men cannot forge the sword of Superman. But such a thought is ridiculous as some copies are made even if they do not wield the same esoteric effects as the original. But a man could dream.

And dream this man did as more often than not, his thoughts would be filled with attempts to create various swords and armor to an almost unhealthy degree. If his parents were to see the state he was in, they would be proud that he was living how he desired but disappointed in his lack of companionship, at least of humankind, because even the man admitted that swords do not make for good conversationalists.

Gazing over to a picture of his family, the man smiles, remembering the day it was taken as it was his seventh birthday, and his parents took him to see a comic convention that held various props and people from all different fandoms. That day, he picked up his first-ever sword replica, frostmourne from the Warcraft series. To this day, it has never left the box.

Not out of fear that it would suck out his soul, of course, but that he did not want to dirty the blade by touching it. At least, that's what he tells himself. But at the bottom of the frame, he sees three names: Jacob Russ, Angelina Russ, and himself, Lee M. Russ. The memory brings a smile to the man's face, but after a minute, he places the frame back on the table.

Seeing that he had work tomorrow, he went to go prepare for bed but then heard a crashing sound from the kitchen. Walking over to it, he saw a man holding a knife in his direction, staring right at him.

The man holding the knife then says in an almost blurred tone of voice, " I want your wallet, your phone, and your safe number, and you get to live." Seeing that the man was serious or high, a plan formed in his mind, and as he went to his pockets, he said slowly, " My wallet and phone are in the other room. If you could follow me, I will show you."

The robber raised an eyebrow as he stood up from the kitchen chair and placed his knife at his back, saying, " Start walking, old man, or you won't get to see tomorrow." The comment at his age aside, Lee did as instructed and went towards his forge room in his garage and opened the door. Since the man was behind him, he did not see Lee eyeing the melted remains of the sword he forged or attempted to.

Seeing his wallet, he went to pick it up with his hands raised, but then, as he gave the man his wallet, he hit a silent alarm he had in his forge in case of emergency as he stood back up. Knowing that he only had to last a couple of minutes, he told the man, " My safe is in the basement. Please follow me."

The robber simply remained quiet as his eyes remained on Lee as if searching for a lie, but after a couple of seconds, he nodded, waving his knife in a pass-me gesture. Doing so, he began to walk towards the basement door while silently activating the forge to reheat the metal slowly so as not to alert the knife holder.

Reaching the door, he opens it and begins to walk down the stairs into the basement with the robber close behind. After reaching the bottom, the robber sees the safe in the back of the room past all the displays. Seeing his collection, the robber chuckles, saying, " You have a problem, man, but seeing as you showed me all this, I am going to take all of them."

That comment almost made Lee lose his composure, but he remained calm and opened the safe. As he put in the code, he gestured to the man to open it and, seeing it unlocked, the robber, while looking at him, kneeled to open the safe with the knife in hand. But as he opened the door.

*POOF!*

A large amount of dye hit the man in the face, and he was blinded and saw that Lee ran up the stairs, locking the basement behind him. But knowing that the door will not hold him, he runs to the forge and ready himself.

Soon enough, as the man breaks down the basement door h, he runs through the home screaming, " You bastard! Where are you!" Not giving the man a chance, he takes the vat of melted metal and tosses it into the robber's back, which hits the man and causes him to keel over in pain as the molten metal melts the clothes with some hitting his back through the coats he was wearing.

But it wasn't enough as the Man removed the coats and slammed his back into the walls, removing the molten metal on the walls and floor. Seeing this, Lee was about to give up hope, but then he heard sirens outside and began to run as fast as he could towards the door.

As the police entered his home, he raised his hands and fell to the floor. Both officers saw that he was on the floor with his hands raised, then looked up to see the robber barreling towards me in a blind rage, but before he could swing the knife, the man was tased and soon fell over unconscious.

As I remained on the ground, one of the officers said, " Are you Lee Russ? We caught your alarm and assumed he was the robber?" I nodded, and the officer helped me to my feet, to which I said, " Yes, Officer, the man broke through my kitchen window and then threatened me, so I hit him with some dye packs to his eyes and some melted metal to keep him distracted."

"Damn, son, I am surprised the guy is still walking, but we still need you to make your statement, so are you well enough to do so?" I nodded and began to walk out of the house as the other officer hefted the robber into the police cruiser, but I forgot to consider one thing.

*BANG!*

A shot rang out from the side of my house, and as I looked at my chest, I saw a bullet hole through the center. Before the darkness took me, all I could think was one thing.

"I guess there won't be a sword for me, huh?"