Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1)

by Jared Mandani

  “I see,” she said, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Well, you have given me much to think about. Hmm, is this why your father call you Gizoo?”

  “Yes, he can’t go around calling me Senshi in public, lest someone realizes who I truly am.”

  “A fair point. And this forge, what will you do with it?”

  Kain shrugged. “I told you, I’ll bring it up to speed and work here on my own. Some of my methods are too,” he scoffed, “Heretical for my father to stomach. Besides, I’d rather create western-styled weapons.”

  “Well, I can help you with this?”

  “You can?”

  “Mhm! I can help you purchase the materials, if you give me the money of course.”

  “Of course,” Kain replied, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “It’s settled then. Let’s get this forge working!”

  “But first,” Kain said, “Let’s return to my father’s forge, I must create a weapon for a merchant, after all.”

  “Then lead the way, Kain.” She said, standing up. “I admit I’d like to return here soon, the place is beautiful.”

  “Yes,” Kain said, staring at Ren. “Yes it is.” Together, the three of them left the clearing and returned to his father’s forge.

  Chapter X: Tradition and Dissention

  “Nippon is a land of war and poetry, equal parts beauty and danger. Poetry is the spice of life – the lubricant to add that iota of hope and romance to our existences. And war? War is the lubricant of the machine of economy – war is what makes Nippon mighty, feared, a potency in the world. I don’t remember a time when Nippon wasn’t at war, but isn’t that a queer notion, thinking that Nippon could ever not be at war?”

  -Uketsuke Hanada, in “Memories of the East – Tales of a Nipponese in Albion.”

  “You took your sweet time, Senshi,” Munesuke said as Kain entered his living room. The old man was seated on the floor in front of a low table, drinking tea from a steaming cup.

  “I took a detour,” Kain said, forcing himself not to smile.

  “Hmm, and I assume it may have involved young Ren?”

  Kain was taken aback, “How... no, why?”

  “Because she came here asking for you, Senshi. I, naturally, told her you weren’t home, and had in fact gone to return the barrow.”

  Now, Kain was baffled. “Why did you tell her where I was?”

  Munesuke shrugged. “I see no harm in letting her know about our situation, and she seems to enjoy being around you despite being a deaf, a mute and an—”

  “I know, I know. Well, now that I am returned,” Kain uttered, “Let me read through the forging writ you received, please.”

  “Of course. Ryusei?” he called.

  “Yes, Munesuke-dono?”

  “Please bring the writ on my studio desk.” The boy bowed and left to do as told. “He’s a good lad, Senshi. I am thankful to you.”

  “Why?”

  “For not having... offed him. And for having me see reason and take him as my apprentice.”

  “Well there’s no reason to thank me, father, you did as much on your own.”

  Munesuke shook his head, “Modesty is unnecessary. These past few days have been unlike anything I expected to live through, Senshi. Not only had I given up hope to ever see you again, I didn’t expect you’d return to me so changed.”

  “Changed,” Kain said, folding his arms, “Because I’m a heretic, because I don’t respect tradition?”

  The old man sighed. “Let me tell you something, Senshi. You may remember me from before you were conscripted into the Emperor’s army. I had a zealous obsession with keeping tradition at all cost,” he took a deep breath before adding, “Until, eventually, it cost me my son.”

  “Father?”

  “After you were gone, I was taken over by guilt. I knew you had gone to your death, that your fate was to give your life for the Emperor in our fight against the barbarians. And I say ‘our fight’ in the amplest sense of the word. In truth, I don’t know whose war it is we wage against Goguryeo, as none of us see any benefit from the conflict, we merely send our children to their doom.”

  “Perhaps that is the point, father,” said Kain reflexively. “That there are less of us to breathe in the nobles’ air.”

  “I reasoned as much later in life, Senshi, when your mother and sisters died, and all forms of aid were refused to me because they were deemed non-essential. I am considered essential on account of being useful, because I am a blacksmith and, as such, a necessary evil. But your mother and sisters being women, well,” he shrugged and left the sentence unfinished. He had no need to end it; Kain knew what he meant. Women were meaningless in the Empire, they were little more than merchandise at the worst of times, and a valuable commodity at the best, unless they were highborn. And my mother and sisters were artisans, not highborn.

  “I have a question, father,” Kain said.

  “Ask.”

  “Why have you been treating me as coldly as you have, constantly questioning my motives, my morals and my beliefs?”

  Munesuke smiled. “I told you before, Senshi, I don’t know who you are, just as you don’t know who I am. You knew the Munesuke I was before—a traditionalist, single-minded man who would have given anything,” he sighed, “Even his son, I am ashamed to admit, to preserve the ideals instilled in me by my forefathers, by the priests, and our rulers. Had you been a different man, Senshi, one more oriented to keep tradition alive for the sake of tradition, what would you have done to someone akin to what I just described?”

  Kain sighed and replied, “I’d have reported them, perhaps, as heretics and dissidents.”

  “Precisely. I had that fear from you as, I’m sure, you had the same fear from me.”

  Chuckling, Kain admitted, “I actually did, father. More than once I thought you’d turn me in for being a returned one.”

  “I would have once, Senshi. But I had already lost you one time. I refuse to do so again. But understand I also needed to know the kind of man you are. That said, you need not concern yourself with that anymore,” he said, offering him a rare, warm smile, “I am pleased with what I see in you.”

  “Truly, father? And what do you see?”

  “I see a man who lives by his principles and beliefs. A man who accepts the need of violence to protect, and spurs the blind naiveté of utterly ascribing to tradition for tradition’s sake. You are a heretic, Senshi, but that’s hardly an insult, were you to ask me.”

  “I agree, father,” said Kain wholeheartedly.

  Munesuke nodded. “There are aspects of our traditions still too ingrained in me to fully renounce, yet I need you to understand. Most of the time, Senshi, I am in agreement with you, and tradition stifles, and precludes, our advancement in the long run. But it is a difficult, delicate topic to breach, as speaking openly about our... beliefs, may see us at the business end of a ronin’s sword.”

  “That would be inconvenient, father,” Kain scoffed, “I may need to cart them into the forest after.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Senshi. Were that to happen, you’d have half the daimyo’s guard set upon you. Even with your abilities, you’d not stand a single chance.”

  “Well, let’s not allow things to get to that.”

  “Agreed, Senshi. Ah, look! Ryusei has returned.”

  The boy stopped and said, “Here’s the writ, Munesuke-dono,” handing a piece of paper to the old man.

  “Thank you, Ryusei. Here, Senshi.”

  “Father?”

  “You are the one to fulfill this request. Details and specifications are written on the paper,” he grinned, “I’m certain I’m leaving the forge in good hands?”

  Kain smiled back, took the writ and said, “You are, father.”

  “Then go, son, and make me proud.”

  Kain bowed and left the house, carrying the writ with him. He had gained a new understanding of his father, an unders
tanding born from the grievous experiences they shared, but an understanding nonetheless. In a way, he felt liberated, as he realized he was not the only one who recognized the underlying problems of the overly traditional Nipponese society. Grinning, Kain walked towards the forge.

  When he reached the courtyard, he opened the paper and read the writ. “Let’s see, ‘a blade as magnificent as the daimyo’s,’ I knew that much, but...” As he read through the writ, he realized the merchant wasn’t after a sword. “’A weapon allowing striking at one’s foes from a distance, to slash at them as a katana would, yet keeping them further away than arm’s length.’ So this man wants a spear, a living spear!” Kain felt excited; it was the first time he had heard of such a concept, as the living swords of Nippon were usually nodachis, katanas, tantos or wakizashis. But a yari is unheard of... still, I can see where the man is coming from. He thinks of a sword blade affixed to a pole. Can it be done? He paused, realizing what his following question would be: Why not? The metal needed only be awakened, just as it had been with the ikiteiruken, only shaped in the broad blade of a yari, a spear. “Well,” he said to himself, “Only one way to find out.”

  Kain walked to the forge and deftly stoked its fire, feeling eager to craft the weapon. The procedure would be much quicker and much more efficient than that of a katana, as the blade didn’t require different densities of steel. I only need a steel weapon to channel through, he thought before adding, The saber from the brigand Kuno!

  He glanced around the courtyard and saw that the bent, useless weapon was propped beside the anvil. Thank you father, he thought appreciatively as he took the metal in his hands. “This won’t be useful for combat anymore,” he said to himself, “But it can become a vessel to my will.”

  Kain closed his eyes and focused on the metal, becoming aware of the millions of tiny crystals forming its length. He drew essence away from it, its kotodama, transforming it into a vessel blade. Small signs of pitting and rust formed along the bent saber as Kain drew away from it, but he didn’t mind, it would serve its purpose.

  He stoked the fire in the forge, lighting up the wood inside the tatara and fanning it using the bellows beside it until he had a steady, blazing fire inside. When he was satisfied with the temperature within the furnace, Kain donned his protective gear and set himself to work on the first ikiteiruyari he knew of.

  He grabbed hold of the vessel saber, closed his eyes and, as before, created a magnetic field to draw as much raw iron from the ironsand as possible, and when he had a sufficiently large lump, he placed it into the furnace to heat up. Using the metal tongs, Kain turned the lump in the forge, making sure it was evenly heated. When it was red-hot, he held the saber in his left hand and channeled his will through it, beseeching the iron crystals within the lump to become receptive to a high concentration of carbon.

  Kain then left the tongs and bent down to shovel a load of coal into the furnace, coating the iron with it. He waited as the reactions happened on the metal and it melded with the carbon, forming strong, resilient steel. Hagane, he thought, as the steel was rich in carbon. Through the bent, vessel saber, Kain willed the metal to maintain its temperature, so he needn’t return it to the forge and could quickly and efficiently create the blade.

  He removed the newly formed lump of steel and took it to the anvil, striking it to remove any slag that formed on it. Sparks and pieces of metal flew away as Kain carefully removed every impurity from the lump’s surface, revealing the red-hot, raw steel beneath. “Excellent,” he muttered to himself as he started working on the spear’s blade.

  Using a larger hammer, Kain started flattening the metal and widening the top section until it was ten centimeters in width, then he started drawing it out using the tongs and hammer until it was eighty centimeters in length, and finalized the blade section by hammering its tip into a wicked point.

  When the general shape was ready, he turned it on itself, hammering both its front and back side until it was evenly flattened. He lifted the metal to inspect its straightness, feeling the welcome, singing heat of the red-hot steel as he studied the blade’s integrity.

  Satisfied, Kain returned it to the hammer and started working on the lower section, lengthening it into a thin tang sixty centimeters in length. The core of the weapon was completed, and ready to be quenched at the water trough.

  Kain released the spell on the steel and quickly took the metal into the trough, carefully and evenly quenching it in the liquid. He removed the steel before any bending or cracking could happen, and finished by examining the piece. It was straight, well-shaped, and ready to be sharpened.

  But first, he thought, it must be awakened – kennomezame. The bent saber would serve its final purpose, as Kain was intent on repeating the same process as before. He held the quenched spear blade in his left hand, and in his right hand he held the saber, focusing his will through it and into the spear’s kotodama, feeding essence into it until the spirit within was awakened. The saber’s metal pitted and dissolved before Kain’s eyes, a process which still filled him with both dread and fascination as it happened. When the saber was gone, the blade was awakened. Kain had created Nippon’s first living spear.

  Content with his work, he took a whetstone from a case by the forge and started sharpening the edge of the blade, slowly shaving metal away until it gleamed with a vicious sheen. As Kain turned the blade around, he grazed his skin on the cutting edge, drawing a sliver of blood. “Ack!” He exclaimed as he pulled away from the blade, and saw a rivulet of blood smearing the weapon.

  “Who are you, human?”

  “Wow, what the hell?” Kain exclaimed, taken aback by the voice coming from the blade. “You can talk?” He had no answer. He realized he hadn’t heard the voice in his ears, but in his mind. He closed his eyes and asked, “You can talk?”

  “Of course I can talk! I am alive, awakened, and stirred by your blood.”

  “Oh no,” Kain said to himself, and to the blade he added, “That was an accident. I just cut myself!”

  He felt a strange sensation coming from the entity within the blade and he realized it was, in fact, a shrug. “Accident, destiny, there’s little distinction between both, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I... yes, perhaps. But how?”

  “Well, you created me. I’d say you’re better qualified to answer that question.”

  “Alas,” Kain replied, “I’m not.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. You are bonding with me anyways.”

  “I’m bonding with you?”

  “Yes. You shed your blood over my length, that’s what causes the binding to happen.”

  I had never bonded to an ikiteiruken before, Kain admitted to himself as he regarded his strange situation, and realized he was in trouble now. “That was not supposed to happen; your master was meant to be someone else!”

  “Well, whether it was so, is no longer relevant. My master is you.”

  “Gods damn it!” Kain exclaimed, realizing his work had been for naught.

  “You seem distressed. Is something amiss?”

  “No, it’s... It’s nothing. Only that I will need to be more careful when I—” He stopped, finally coming to a conclusion. The blade was long and the tang almost as long, yet the construction was masterful and, if shaped into a sword, the resulting weapon would resemble a Zweihänder. “You asked who I am,” Kain said calmly to the weapon, “I am Kain Smith, and, indeed, I am your creator. Who are you?”

  “Well met, Kain Smith,” the blade replied, “I am...” it paused, trying to find a name for itself. “Naginata.”

  “Halberd?” Kain asked, “Amusing, considering you were meant to be a spear, and will become a sword.”

  “You may shape me however you like, Kain, but in my heart I will always be Naginata.”

  “Fair enough. Well Naginata, would you forgive me if I leave you unfinished for the time being? I am afraid I must finalize another assignment.”

  “
How rude! At least wrap linen along my tang, so that I may be wielded without destroying your hands?”

  Kain laughed loudly. He liked the weapon he had inadvertently created for himself. “Very well, Naginata, I’ll wrap your tang,” he said, before reaching for one of the linen wrappings his father used to create tamahagane. Carefully, he wove a grip along Naginata’s tang, taking special consideration to make the bindings thick and resilient.

  When he was done, he lifted the weapon and felt its weight in his hands. It felt unlike any weapon he had wielded before. Somehow it felt lighter, and more like a part of him than an outside implement. Is this the strength of an ikiteiruken? He wondered as he lifted the weapon into a high-guard, slashed with it, twirled it in his hands until he held it in a short-guard. Then he thrust with it while stepping forward once, twice, thrice before turning on his heel and holding the sword in a tail-guard, cutting upwards to hold Naginata in an upper-guard. Finally, he returned the blade to his side. “Impressive,” he said to the weapon.

  “And it is but a fraction of the bond we may develop.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, open yourself to me, Kain.” Kain remembered the event with the first ikiteiruken he had attempted to awaken, feeling a twinge of fear at Naginata’s words. “Don’t be shy, swordsman. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  “Well, it is my blade after all,” he muttered to himself, doing as the weapon said. The moment he let himself open to the weapon, he felt as it drew essence away from him, but gave in return. Kain opened his eyes, amazed by the sensation coursing through his body, a sensation of power, of vitality he had never met in his life. His perception became stronger, his vision keener, and he could feel the strength his muscles had been imbued with. The binding ended, and Kain was left with a strange, empty sensation he recognized as hunger.