The main floor was crowded with traders hunched over ledgers, caravan guards in weathered cloaks, and a few adventurers bragging about roads traveled and fights survived. Conversations about caravan routes, market stalls, and the troubles up north blended into a tapestry of murmurs, familiar yet restless.
On one side of the room, a raised platform stood slightly above the floor, its edge lined with worn planks. At night, it probably hosted fiddlers or singers, the kind of music designed to loosen coin purses and lift spirits. Now, in the bright morning light, the tables closest to the stage sat mostly empty, a quiet spot compared to the busy area elsewhere.
The rest of the dining hall was packed, with patrons elbow to elbow, guards leaning their spears against the wall beside their seats, and serving girls weaving quickly between tables. One man at the far end carefully sharpened a blade that had clearly seen better days, the rasp of steel against whetstone faintly cutting through the noise.
It was lively, a little cramped, but undeniably warm, the kind of place that thrived on good food and routine, a heartbeat of the city for anyone passing through.
Seraphina tugged on my sleeve and nodded toward an open space by the hearth. We moved through the room, and a serving girl quickly appeared with two wooden bowls and a pot of something thick and savory.
“Stew,” she said, setting it down. “It’s better than it looks. Tea?”
“Yes, please,” Seraphina replied with a smile. I nodded, still scanning the room.
As I took a bite of the stew, better than expected, rich with root vegetables and some kind of smoked meat, I noticed someone across the table gobbling his food as if the bowl might disappear.
“Easy there,” I said with a half-smile. “You’ll choke at that pace.”
The young man looked up, his cheeks slightly puffed with bread. He was probably around seventeen, tall, lean, all elbows and energy. His short, dark hair stuck out at odd angles, as if he’d forgotten to brush it, or hadn’t bothered. A faded scar ran across one eyebrow, likely from doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His bright, restless eyes flicked between them with a mix of excitement and barely contained nerves. He swallowed hard and grinned. “Can’t help it. Big day. Guild day.” My analyze skill triggered again, but this time, I read the screen that displayed above the man seated in front of me.
[Name: Mark Ironwell]
Level: 5
Class: Blacksmith (novice)
Title: None.
Seraphina tilted her head. “You’re testing?”
“Yeah. Name’s Mark.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and extended one. I shook it. “I took my first assessment last year. Got a novice rating.” His eyes lit up with the nervous energy I remembered from science fairs and final exams. “This year, I’m going for journeyman. I’ve been working at the family’s forge nonstop back home. Nothing fancy, but solid work.”
He glanced back and forth between us. “You two headed to the guild too?”
I nodded. “Yeah. First time, though. I’m David, and this is my wife, Seraphina. I have no idea what to expect.”
Mark leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. “Depends on the guildmaster. They rotate assessors and their tests. Some are fair. Some want to put you in your place.” He sat back, grabbing his cup. “Either way, get there early. The queue builds quickly.”
Seraphina shot me a look, part anticipation, part nerves. I understood that feeling perfectly. Seraphina leaned in slightly, her voice hopeful. “Would you mind showing us the way? To the guild, I mean?”
Mark grinned. “Of course! I was heading there right after breakfast anyway. Gotta crush this test.” He scooped up the last of his stew like it owed him money.
I chuckled. “You mentioned your family’s forge. What’s that like?”
He sat up straighter, clearly proud. “It’s in Redmere, just past the river valleys. My dad’s a certified smith, big guy, with a temper like a furnace but hands like precision tools. I’ve got three older brothers, all journeymen. They’ve been helping run the place since before I could lift a hammer.”
I nodded slowly. “Sounds familiar. I learned the trade from my father, too. And my grandfather, back home.” I stopped myself from saying more. Back home wasn’t here, and explaining where would only lead to more questions.
Mark nodded in approval. “That’s the best kind of learning, passed down. Stick with it long enough, and the metal talks back to you.”
Seraphina gave a faint smile. “Let’s hope it’s speaking kindly today.”
Mark pushed his empty bowl forward with a satisfied sigh and looked at me, eyebrows raised. “So, what are you shooting for?”
I gave a slight shrug. “Honestly? I just want to pass the test first. I’ve got a family to support now.” I gently patted Seraphina’s hand. She turned to me and smiled, a quiet, warm, and understanding expression.
Mark’s grin faded into something more thoughtful. “Good reason. The guild’s not just about skill, it’s about responsibility too.” He leaned forward slightly. “When you get certified, smiths from the big forges and some of the smaller ones usually show up. Depending on your rank, there’s a chance they’ll hire you on the spot. That’s what I’m aiming for.”
“You’re not going back home?” I asked.
He shook his head. “My father’s retiring. He’s waiting to see which of my brothers earns the highest rank at the guild before handing over the family forge.” He shrugged. “I’m still a novice, and if I can get in with a smith elsewhere, even for a few years, it might be the best thing for me. Learn more. Do more.”
I gave him a nod. There was something genuine in the way he said it, no bravado, just a kid trying to carve out his future.
When we left the inn, we walked silently for a few steps, boots crunching softly on the cobblestone street, until the guildhall came into view.
It was no ordinary hall. The large stone structure stood like a fortress, its gray walls marked by time but still solid. Tall chimneys and crenellated towers reached into the sky, while timbered galleries extended above the lower floors, their dark wood beams aged to a deep shine. A wide staircase led up to an arched entrance flanked by carved pillars, their details worn smooth by generations of hands and storms.
The place bustled with activity. Wagons clattered across the courtyard, porters hauling crates of supplies. Messengers hurried through the gates, and adventurers in mismatched gear lounged on the steps, waiting for assignments or contracts. Clerks in plain coats hurried by with armfuls of parchment, their voices drowned out by the noise. The scent of oiled leather, ink, and steel filled the air.
For a moment, I simply stared, taking it all in. The guild was less a building and more a heartbeat at the center of the city, pulling in every rumor, every coin, every desperate soul searching for a chance.
As soon as we stepped into the guild hall through the main doors, the noise slammed into us like a forge bell, loud and layered. The main chamber buzzed with activity: overlapping voices, footsteps echoing off the stone, the occasional snap of parchment or clink of tools. It wasn’t exactly chaos, but it had the frantic rhythm of a place where work and ambition collide.
I paused just inside, taking it all in. “Is it always like this?”
Mark grinned. “This? Nah. Last time I came, it was shoulder-to-shoulder, and it took an hour just to get through registration. This is practically quiet.”
Seraphina looked around as two tanners walked past, carrying rolls of cured leather that still faintly smelled of lye. “I wouldn’t call this quiet.”
“Come on,” Mark said, already making his way forward. “Smithing section’s this way. Fewer people, fewer complaints about smoke and sweat.”
We followed him past glassworkers debating pigment batches, a weaver arguing over thread quotas, and a trio of carpenters gesturing during a joinery dispute. All around us, trade workers hurried with purpose. Even the walls showed signs of wear, with scuffs from carts, soot near lanterns, and nicks from a careless blade or overloaded crate.
At the end of a side hall, an iron plaque read: Smithing & Forging Assessments. Only a few people stood waiting, mostly younger men with scorched aprons and tense shoulders.
Mark nodded toward the line. “Told you. No frills. Just skill.”
A guild clerk sat behind a tall wooden desk, flipping through a stack of ledgers with inky fingers. He barely looked up. “Name, district, years apprenticed.”
“Mark Ironwell. Redmere. Five years.”
The clerk scribbled something, stamped a slip of parchment, and pointed to a narrow doorway. I noticed Mark handing a fee to the clerk before the clerk responded. “Forge three. You’re up next.”
Mark gave us a quick thumbs-up before disappearing through the door. I stepped forward.
“David Robertson. It's my first time here. Independent training.”
The clerk finally looked at me, really looked. “Independent? No sponsor?”
“No.”
He squinted. “What smith taught you?”
“My father. And my grandfather.”
The clerk extended his hand. “One gold coin. Assessment fee.”
I removed the coin from my pouch and handed it to him.
There was a pause, almost no breath, but something in his face shifted. He held the coin a moment longer than necessary before stamping a slip with a quick pound of his seal. “Forge six. Wait to be called.”
I took Seraphina’s hand and moved to the benches along the far wall. The forge rooms weren’t visible from here, just numbered doors and the occasional rush of heat when one opened. Behind one of them, I heard the sharp clang of hammer on metal, rhythmic and deliberate.
Seraphina squeezed my hand. “You’ve got this.”
“I hope so.”
We didn’t have to wait long. A young woman wearing a guild tabard opened the door to Forge Six. “David Robertson.”
I stood, nodded to Seraphina, and went inside.
The room was dim but hot, mainly lit by the orange glow of a well-kept forge. Tools were arranged neatly along the walls. An older man stood near a table at the back, arms crossed over a leather apron darkened by soot and years of use. His face was unreadable, my analyze showed me everything.
[Name: Dane Everett]
Level: 15
Class: Blacksmith
Title: Test Proctor.
Status: Tired
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Then, with a flick of his chin, he pointed toward a wall at the far end of the workshop. Mounted on a stone backing were five forged items, each displayed in a recessed alcove with a small plaque underneath. The metal subtly gleamed in the warm forge light. Each piece was carefully crafted to test something different.
“The assessment is simple, forge those,” he added.
I stepped forward slightly, narrowing my eyes. That was it. No welcome. No explanation. No limits. Just: Forge those. Looking at the items, I activated my analyze skill and confirmed what I saw.
[Horeshoe – draft horse – nine inches in diameter]
A horseshoe is simple, sturdy, and practical. Not just any horseshoe, but a heavy-duty version built to endure tough conditions. Clearly, the beginner's choice.
[Wood Chisel - one inch – tempered steel – oak handle]
Next to it, a chisel, sharp-edged, symmetrical, and well-balanced. A tool built for precision. Journeyman craftsmanship.
[Ornate Door Hinge – dragon motif – three feet length ]
Then, a hinge more complex than it seemed. The barrel fit was tight, with precise alignment. Its arms spread out with an ornate dragon-scale pattern. Smith was level, without question.
[Paring Blade – tempered steel – twenty-four inch blade length – wire wrapped oak handle]
Beside it, a paring blade rests slim, elegant, and deadly in skilled hands. The edge gleamed, perfectly balanced, with the grip wire-wrapped precisely. Crafted by a master smith, it is a weapon built for finesse.
[Bearded War Axe – Damascus with layered steel and iron]
And finally, a bearded axe was placed at the top. Large and commanding, its mirrored edge gleamed beneath layers of steel. Damascus ripples shimmered beneath the surface. The haft was leather-wrapped, worn but tight. This wasn’t just a weapon; it was a challenge—legendary, or close enough that the difference hardly mattered.
I moved closer but stopped just before the work line. “Can I examine them more closely?"
The assessor didn’t blink. “Only from where you are.”
I nodded, inhaling the dry smell of metal and coal. “Understood.”
My eyes scanned the tools and the stack of raw bars, iron, steel, and even a bit of bronze. The forge was already hot. This wasn’t a test of theory; it was about instinct, speed, and function.
I stepped forward, took a breath, and chose the steel.
The forge roared like a hungry beast behind me, the heat curling the hairs on my arms as I stepped forward. Steel bars sat waiting, laid out beside the anvil like choices in a test I hadn’t studied for. But this was no test of theory or knowledge. It was instinct. Craft. Memory.
I grabbed the tongs and inserted a piece of steel into the glowing embers of the forge. No hesitation.
The first item: a horseshoe. Simple. Functional. A staple of any village forge. I worked quickly, letting the rhythm take me, strike, turn, strike again. The heat, the metal, the hammer, everything moved together. Within minutes, it was shaped and cooled, balanced in my hand. Solid.
I compared the horseshoe in my hand and the one on the wall and found that analyzing the skill could give me a slight advantage. Holding the horseshoe up to see both of them, the skill triggered with some slightly different wording.
[Horseshoe comparison – 98 percent]
Next, I focused on the chisel. It wasn’t just about its shape; durability was key. I chose a tougher alloy, tapered the point, and sharpened the edge until the tip gleamed. When I tested the balance, it felt like an extension of my fingers. I looked up at the sample on the wall and compared it to the one in my hands.
[Chisel comparison – 95 percent]
[DING]
[210 Blacksmithing XP Gained]
[Level Up - Blacksmithing – Level 12]
226 XP Until Next Level
[New Passive Trait – Structural Insight]
You see what others miss. You no longer shape metal—you understand it.
- Grants a passive ability to assess the internal balance, stress points, and hidden flaws of any weapon, armor, or metal component at a glance.
- Enables early detection of structural failure or inefficiencies in others’ work.
- Slight bonus to forging durability and balance stats.
I blinked. “Huh. Nothing for the horseshoe, but this?”
I turned the chisel again in my hand. Maybe it wasn’t about size, it was about purpose. The horseshoe was simple. But this? This was made to shape objects.
Then came the hinge. This wasn’t a barn door hinge. It was simpler than many of the hinges my grandfather taught me years ago, but all hinges are special. This one was delicate, with scrollwork etched along its sides, resembling dragon scales folding over each other. I shaped the barrels, fitted the pin, and tested it for smooth movement. It clicked shut without a whisper.
[Hinge comparison – 99 percent]
Fourth was the paring blade. This brought me back to those Renaissance fairs and forging blades for all those reenactors. Happy summers with kettle corn and iced tea. This one is a test of precision. I selected fine steel, worked it thinner, faster, and more carefully. The edge is honed to a whisper-sharp line. I wrapped the handle in thin leather and wired it in a tight braid. The whole thing gleamed as if it were from a noble’s kitchen.
[Paring Blade comparison – 92 percent]
[DING]
[230 Blacksmithing XP Gained]
[Level Up - Blacksmithing – Level 13]
250 XP Until Next Level
I have to agree with this one; I was worried about cold shunts while tempering the blade. Overall, I couldn't help but smile at how it turned out. Good old lucky thirteen. Two items to level up one level. Nice overall.
And finally, the axe.
It waited like a judge. I tempered the steel, welded a layered pattern, and hammered it into the flared bearded edge. It was wide, elegant, and deadly. The haft was carved from seasoned ash wood and wrapped in dark leather. When I set it down with the others, it caught the light just enough to make the edge glint like moonlight. I tried not to compare my axe with the sample on the wall, but my curiosity got the better of me. I’d like to know what I would get for a level after creating this thing.
[Bearded War Axe comparison – 97%]
Better than I expected. I was hoping for high eighties, maybe ninety if I got lucky. I let out a breath and sat back on the anvil, still turning the scrap in my hands, running the edge without thinking. My shirt clung to my back, sweat trickling down my spine, but my hands? Steady as steel.
[DING]
[250 Blacksmithing XP Gained]
[Level Up - Blacksmithing – Level 14]
275 XP Until Next Level
One more level. Progress. A soft ding echoed through my head.
[Trait Upgrade – Structural Insight II]
Your understanding of structural balance deepens. You now:
? Instantly detect stress points, weak welds, and hidden fractures in weapons, armor, and forged structures.
? Gain a passive +10% bonus to crafting efficiency when forging complex, multi-part weapons (e.g., polearms, axes, hybrid blades).
? Gain limited insight into user impact behavior—after observing a weapon in use, you can predict where and how it will fail or perform under strain.
[Passive Trait Gained – Fire Resistance I]
Exposure to extreme forge temperatures and the forging of volatile alloys has conditioned your body.
? Minor resistance to fire and heat-based damage.
? Prolonged exposure to open flame or high-heat environments now causes reduced stamina drain.
? You gain instinctual awareness of dangerously unstable temperatures.
I blinked at the last line, then looked at the forge. The heat wasn’t aggressive anymore; it didn’t press or burn. It welcomed me. I wove some scrap metal together to make a bracelet. Instinctively, I imagined Seraphina’s wrist and how this would wrap around her. I examined the simple latch I had made for it. A memory from years ago came back to me. It’s been too many years since I crafted something like this for anyone. The last one was that delicate wrist. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Using the back of my hand, I tried to wipe it away when that familiar voice spoke again.
[New Skill Achieved – Artisan’s Touch]
I didn’t know what that meant, but I had to ask. As soon as I asked myself again, the voice spoke again.
You develop an instinctive awareness of materials during crafting. Detect flaws before they appear. Sense tension in metal, wood, or stone as you work. Each movement becomes more intentional, more refined. Tools become extensions of your hand. Final products made with an Artisan’s Touch receive a slight quality boost and increased durability.
Passive Effect:
- +5% chance per level to produce high-quality or masterwork items
- Reveals hidden traits or weaknesses in materials during crafting.
- Boosts crafting speed and minimizes material waste
I blinked at the last line. Then glanced at the forge.
The heat no longer bit. It wrapped around me as if it knew I belonged here, like the anvil recognized me or the steel had been waiting.
I leaned back and exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My shoulders hurt, and my hands felt raw, but inside, I felt stable. Calm. Then exhaustion hit me, riding in on all the hammer blows and the constant dings still ringing in my mind. I groaned and rubbed my temple. “Great. I’m gonna end up with tinnitus from system messages.”
The door creaked open behind me, and the sound of boots on stone echoed through the stillness.
“Why’s it gone quiet in here?” The assessor’s voice was cut off.
He paused just inside the doorway, his eyes fixed on the five items arranged neatly on the workbench.
His gaze moved from the bench to the forge, then to me, who was sitting casually on the anvil, polishing the bracelet. He didn’t say a word.
Instead, he quickly turned on his heel. “Wait here,” he said, his voice brisk. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
I kept fiddling with the bracelet’s clasp, making minor adjustments not because it needed them, but to keep my hands busy. The metal was smooth and simple, with a few subtle etchings along the band. Nothing fancy. But there was a quiet elegance to it. I turned it over in my palm, imagining how it might look on Seraphina’s wrist.
She’d like it, I thought. Not for the shine, but for the work behind it. The weight. The meaning. I should get her a ring.
The door creaked open again, this time with more weight. Multiple sets of footsteps could be heard.
Three others entered with the assessor: two older men in aprons stained with soot and steel dust, and a woman with ink-streaked fingers and a guild badge that caught the light like a symbol of authority. One of the older smiths walked straight to the workbench and picked up the horseshoe, turning it in his hands as if it were a relic.
The woman reached for the Paring Blade. Her eyes narrowed, then widened.
The third man brushed his thumb against the edge of the chisel and let out a quick whistle.
They whispered to each other too quietly for me to hear, except for a few phrases.
“Perfect joinery…”
“Steel’s been folded…”
“This hinge should be impossible…”
“How long did he take to make these…”
Finally, I cleared my throat. “So… did I pass?”
The assessor turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “Yes,” he said. “You passed.”
I frowned. “But?”
“But,” he continued, keeping his eyes on the pieces laid out on the bench, “we don’t assign your level today.”
“Why not?”
“The Guildmaster isn’t in today. He’s the one who manages ranks beyond Journeyman.”
He looked at me again, really looked. Not like just a name on a list, but like a problem he wasn’t sure how to solve. “Come back tomorrow. The Guildmaster will assess your work personally.”
I looked at the others. “Is that normal?”
The woman with ink-streaked fingers answered, “Yes. Anything above Journeyman, the Guildmaster has the final say.”
I gave a slight nod. “If that’s all, I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m at the Copper Candle if anything changes.”
I stepped out of the testing area into the large common room, the door swinging shut behind me. The forge heat still clung to my skin, but the rush of fresh air felt like water after a long thirst.
The three assessors stood silently at the doorway, watching my every move. I didn’t look back.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the room. When she saw me, her face lit up like sunrise on stone. I didn’t think, I just moved. I crossed the space, wrapped my arms around her, and lifted her clean off the floor in a hug. She let out a startled laugh as I spun her once and gently set her back down.
“You’re all sweaty,” she said, wrinkling her nose, though she didn’t pull away. “Did you pass?”
I grinned. “Yes.”
Then I brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I have to go back tomorrow. They’re grading my work.”
Then I unfolded the cloth in my hands and pulled out the small, polished bracelet made of three metal bands: one steel, one silver, and one with a slight orange tint, woven in a delicate floral pattern and still faintly warm. I took her hand and carefully placed it around her wrist.
“I had a little time left. So I made you this.”
Her breath caught, and her fingers gently traced the curve of the metal. “David…”
At the doorway, the female assessor leaned toward the others, her voice just low enough to avoid carrying, but not quiet enough. "Did he have time to make a bracelet, too?”
One of the others exhaled. “He sat on the anvil like it was his chair and polished it like it was nothing.”
As we descended the front steps of the guildhall, the heavy doors shut behind us with a creak. The midday sun warmed the air, casting long shadows along the stone path.
“David! Seraphina!”
We turned to see Mark trotting toward us, practically beaming, a leather-bound slip clenched in his hand.
“I passed!” he said, grinning broadly. “Certified Journeyman.” He looked like he might burst with pride.
“That’s great,” I said, sincerely happy for him. “Congratulations.”
Mark glanced between us, noticing the relaxed weight in my shoulders and the smile I hadn’t shaken off since leaving the forge. “Wait. You passed too, didn’t you?”
“I believe I did,” I replied with a nod.
He blinked. “You believe?”
“They told me yes, but they mentioned that the Guildmaster has to confirm the level tomorrow.”
Mark’s brow furrowed. “That’s odd. I got my result at the end of the test. No delays, no Guildmaster.”
“What did they have you make?” I asked.
“A candle holder,” he said proudly. “Functional base, symmetrical stem, triple-prong top. Took me four hours, and I barely had time to polish it.”
I paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Just one?”
Mark looked puzzled. “Yeah. Why? What did they have you make?”
I didn’t respond immediately. I noticed the flicker of doubt on his face, and maybe a hint of awe. I slightly shrugged, appearing nonchalant.
“Let’s just say they gave me a few more options.”
Mark stared at me, trying to piece it together. “Options?” he asked. “You recreated the item that represented the skill level, didn’t you?”
I gave a half-smile. “Not just one.”
His expression gradually changed from confusion to disbelief. “Wait, what?”
“They had five items mounted on the wall, each one representing a smithing level. I wasn’t told which to make, just to forge something useful. So, I made all of them.”
Mark opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“All five,” I repeated, watching it land.
“You finished five full pieces in a four-hour assessment? And polished them?” He sounded unsure whether he should be impressed or insulted.
“And a bracelet,” Seraphina added, holding up her wrist with a playful smile. “I think he made it because he wants sex tonight after he scrubs off that forge stink.”
Mark opened his mouth, then closed it, and just stared.
Guildhall, Upper Offices – Later That Day
The door creaked shut behind the assessors as they entered the chamber. Guildmaster Verran stood by the window, arms folded behind his back, watching the city streets from three stories up. He didn’t turn when they arrived.
"So, how did today’s tests go?” he asked.
The lead assessor, a wiry man with ink-stained fingers and burn scars peeking through his rolled sleeves, stepped forward. “All tests completed. Four passed the journeyman standard. Two didn’t make it.”
Guildmaster Verran barely nodded. “And?”
The woman beside him, clipboard tucked under one arm, cut in. “Forge Six stood out. The applicant completed all five forge pieces: horseshoe, chisel, hinge, paring blade, and the bearded axe.”
Verran raised an eyebrow. “All five? In sequence?”
She nodded. “In sequence. With precision. No tool damage. No wasted scrap.”
He leaned forward, interested now. “What was the margin of error?”
“Almost exact,” the wiry man said. “Maybe less. We’re still assessing.”
Verran’s gaze sharpened. “And the axe?”
“Near perfect...”
Now Verran straightened fully. “Name?”
Verran turned now. “Four in four hours?”
“David Robertson.”
The Guildmaster frowned at the unfamiliar name and ran his fingers along the day’s assessment log. He found the line and underlined it with his fingertip.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Bring me the pieces in the morning. I’ll see him myself.”
He looked up, and his gaze lingered on theirs longer than was comfortable.