What to prepare? Naturally, a proper gift for Kevin during the apprenticeship ceremony.
Ethan had never taken a master before transmigrating, but he had seen enough apprenticeship scenes on television and in novels.
The apprentice offers tea and bows three times; the master returns the courtesy with a meaningful gift. That was the basic form.
Now that Rockfall Village had secured his help defending against potential raiders, Kevin would inevitably see combat. Equipping the boy properly was both ceremonial and practical.
Earlier, while entering the village, Ethan had noticed a small blacksmith's shop on the outskirts.
Perhaps he could find suitable gear for Kevin there—or at the very least, spend the next couple of days using the forge himself to make a few pieces.
More importantly, he had long wanted to test whether the max-level forging skill in his memory could actually translate into real results in this world.
Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast, Ethan and Kevin carried the loot they had taken from the pirates to the blacksmith shop.
Inside they found a sturdy man bent over a large wooden bench, carefully cutting leather with a sharp knife.
They waited quietly until the man finished slicing the hide cleanly in two. Only then did Ethan speak.
"Hey, friend—do you sell weapons?"
The blacksmith wiped his hands on his apron and looked up.
"No weapons here—just farm tools… Ah! Sir Ethan Cole…"
Recognizing the man, Ethan studied him more closely. It was the same young hothead who had charged him with a warhammer the day before—only to miss by a hair. Ethan couldn't help but smile.
"Oh—it's you."
He glanced at the heavy iron hammer leaning against the anvil, picked it up, and bounced it once in his palm to test the weight.
"Pretty heavy. This is the one you swung at my head yesterday, right?"
Today the blacksmith wasn't wearing his horned helmet. Beneath a mop of curly hair was a youthful face half-hidden by a patchy beard. Thick muscles were softened by a layer of working-man fat, giving him a somewhat rounded look.
He stammered, cheeks flushing.
"Y-yes, sir… I'm so sorry. I was too hasty yesterday. I didn't mean any harm. Everyone knows Hanwei here may be… impulsive… but I can tell right from wrong…"
"So you're not going to make it up to me?"
Hanwei twisted a rag nervously in his hands, glancing around the shop's sparse furnishings.
"I don't have anything valuable… Do you have armor or weapons that need repair? I'll maintain them free of charge—top quality work, I swear."
Maintenance…
Ethan's gear—all top-tier pieces from Azeroth's latest heroic raids—had been fully repaired by a summonable robot just before he was pulled into this world. Durability still sat comfortably at 80–90%. A village blacksmith's "maintenance" held little appeal.
Still, he had only been teasing the lad. He waved a hand dismissively.
"Never mind. I'm here to equip my apprentice Kevin. We'll be staying in your village a few days to help with defense—you've heard, right?"
"Yes—Boss William told everyone last night."
"Good. But Kevin's gear isn't quite up to standard yet. I want to make him a few pieces. I saw your forge, so I came to ask. Isn't this a smithy? How come you don't have any weapons? Good or bad—show me what you've got."
"Weapons…"
Hanwei frowned in thought, then disappeared into the back room. When he returned he carried two sheathed short swords and a crude spiked mace.
He laid them carefully on the workbench.
"I mostly make farm tools—weapons are rare. These three were practice pieces. If you don't mind the quality, take one as a gift."
Weapons were never cheap, no matter the era. Hanwei's open-handed offer genuinely touched Ethan. He appreciated the sincerity.
Ethan picked up the nearest sword, gripped the hilt, and drew it.
One look explained why no one had bought it.
The blade was unevenly wavy, one side noticeably thicker than the other, and the edge curved like a sickle. Taking this thing into battle would practically be doing the enemy a favor.
Ethan fought back a laugh and—keeping his face perfectly neutral—drew the second sword.
This one was somehow worse. The tip wasn't even pointed—it was rounded like an egg.
*Was this the legendary Sword of Mercy that refuses to harm?*
Ethan lifted his gaze to meet Hanwei's hopeful eyes… then quickly looked away and cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Look, Hanwei—your skill is actually quite good. But we can't afford to buy anything, and I don't want to take advantage of your generosity."
He gestured toward the pile of pirate loot Kevin had set on the floor.
"A couple of days ago we took this scrap metal off the raiders. I'd like to use it as raw material and forge a few things for my apprentice. If possible, I'd like to borrow your forge and tools.
Also—you handle leather armor? I have some pieces here. Could you refit them to fit Kevin's frame? We'll settle all costs at the end."
*(You didn't even ask the price—how do you know you can't afford it?)*
Hanwei listlessly gathered up his practice weapons, then squatted to inspect the pile of pirate scrap.
"These leather bits are decent material, but the stitching is awful. I can take them apart and remake a proper breastplate and a pair of vambraces. There won't be enough left for a helmet, but I can patch something together from scraps. Fifteen silver moons for the leather work.
As for the forge—use it freely. I can spare a few baskets of charcoal…"
Fifteen silver moons… how much was that worth?
Ethan's money all came from Azeroth—plenty of it—but currency systems were obviously different. Would gold dragons even be accepted here?
He simply opened his coin pouch, shook out a single silver coin, and handed it to Hanwei.
"Can you take this kind?"
Hanwei weighed the coin in his palm, then gently bit it.
"Sure. Never seen this mint before, but the purity is excellent. If it's this quality—ten will cover everything."
Ethan wasn't one to haggle over small sums. He agreed without argument.
With the deal struck, Hanwei left Ethan in the shop and took Kevin to the back yard for measurements.
Ethan shook his head with a faint smile and began inspecting the workbench tools. Besides the large hammer he had lifted earlier, there was a smaller one, various tongs, pliers, and chisels. A neat stack of charcoal waited in the corner.
In the center of the shop stood a forge roughly thirty centimeters wide, its crucible already in place. Right now it was cold—only ash inside.
A narrow channel of mud bricks ran from a small opening in the forge's side and connected to a simple leather bellows.
The bellows consisted of two boards with leather stretched between them. The lower board was nailed to the workbench; the upper one had a handle. Lifting it drew air in through a one-way valve; pressing it down forced the air through the channel into the forge.
Ethan gave the handle a couple of experimental pumps. The airflow was pitiful—far too weak to reach the temperatures he needed.
When Hanwei returned from measuring Kevin, Ethan pointed at the bellows.
"Hanwei—what's this thing called?"
"This?" Hanwei followed his finger. "That's the bellows. You pump the handle to force air into the forge through that pipe. Makes the fire hotter.
Do you… actually know how to forge?"
*(You don't even know what a bellows is and you want to smith?)* The doubt was plain on Hanwei's face, though he was too polite to say it.
Ethan didn't bother explaining. Instead he drew the dagger from his belt—"Azure Song"—and laid it on the bench in front of Hanwei.
"Look. I made this myself."
Hanwei picked up the dagger skeptically, turned it over in his hands, tested the edge on a scrap of leather—and his expression slowly changed from skepticism to solemn respect.
He handed it back with both hands.
"I've never seen a blade this sharp. I couldn't make anything close."
Ethan nodded. He had no intention of admitting the dagger was actually a top-tier raid drop.
"This bellows gives almost no airflow. It won't reach the heat I need. I want to build a better one. If you have spare wood or leather, let me use it—we'll settle up later."
Piston-style bellows are simple in principle and relatively easy to construct.
The core components are: a sealed chamber, a piston, a piston rod/handle, and one-way intake valves.
By pushing and pulling the rod, air is drawn in and then forced out in a steady, powerful stream—far superior to the primitive squeeze-bellows most pre-industrial smiths used.
Ethan quickly sketched the rough dimensions on the dirt floor with a stick.
He sent Hanwei and Kevin to cut and shape the wooden panels while he prepared the piston face and handle.
By the time the parts were ready, the sun stood high overhead.
A whole morning had passed.
Kevin ran back to the tavern to fetch lunch. Ethan ate quickly, then assembled the wooden box, fitted the piston, attached the leather flap valves, and sealed every potential leak with wet clay.
Finally he gave the finished piston bellows a few experimental strokes.
Air rushed out in a strong, steady blast—far more powerful and controllable than the old squeeze model.
Hanwei stared in open astonishment as the leather tube inflated and deflated with each stroke.
Kevin—having grown up in a village that still used hand fans to stoke fires—looked even more stunned.
Hanwei assumed this was just another example of superior southern craftsmanship from the Fingers.
Kevin knew better.
Even Ethan had never seen or used anything like this before today.
*Superior skill, terrifying martial prowess, noble bearing, approachable manner… Sir Ethan—who exactly are you?*
With the bellows working perfectly, smelting could begin.
Ethan skipped straight past raw ore.
Among the pirate loot were several crude battle-axes and knives—all cast iron, brittle, chipped, and dull. Useless except as proof they were slightly harder than bone.
His plan had originally been for Kevin to pick one as a temporary weapon until they reached a proper city.
After inspection, Ethan decided they were all garbage.
Besides, Kevin was still growing. An axe—purely a chopping weapon—would be difficult for him to wield effectively. And in close combat it would expose him to unnecessary risk.
In short: unusable.
Final decision: melt the entire pile of scrap iron and forge a single spearhead roughly thirty centimeters long.
Socket it onto a sturdy shaft → spear.
Remove it → long dagger.
Paired with the short sword and wooden shield Ethan had already given him, Kevin's battlefield survival odds would improve dramatically.
While Hanwei stoked the forge, Ethan picked up a miner's hammer and—with a few sharp, ringing strikes—reduced the scrap axes and knives to fist-sized chunks.
The casual power of each blow made Hanwei's eyelids twitch.
The young blacksmith silently thanked every god he could name that his hammer swing yesterday had missed Ethan's head. Otherwise it would have been *his* skull that shattered.
Ethan loaded the smaller, easier-melting fragments into the crucible (it was too small to take everything at once). The rest he set aside for later heats.
The new bellows produced excellent airflow. To maintain a perfectly stable draft, Ethan took over the pumping himself.
For more than an hour he worked the piston rod—push, pull, push, pull—until the metal inside the crucible finally melted into a glowing white pool.
Hanwei glanced over.
"Sir—you can pour now to set it. Is your sword mold ready?"
Ethan frowned.
"Sword mold? What's that?"