The Weapon Making event was held in a designated arena near the Academy’s practical workshops.
The venue was electrified with anticipation, marked by four identical work counters set up for the participants.
Each counter was fully equipped with the necessary facilities: a solid anvil, a selection of hamrs, a roaring furnace fed by controlled bellows, water troughs, and various raw tal ingots.
A huge crowd had gathered, easily eclipsing the turnout for the shooting match.
This was one of the most anticipated events of the second day, largely because of the S Class representative, Rendo.
Rendo was a hulking figure from the Dwarf Race, his massive arms already inspiring confidence, and he was the most probable winner, having been trained in dwarven smithing from birth.
Adding to the gravity of the event, the main judge and special guest was Grand Elder Ignis.
The Dwarf Elder’s presence defined the seriousness of the competition; the judging criteria would certainly not be lax.
The crowd was a deafening wave of noise, cheering hard and shouting the nas of Rendo and the participants from A and B Class.
The small pockets of support for C Class were utterly drowned out by this chaos.
No one in the wider crowd had any expectations for their representative, Grey, who was standing at the counter, calmly surveying the tools he had never used before.
He looked like an actor who had just been handed a script written in an alien language—a man who, in reality, had never lifted a hamr in his life and knew nothing about tallurgy.
Even at his own counter, hope was thin. Blaze, Aeron, and Zenon watched from the front row with worried expressions; they were not hopeful.
Only Lenore was screaming, her small voice piercing the loud cheers as she chanted Grey’s na with absolute, fierce loyalty, believing in him against all odds.
The announcer, a flustered professor chosen for his booming voice, finally stepped forward.
He welcod Grand Elder Ignis, whose fierce gaze swept over the arena, and then introduced the four participants: Rendo (S Class), a competent-looking human (A Class), a focused Beastfolk (B Class), and finally, Grey (C Class).
"Esteed audience and competitors!" the announcer bellowed.
"The rules are simple! Each participant will be given one hour. Within this ti, they must create a weapon of their choice. They must use the materials and instrunts provided by the Academy and cannot use personal armants or instrunts!"
This rule was vital, it prevented the use of family secrets or enchanted, proprietary tools, leveling the playing field slightly, but still leaving Rendo’s innate racial talent as the massive advantage.
After the rules were announced, the professor dramatically pulled out a gong.
BONG!
The announcer struck the gong, starting the clock.
"BEGIN THE COMPETITION!" he yelled, as a loud, imdiate cheer erupted from the now-frenzied crowd.
The clang of the gong instantly launched the arena into action.
The S Class representative, Rendo, moved with the powerful, purposeful motion of a true craftsman.
Rendo, utilizing his ancestral knowledge and dwarven affinity for tal, imdiately grabbed the largest hamr available with casual ease.
He didn’t waste a second reviewing the materials. He selected a high-carbon steel ingot, tossing it expertly into his furnace.
He didn’t need to consult gauges or charts; his ingrained sense allowed him to adjust the bellows with his foot, controlling the heat until the flas roared at the exact, necessary temperature.
His approach was one of instinctual expertise. He moved aggressively, his actions loud and commanding, signaling to the crowd that he was completely comfortable in this environnt.
The cheers from the S Class students swelled as Rendo began his preliminary work, preparing his anvil and pouring a custom mix of flux into a crucible—all done without conscious thought, rely reflex honed by a lifeti around the forge.
He was going to forge a war axe, and every move was designed for efficiency and brute strength.
In stark contrast, Grey stood completely still at his counter. While the other competitors were already generating smoke and noise, Grey closed his eyes amidst the surrounding chaos.
He took a deep breath, ntally retreating to the quiet efficiency of his internal system interface.
He imdiately accessed the new skill he had gained from his frantic, three-day crash course with Master Grazon:
[SKILL: BLACKSMITHING (C )]
[ Rank: C (Proficient)
Description: Knowledge and practical application of basic tallurgy, forging techniques (drawing, upsetting, bending, punching), heat treatnt (quenching, tempering), and rudintary weapon design up to the ’Excellent’ grade.
Current Progress: 18%]
This was the first growth type skill he had recieved, opening the door for more such skills in the future, making him hopeful.
Grey ntally reviewed the rushed, sweat-drenched sessions.
He recalled Grazon’s demanding voice, the agonizing strain on his arms as he was forced to strike the anvil repeatedly, and the theory lessons cramd in between hamr blows—lessons on the crystalline structure of tals, the optimal temperature for tempering, and the precise angles for creating a strong blade edge.
He rembered Grazon’s scornful smirk whenever Grey missed a crucial detail.
"I have to make a dagger" Grey decided, recalling Grazon’s advice: ’Start small. Control is everything.’
Grey opened his eyes, the chaos of the smithy flooding back, but his mind was now calm and thodized.
His approach was one of synthetic knowledge. He didn’t have Rendo’s instinct; he had a precise, textbook blueprint delivered by the System and Grazon’s instruction.
He slowly selected a high-carbon steel ingot, carefully inspecting the material.
Instead of throwing it in, he deliberately controlled the furnace bellows, not by instinct, but by matching the air flow to the exact thermal reading he needed, recalling the data points Grazon had forced him to morize.
He chose a lighter, balanced hamr—one that required less brute force and more control.
He placed the ingot precisely in the heart of the fla, waiting patiently for the tal to reach the necessary cherry-red glow before he would even think about lifting his hamr.
The crowd watched, confused by the C Class participant’s unnervingly deliberate, slow start, while Rendo’s counter was already ringing with the sound of powerful, continuous hamring.
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