Chapter 80 The Master Shows His Craft
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Dahlia left early, saying she planned to try her new inner muscle armor tomorrow. I just hoped she wouldn’t oversleep again.
”Tarabou, come. I’ll show you my forge. Head to the yard.”
When Amatsu said that, my heart began to pound. This was it—this was the moment I had been waiting for.
To stand face to face with a true master, a craftsman who had lived his life for the art of the blade. I felt the corners of my mouth lift without thinking, and Amatsu gave me a fierce grin in return.
She said she would show me her technique, but that smile told me she had no intention of letting me steal her secrets easily. And yet, the air around us—the shared breath of two blacksmiths at work—was intoxicating.
Inside the forge, Amatsu bowed to the tools and the equipment she would use. I realized I had never done that before.
The fire, the water, the mana that filled them—these were all gifts from the stars. Showing gratitude to all things was the first rule of a blacksmith. Following her lead, I bowed deeply to the forge, the anvil, and the water tank, offering an apology for taking them for granted.
The work began with heating the steel. Amatsu placed three pieces of tamahagane into the furnace. As the heat grew, they began to glow red.
The old books called this the “redening.” They said a blacksmith’s skill could be judged just by how they read the heat. A forge was a living thing—it responded to its master’s will but demanded full focus. Lose attention, and the temperature would shift in an instant.
Amatsu opened her right eye, which had been shut until now, revealing a golden iris that glimmered in the firelight. She glared into the flames and steel as if she could see their very souls. Watching her, I could almost feel the temperature through her gaze.
When the steel reached the right heat, she pulled it from the fire and struck it with her hammer, again and again, at a slightly low temperature to stretch it thin. Then, she plunged it into the water to quench it. The steel cracked, separating the hard and soft parts. This was how the inner, flexible core iron and the hard outer iron were created.
She stacked soft steel for the core on a rod, and though the work looked rough, I could see with my “Concept Appraisal” that every motion was calculated. The impurities were pushed outward, leaving only good metal within.
For the outer layers, she used harder steel, coating each with wet paper and rice-straw ash before applying a thin clay mixture. That layer, I recalled, blocked air and helped heat travel evenly. She put them back into the furnace to let the heat reach their centers—a process called forge welding.
I noticed her twitch her hand, as if reaching for a bellows that wasn’t there. She almost laughed at herself. I made a note to add one before the next session. Her golden eye stayed locked on the steel, reading it perfectly.
My forge ran hotter than most; one mistake, and the metal would melt, but Amatsu showed no fear. Her calm carried the weight of a lifetime at the anvil. I could feel how far I still was from her. They said I surpassed her in training speed, but my heart knew I hadn’t caught up at all. It was a good thing she was sent from the Torakuma territory.
She lifted the steel from the furnace and placed it on the anvil, giving me a glance. I pulled a great hammer from my inventory and brought it down. The metal held together—perfect heat. Each strike tightened it into a single piece. This was the tack weld, done before the real welding began.
We repeated the process with several more pieces, slowly, steadily strengthening them. A blacksmith rushed nothing. To hurry was to break your work. Thinking about it, it made sense that Amatsu had been wary of my absurdly fast judgment and training. Well, I had been working with the conviction that it wouldn’t work anyway.
When the tack welding was done, we moved to the true weld, the stage where impurities were purged. She brushed off the old ash, sprinkled new, and returned the steel to the fire. Sparks flew as slag burst away under the hammer. Slowly, the metal became pure.
Heat, strike, heat, strike—over and over. I watched as the glow grew cleaner, brighter. It reminded me that the metal from the “Whirlwind” region contained almost no impurities. If Amatsu had used city steel instead of her own from the Torakuma territory, much of this step would’ve been unnecessary. I was grateful again for the fine resources of my homeland, and for my parents who gave birth to me in this city.
When the steel was ready, we began the real forging—the part that made a katana.
I was eager to see what philosophy guided Amatsu’s craft. I had always been working on straightening the paths within the metal, not just the carbon content.
She sat at my side, marking the strike points while I took the lead with the hammer. When her small mallet tapped, I followed, matching her rhythm perfectly. In the old world, this would have taken three or four smiths working together. But now, with our strengthened bodies, two were enough. It was my first time forging side by side with someone, and it felt wonderful. The forge rang with sharp, rhythmic blows.
Amatsu cut a line across the thin steel, folded it, and pointed to the next strike. I used “Concept Appraisal” to match her vision, controlling my strength down to the smallest fraction. The next fold went crosswise—her own method, the ten-character fold. I saw the mana lines grow more complex inside the steel. If we refined this further, even normal steel could rival mithril. Maybe next time, I’d try that.
The lower forging went smoothly, and after twenty folds, the outer iron was done.
The softer core iron took only five folds. Then came the wrapping—the core enclosed in the outer steel.
Amatsu heated the combined piece again, and we began to stretch it into the shape of a katana. As the heat dropped, back into the fire it went, again and again.
Hard and soft metals merged as one, slowly taking on the blade’s elegant curve. When it reached the right length, Amatsu cut the tip diagonally—the future point of the sword—and began shaping it from the opposite side, just as the old texts described. That way, the grain of the steel would flow cleanly through the tip and keep it strong.
As the katana neared its full length, we entered the fire-shaping stage.
Here, Amatsu defined the curve of the back and the ridge that gave the blade its thickness. She thinned the edge carefully, then struck the spine a little heavier, perfecting the form of what would soon become a true sword.
After shaping the blade, Amatsu used a tool called a sen—a thin metal scraper with a central ridge—to refine the steel’s form. Then she prepared a clay mixture known as yakibatsuchi, blending it with charcoal dust and whetstone powder. This coating, applied carefully over the blade, would protect it during quenching.
The process was called tsuchioki, the clay application. Amatsu handled it herself, spreading a thin layer along the edge and a thicker one along the spine. The difference in cooling speed between the edge and spine would create the katana’s natural curve. Once the clay dried, she placed the blade back into the furnace.
Normally, smiths would move the steel in and out of the fire to heat it evenly. But my forge, fueled by mana, could spread heat perfectly on its own.
Amatsu watched with a mix of awe and mild disbelief as the temperature rose. When the entire piece reached around seven hundred and fifty degrees, she pulled it from the flames and plunged it into the water. A sharp hiss filled the forge as steam exploded outward, swallowing the room in white mist.
When the noise finally died, Amatsu lifted the steel from the tank. The clay coating was cracked but still clinging tight—a sign of even heating and perfect work. With a short sigh, she tapped it loose.
Beneath the clay, a black, gleaming blade appeared. I checked with Concept Appraisal—and was left stunned. The grain and internal lines were so perfectly aligned that it almost scared me.
She removed the support rod and set the blade on a whetstone. Though not a professional polisher, she performed what smiths called a blacksmith’s finish, sanding the surface herself.
When the polishing ended, the steel shimmered with a faint, silvery hue. The curve was gentle, the back thick and strong. The blade was broad, its tip wide to match.
Finally, she shaped the tang to fit a handle, then carved a name into it—her signature. On the reverse, she engraved the date. My first katana was complete.
”Haah… that was tense,” I exhaled. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath while Amatsu cut the signature. I’d heard that if a master wasn’t satisfied, she might melt her work back down. If this piece hadn’t met her standards, my effort would’ve gone with it.
”Tired, Tatara? That was your first forged katana. You did well,” she said. “It was only because you guided every strike,” I replied. “If I’d followed my own image, I would’ve ruined it. You saved me there.”
”…Tell me, how did you match my rhythm so perfectly?” she asked, tilting her head. “Oh, from the sound,” I said. “When you strike steel, it sings a certain way. If you know what pitch to listen for, you can match it by ear.”
She blinked at me, as though surprised I’d found something so obvious. I wasn’t sure why she asked—but I smiled anyway. Still, that clay coating fascinated me.
Each blacksmith seemed to have their own way of making it. If it were me, I’d grind a mana stone into the mix. I didn’t yet know the perfect ratio, but chasing that balance—that’s what being a craftsman meant.
Ideas began to pour through my mind. The method Amatsu had used was called kobuse—wrapping hard steel around a softer core.
But there were others: hon-sanmai, which added an extra blade layer, and shihōzume, which enclosed the entire core in steel. Imagine—using mithril for the core, orichalcum for the edge, and adamantite for the outer shell. If the metals’ magical properties could be preserved instead of canceled out, this might be possible.
I started typing on my word processor, writing down the theory before it faded. The key would be mixing powdered mana stones into the clay, so the mana in the forge flame could activate the mana within the metals, letting their magical traits merge on a higher level.
The temperature control would be hellishly hard, but that didn’t matter. Overcoming limits was what made a crafter.
”Lady Hizuru, Tarabou’s got another wild idea again,” Amatsu muttered nearby. “Master Amatsu,” she sighed, “he’ll probably make your head spin with his experiments, but please, try to remember what he comes up with.” “No promises,” she chuckled.
They spoke softly at the side of the forge while I kept writing, too absorbed to care. The theory was just on paper for now, but I’d need Amatsu’s eye to check the flaws later.
”Amatsu-san! I’ve got a question!” I called out. “Go on, Tarabou,” she said, turning toward me.
My excitement must have startled her, but she still listened patiently as I fired off question after question. Each time, she answered with the calm certainty of long years at the anvil. Then, to my surprise, she told me something incredible: the perfect balance of magic metals for a katana. My design for the edge needed one change—mixing orichalcum with adamantite in a ratio of two to one by weight.
Adamantite, she explained, was so hard it could disrupt other metals’ traits if used pure. But at half the weight ratio, it would reinforce orichalcum’s strength without killing its nature. That was an amazing discovery. If I’d known sooner, I could’ve used it for Sister Kareha’s weapon.
And now that I truly understood the katana’s structure, I realized something else: this was the perfect blade for that fool.
Better than the straight sword I’d made before—this would bring out her full power. Maybe I could get her to test it, under the pretense of a commission.
”I want to forge one right now! Amatsu-san!” I said, half rising. “Fool! You’ll ruin it if you rush! Wait till tomorrow!” she barked.
She was right. If my new master said no, then no it was.
I sighed and set my tools aside. It was late, anyway. Time to rest and let the ideas settle.
The forging had taken hours, and night was deep. Hizuru was heading to the bathhouse with Yohira and the other women.
Ethelena had tried to follow me to the family bath, but thankfully Yohira dragged her away. Not while Amatsu was here, no way.
I led Amatsu to the smaller couple’s bath instead and showed her how it worked. I’d modified it to run on mana rather than wood, and she seemed both puzzled and impressed as the water warmed instantly.
Then, from the larger bath came a shriek: “Ethelena-san!? What is that size!?”
I sighed.
Yohira and Tatia had reacted the same way when they saw it the first time. Like mother, like daughter.
”Tarabou,” Amatsu said, glancing toward the steam, “don’t waste the firewood.” “My bath doesn’t use firewood,” I said with a grin. Still, I was touched by the thought. And maybe… maybe I could do something I never did with my father—wash her back.
I grabbed two towels, set them by the door, undressed, and entered. Amatsu’s body was a map of old scars and powerful muscle.
”Excuse me,” I said. “Go ahead, Tarabou. Wash my back.” “Yes, sir.”
I lathered a towel with soap and scrubbed her broad back.
The soot and smell of charcoal slowly faded. Her muscles were incredible—no wonder she couldn’t reach her own shoulders.
”Ohh, you’re good at this,” she rumbled. “I’ve had practice—with Ethelena, that purple-haired girl,” I said. “Your bride, then?” she asked, voice rumbling like a forge. “Yes. We’ve promised to marry. She’s still a student, though, so we’re waiting until it’s legal.” “Ahh. A scholar, huh? Hard path ahead,” she said with a soft chuckle.
As I scrubbed her broad back, we kept talking about nothing in particular. When I rinsed the soap away, her skin gleamed clean.
”Ahh, that hits the spot. Thanks, Tarabou,” she said, giving me a grin through the mirror. Her expression was rough, but warm. I smiled back. “You’re welcome. I was thinking this might’ve been how it’d feel if I’d ever gotten to wash my father’s back,” I said. “Hah! Then you’ll make a fine father yourself one day,” she laughed.
Her booming laugh filled the room, easing something tight in my chest. She rose from the stool and headed toward the tub.
I caught a glimpse of her—well, size—and quickly looked away. Typical of an ogre, I supposed. No need to compare.
I went back to washing myself.
Always best to start from the top—wash the head first, let the dirt flow down. My hair took time, long as it was, but I kept it that way; someday my kid might like to play with it.
”Tarabou,” Amatsu called. “Yes?” “Why you keep your hair that long?”
She must’ve been wondering while I scrubbed. I smiled.
”Ethelena likes to play with it sometimes. And someday our kid probably will too.”
”Ha! A wife who loves your hair, eh? Keep her happy, that’s the secret to peace!” she said, roaring with laughter. “Well, they say the one who falls in love first always loses,” I chuckled.
She threw her head back and laughed even harder.
I joined her. It felt good—simple, easy, the kind of thing men shared without pretense.
As I rinsed off, we kept chatting. I explained how the bath worked, and she was astonished to learn it needed no firewood. She told me she still chopped wood and charcoal by hand to keep her sense sharp for blacksmithing, but admitted my mana-heated bath was incredibly convenient.
She even said she wanted a forge like mine someday. When I offered her the plans, she refused with a grin—said she’d rather figure it out herself. A true craftsman to the core.
We talked about my other inventions too. She was impressed by Tatia and Dahlia’s Arcane Armor and by Ethelena’s weapon, the Lonisera. But what amazed her most were the insect traps used around the city—the torimochi and the mana-powered “Hoi-Hoi” bait charms.
She grumbled about pests getting into her stores at home and considered taking some back. I offered to make her a version powered by mana—one that would never run out as long as it drew energy from a spiritual vein. She seemed pleased at the idea.
Just as I finished washing, Amatsu stood from the bath. That ogre-sized thing made its presence known again—though, honestly, after Baral, I was used to it.
”Don’t overdo it, Tarabou. I’ll head out before I get dizzy,” she said, stepping toward the door. “Got it. There’s a towel by the dressing room—use it.” “Much obliged.”
As she turned to leave, I also stood and stepped toward the tub.
But she glanced back at me… then down—and froze.
”What in the blazes is THAT!?” she shouted. I blinked. “Huh? What’s wrong?” “That thing! How’s it that huge!?” “Wait—you’re one to talk!?”
What the hell was this conversation? I was just a normal human, damn it.
”Where’d you even get that monster from!? It’s like a sword, I swear!” “Calm down! Stop comparing it to a weapon, for crying out loud!”
I somehow managed to shove the panicking ogre out into the dressing room and sank into the bath with a sigh. I’d never been so tired from taking a bath in my life.
When I came out later, everyone was in the living room—Amatsu among them—talking earnestly to Yohira and that foolish fox. Maybe about katana maintenance?
She was wearing clean samue robes now, looking every bit the seasoned master. She rested both hands on Yohira’s shoulders, expression grave. I wondered what important wisdom she was about to share.
”Yohira, girl,” she said solemnly, “Tarabou’s manhood is enormous.” I nearly dropped dead on the spot. “What the hell are you saying!?” She blinked innocently. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “…Tatara-san,” Yohira asked quietly, “is it… true?” “Don’t ask questions like that!” “It’s true,” Ethelena said matter-of-factly. “Every time, I can barely breathe.” “Ethelena! Don’t just say that out loud!”
My head throbbed. And the foolish fox—Hinagiku—was subtly edging behind me, pretending she didn’t exist.
She always hated these topics; now she was clutching my sleeve, face down. I almost reached out to pat her head just to reassure her.
”I never really compared,” I muttered. “But others I’ve seen were bigger, so I thought I was normal. Though Ethelena did say it’s close to ogre size…” “Your comparison scale is… strange, Tatara-dono,” Hinagiku replied, deadpan.
I sighed. She wasn’t wrong. Without anyone else to compare to, how was I supposed to know?
Ethelena was my only partner, and I sure didn’t know modern average stats. “…Would that even fit, degozaru?” the fox whispered. “Don’t whisper weird stuff like that!” I snapped, glancing back to find her holding her stomach awkwardly. This was getting out of hand.
Then Dahlia, ever expressionless, spoke up. “Master.” “What is it, Dahlia?
And if it’s nonsense, I’m hitting you.” “Insufficient data on master’s joint component for two-body fusion. Please disclose specifications.” “Stop saying things that make me regret building you!”
I grabbed a slipper from my inventory and smacked her lightly on the head. It made a sharp pakon sound, but her face didn’t even twitch.
And thus ended our chaotic bath aftermath. After everyone dispersed to their rooms, I went to my workshop alone.
My next task: preparing the armor plating for Dahlia’s suit and assembling its optional components. Her armor would be my most advanced creation yet, so I needed every part ready in advance. I started with the anchor gun—a device to be mounted on her waist tail unit.
It combined a simple “Acceleration” magic circle with a retractable cable system, functioning like a reusable magic grappling cannon. The wire was braided mithril-silver thread, with a forged mithril anchor tip that could deploy and retract its hooks. It could pull enemies in or launch her forward, using the motor from her chainsaw weapon to reel it back at high speed.
I built two units and tested them in the yard. The first shot shattered the wooden target completely—more power than I expected. It was technically a weapon, with about twenty points of physical force—enough to hurt, but not kill.
Probably. Still, with Dahlia’s power, the output might spike dramatically. To improve accuracy, I added a mana-lamp–based laser pointer for targeting. That should make the system far more reliable.
Now that I’d finished building the anchor system, it seemed wasteful to let it sit unused. So I decided to craft a temporary suit of armor for Dahlia—something light she could actually test it with.
I jumped straight into work. I used about twenty kilograms of mithril, forming a lightweight armor that covered only vital areas.
For mobility, I adapted the theory behind magitech jet engines to create hover modules for the legs. On her back, I added a simple booster that compressed and expelled air with magic for extra thrust. To help with balance, I mounted small thrusters around the waist, hidden in a skirt-like armor frame.
The anchor gun was originally meant for the waist, but for training, I fitted it to her arm instead.
I hid the mechanism inside the armor so it could double as a concealed weapon. For style, I shaped the sleeves like Hizuru’s kimono cuffs—flowing, elegant, but hiding power beneath.
To make up for Dahlia’s…
lack of curves, I added padding to the breastplate—three sizes up, about a D cup. That should please her aesthetic sense, at least.
By the time I finished, the whole suit looked almost exactly like that iconic female mobile armor from a certain mecha series—the one that served as the final boss. Come to think of it, wasn’t that design rumored to be inspired by a white wedding kimono?
Just for fun, I added hardpoints inside the sleeves for equipping magic swords. Drawing a blade from the cuffs might look even more like that reference, but it was practical enough to keep.
When all the work was done, I returned to my room. I was sweaty again before bed, but I always ended up that way anyway—nothing new there.
Tomorrow morning would be another day at the forge, working on katana blacksmithing. I could hardly wait.
—
BONUS:
(Note: The design on the arms is actually for a “Draken-sen” type, not a “Qubeley.”)
In a dimly lit room within the vigilante corps’ guard post, a man sat dejectedly. His name was the Squad Leader, a respected figure known for his competence and seen as a future captain. Yet, at this moment, he was overcome with despair.
Tears welled in his eyes as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Tatara-san… I’m sorry…!!” Tatara Julon, a young man he deeply admired, was at the heart of his distress. The Squad Leader’s anguish stemmed from the potential rejection of his favorite weapon—a small, rapid-fire Sticky Launcher—by the corps.
”Excuse me, Squad Leader,” a female subordinate, the second-in-command of his squad, addressed him.
”You’re being overly dramatic just because your favorite weapon won’t be adopted by the corps.” Her tone was playful, but the Squad Leader’s response was serious.
”What can I do?! It’s my favorite!!” he exclaimed. The corps had been testing three variations of Tatara’s new Sticky Launcher, and the maintenance division favored a break-action model for its familiarity and ease of use, especially for smaller races like Hobbits and Dwarves. The Squad Leader’s preferred rapid-fire type, however, was disliked by maintenance and accounting due to its incompatibility with conventional projectiles.
The Captain, a noble with political influence, favored a high-capacity model but faced criticism for its weight, particularly from female members. Recently, he had allowed corps members to carry personal weapons on duty—a subtle hint that a significant threat was looming.
The Squad Leader’s subordinate noted the unusual speed with which Tatara had provided the prototypes, suggesting he might have insider knowledge of an impending crisis.
The conversation shifted to Tatara’s plans for a commercial handheld launcher designed for women and children.
The subordinate, whose family had benefited from Tatara’s home-use Torimochi Ball, felt a mix of admiration and jealousy at the Squad Leader’s open adoration for Tatara. She understood his appeal: Tatara, orphaned during a great subjugation, channeled his grief into creating tools that protected others, embodying kindness and resilience.
”It’s a bit strange that Tatara-san let us test new models so quickly,” the Squad Leader remarked, his tone sharp with suspicion. He theorized that Tatara, as the next Chief Crafter, might be preparing the corps for an unknown disaster.
”I’ll take a risk and buy this small rapid-fire model personally from Tatara-san,” he declared, determined to use his savings for a full-mithril model with a dot sight. His subordinate, equally committed, decided to save for a handheld launcher herself.
Both knew their roles as guardians of the town demanded preparedness.
Tatara, a staunch supporter of justice’s heroes, would likely assist them. The Squad Leader’s final words echoed their shared resolve:
”You should prepare too. He’s preparing so that Tatara-san can survive alone, so you should be ready too.”
”I know without being told,” she replied, her mind already set on ensuring their readiness for whatever lay ahead. The junior also intended to shave off part of her daily living expenses to buy a handheld launcher. They were the vigilante corps, the guardians of the town and streets. They were the heroes who stood against great malice.)
Notes:
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Amatsu – A master blacksmith and a female. Demonstrate forging skill to Tatara. The duel arises from Tatara’s request for guidance. Senior craftsman guiding Tatara. No kin known. Golden right eye and calm mastery define her.
• Kareha – A human paladin and nun appearing in ch.71. She requests new weapons from Tatara after past battles damaged hers. The order sends her under church duty. Works with Tatara and Dahlia as ally. Close to Ranka. Strong, polite, and fearless.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name.
• Hinagiku – A tengu woman as Ranka’s potential companion. She stays with Tatara’s group after travels. Joins household scenes only. Linked to Ranka by shared gluttony jokes. No direct tie to Tatara beyond cohabitation. Cheerful eater.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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