The blood of a blacksmith flowed through the dwarves of the Golden Anvil tribe, and Jakiro was born with the greatest talent among them all.4

When he first grabbed the hammer, Solardo, the tribe’s greatest artisan, said, ‘If you are a true craftsman of the Golden Anvil tribe, you would be able to see the finished product even before you melt the iron.’1

Jakiro believed that he had understood Solardo’s words all this while. He always had a blueprint. The moment he wanted to make something, it was clearly drawn in his head what it would look like. All of his masterpieces had already been completed in his head first.0

However, Jakiro realized that wasn’t truly the case. He wasn’t watching properly until now. He just intuitively saw it as a skilled craftsman, but he wasn’t truly seeing it.0

“I know now,” Jakiro muttered while his mind got filled with the image of a weapon. He was able to see what shape it would be, what power it would possess, and how it would be crafted. He could even see what it would cut.1

He wasn’t moving on his own accord. Something unknown, something that was filling him to the brim and penetrating his whole body, it felt like inspiration was moving him. He couldn’t wait to start working on it.0

“You’ve come, Jakiro.”0

“Yes.”0

Jakiro’s body trembled. Rastard, the blacksmith guarding the Eternal Smithy, looked at Jakiro’s face and opened...0