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He didn’t belong to the Righteous Faction in the first place.
***
“You can’t bend the iron there. No, no, don’t try to put it back with your aura. What’s wrong with you?” the Sylvan blacksmith asked.
The Viper continued swinging his hammer without offering a reply.
“If you’re using aura for blacksmithing, then it’s just a hobby for you, not work. You’re just playing with that iron. Are you here to play?”
Clang!
The Viper inhaled deeply, his face illuminated by the furnace’s fire. Sweat cascaded down his cheeks and landed on the hot iron with a sizzle.
“I asked, are you here to play?”
Clang!
The Viper wasn’t cut out for blacksmithing. No exhilarating miracle that made him become instantly accustomed to the right hammering rhythm occurred. His arms—no, his entire body was shaking as he unleashed all the pent-up emotions from within.
“Wow. Fuck.”
Clang!
“This is hard!” the Viper grumbled.
No miracle occurred.
“I’m going to die! Fuck, why the hell is this so hard?”
“You aren’t really going to die. Don’t worry. It looks to me that you have a long way to go before you die. When you’re truly at death’s door, the skin beneath your eyes sags. Sir… no, I’ll just call you Mister. Is that okay? Anyhow, you’re as lively as ever.”
“This is exhausting!”
The blacksmith shrugged. “Work is supposed to be like that.”
Clang!
“Just be humble. ‘Oh, this is freaking hard, but it isn’t the hardest job there is.’”
The Viper frowned. “That’s not much of a consolation.”
“Then what do you want? Do you think there’s some magic spell that will bring you comfort, make the hammering easier, and refresh your happiness every day? Consolation isn’t really comforting by nature. It’s just that it becomes more challenging without consolations, so that’s when we hand them ...
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