Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 507: First Blacksmithing Lesson (4)

Kyrian remained completely still before the furnace.

The crimson flames slowly enveloped the ordinary iron ingot, causing its darkened surface to gradually take on a reddish glow. Heat spread through the metal, penetrating layer by layer, transforming its internal structure.

Sun Luguo did absolutely nothing. He simply watched, his eyes fixed on the metal, his breathing calm and steady. He was like a statue, motionless and patient.

Silence once again filled the workshop. The only sounds were the crackling of the flames and the occasional sharp pop caused by the metal expanding as it absorbed heat, a high-pitched sound, almost musical, like the crackling of a bonfire.

After nearly a minute, Kyrian could not help but ask,

"Is it ready yet?"

Sun Luguo smiled without even taking his eyes off the furnace, his lips curling into a patient smile.

"No."

A few more moments passed. The ingot turned bright red, then orange. The color spread slowly from the center toward the edges.

Even so, the old man remained motionless.

Kyrian continued watching attentively, his special eyes recording every change.

’He’s waiting for something...’

For the first time, instead of analyzing only the structure of the metal, Kyrian began observing the behavior of the heat.

He no longer saw only the impurities and internal stresses; he saw the dance of thermal energy moving through the material.

The thermal energy did not penetrate uniformly. The edges heated up first, absorbing heat more quickly. Then, little by little, the heat advanced toward the center, like a rising tide.

Some regions absorbed temperature more easily, while others resisted. Kyrian could see how the crystal structure of the metal influenced heat conduction; denser areas conducted heat more efficiently, while porous regions created resistance.

It was an extremely slow process, far more complex than it appeared at first glance. Every moment of heating had a purpose, every change in color indicated an internal transformation.

Only when the entire interior of the ingot had acquired an almost perfectly uniform color, a deep, brilliant orange, did Sun Luguo finally remove it from the furnace.

The metal glowed intensely, radiating heat that Kyrian could feel from several meters away. A faint trail of smoke rose from its surface, the evaporation of residual impurities.

Without wasting any time, Sun Luguo placed the ingot onto the massive anvil. The contact produced a low hiss as the hot metal met the cooler surface.

Then he picked up a hammer. It was a heavy hammer, with a massive head and a short, thick handle.

The old man took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the hot air of the workshop. His body relaxed, his shoulders loosened, and his posture became completely natural.

And then...

’CLANG!’

The first strike echoed throughout the workshop, a sound that vibrated through the walls and seemed to shake the very air.

Sparks flew in every direction, tiny particles of incandescent metal that shone for a brief moment before fading away.

Kyrian narrowed his eyes, his special vision capturing every detail of the impact.

The strike did not merely flatten the metal. Something far more interesting happened.

The tiny impurities that had once been scattered throughout the ingot began to move. Like dust pushed by an invisible current, they slowly migrated toward the surface, driven by the shockwave traveling through the metal.

Sun Luguo struck again.

’CLANG!’

Then once more.

’CLANG!’

The blows carried an almost hypnotic rhythm. None was stronger than the last. None was weaker. They seemed to be part of a single continuous sequence, a song of metal and fire.

The old man slowly rotated the metal between strikes, changing its angle and exposing different faces to the hammer.

He observed it briefly after each blow, evaluating the result. Then he struck again, adjusting his strength and precision.

Kyrian remained completely focused, his eyes missing nothing.

’He’s not just shaping the sword...’

’He’s reorganizing the entire structure of the metal.’

With his special eyes, he could see what an ordinary blacksmith never could. With every impact, the internal lines of the iron changed.

The weak regions became denser, compressed by the force of the hammer. Air pockets disappeared, driven out by the pressure.

The impurities slowly migrated toward the surface, some literally being expelled by the impacts, while others simply burned away due to the intense heat.

It was like watching someone cultivate.

Except that instead of a human body, the target was the metal itself.

Kyrian lost all sense of time. The outside world ceased to exist. There was only the dance of the hammer, the glow of the metal, and the hypnotic rhythm of the strikes.

He simply watched. Learned. Memorized every detail.

Sun Luguo folded the metal, using the tongs to turn it over. He hammered it again, his blows landing on new areas. He folded it once more. Returned it to the furnace, heated it again. Brought it back to the anvil.

He repeated the entire process.

Not a single movement was wasted. Every gesture had a purpose, every adjustment was calculated. Even his breathing seemed to be part of the rhythm, inhaling as he raised the hammer, exhaling as it struck.

When he finally finished, about twenty minutes had passed, though Kyrian had no sense of time at all.

Resting upon the anvil was a simple sword. Without any spiritual inscriptions. Without any extraordinary glow. Just metal shaped by the hands of a master.

Even so... it was beautiful.

The blade was perfectly straight, without curves or ripples. Its edge was perfectly even, reflecting a continuous line of light. Its balance seemed flawless; Kyrian could tell how evenly the weight was distributed throughout the weapon.

Sun Luguo held the sword up before Kyrian, raising it like a trophy.

"This..." he said calmly, his voice gentle.

"...is nothing more than an ordinary weapon."

He paused briefly, his eyes sweeping across the blade with pride.

"But even an ordinary weapon can be exceptional."

He handed the sword to his disciple.

Kyrian accepted it with both hands, feeling its weight. It was surprisingly light, yet not fragile. There was a solidity to it, a sense of durability.

He gently ran his fingers along the blade, feeling its smoothness. His reflection appeared perfectly upon the polished steel, every detail of his face visible on the gleaming surface.

Even without using Qi, he could feel the quality of the craftsmanship. Every hammer strike was visible within the metal’s internal structure, and every temperature adjustment was reflected in the blade’s perfect uniformity.

It was a weapon made to last for many years. It was not the most beautiful, nor the most powerful, but it was solid, reliable, and masterfully crafted.