Once Raukor confirmed that Ludger truly controlled all four elements, the forging lessons changed immediately. No more silent observation, no more waiting on the sidelines—Raukor began treating Ludger like an auxiliary smith, a living elemental stabilizer meant to keep the metal disciplined while Raukor shaped it.

  It was exhausting. And precise. And exactly what Ludger needed.

  Whenever Raukor heated the froststeel to that critical, shimmering point, hot enough to soften the mana lattice yet not so hot that it collapsed, Ludger stepped in with air magic, swirling controlled currents to oxygenate the flames and fan them evenly across the metal’s surface. When the glow reached the ideal hue of pale-blue light, Raukor barked, “Enough,” and Ludger cut the airflow instantly to avoid overheating.

  When Raukor folded the metal and the froststeel threatened to fracture from internal mana tension, Ludger summoned water mana, pulling thin ribbons of moisture through the air to cool the blade uniformly. Too much water would crack the steel. Too little, and the mana would destabilize. He had to regulate the temperature by instinct, micro-corrections measured in heartbeats.

  At other times, Raukor demanded earth magic, having Ludger create tiny mana-grounding platforms under the anvil to keep the vibrations clean. Froststeel, it turned out, resonated differently depending on what the smith stood on. Ludger’s geomancy allowed Raukor to work with perfect feedback.

  And when Raukor needed to weld two froststeel layers without melting the mana structure? Fire magic. Controlled flames, thin as wires, guided around the seam—no more, no less.

  Despite Ludger’s involvement, despite Raukor being a perfectionist who rejected anything that wasn’t flawless, it still took three full days for the beastman to finally produce something he deemed “good enough.”

  But when he did, the weapon they created made Ludger stop and stare. The finished sword rested on a rack of black iron, gleaming with a pale ghostlight. It was a simple weapon by design, nothing ornate, nothing embellished, nothing showy. But simplicity had never looked so sharp.

  The blade was long and slightly curved, forged from froststeel layers so fine they shimmered like translucent ice sheets stacked on top of each other. The inner core glowed faintly, as though embers of frozen mana pulsed within. Tiny wisps of cold air drifted from the edge, curling outward in thin, misty trails. Not smoke, frost-wind, soft and chilling, brushing against Ludger’s skin like winter exhaling through steel.

  The fuller down the center was clean and perfectly symmetrical, narrowing the weight just enough to make the blade swift but steady. The guard was minimalist, just a slightly extended crosspiece shaped like twin shards of ice. The handle was wrapped in dark, treated hide that didn’t slip, even when coated in frost. And the pommel held a single circular froststeel cap, engraved with Raukor’s forging symbol: a stylized lion’s paw with four claws extended, each tip lined with tiny runic grooves.

  When Ludger touched the blade, cold wind drifted outward, spiraling around his arm in quiet, controlled currents. Not dangerous. Not unstable. Just… alive. A weapon that breathed winter.

  Raukor folded his massive arms behind him, eyes sharp, mane flicking once in pride. “It is simple,” he said. “But simple does not mean weak. This blade will hold its chill even in magma. And it will cut through mana shells like cloth.”

  Ludger nodded, impressed despite himself. A sword that exhaled winter. Three days of work, countless failures, and a mountain of discarded froststeel. But the result? Worth it.

  Once the blade was forged, Raukor did not celebrate, he went straight into the final phase. Polishing. Sharpening. Refining. It was the quietest stage of the entire process, but somehow the most meticulous. Raukor’s massive hands moved with slow precision as he lifted stones of different grit, each one enchanted, each one designed to smooth froststeel without dampening the mana inside. Ludger assisted where he could, guiding the airflow to carry away metal dust, controlling flame to warm the tempering stones evenly, using water mana to keep the blade cool enough that the frost-wind wouldn’t destabilize.

  The blade’s edge slowly grew sharper, cleaner, more defined. The cold mist that drifted from its surface became smoother, condensed into an elegant ribbon rather than wild gusts. Ludger watched the faint patterns inside the metal shift, lines of frozen mana aligning like veins of winter crystal. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. But it was undeniable: the sword was becoming something alive.

  The final step was the sharpening pass, Raukor’s steady hand guiding the blade across a rune-lined whetstone, and Ludger reinforcing the air currents to keep the frostwind flowing evenly along the edge.

  It happened during that moment. A faint shimmer touched the air, like a pulse passing through Ludger’s mana core, subtle but undeniable. His breath caught for half a second as golden script appeared at the corner of his vision. And the System spoke.

  [New Class Unlocked: Magic Blacksmith Lv. 1]

  Bonus per Level: +5 STR, +5 INT, +5 DEX

  Skill Acquired: [Repair Lv. 1]

  Allow the user to channel mana into a hammer, to restore and reinforce the structural integrity of damaged metal.

  Restores durability of weapons and armor.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Repair efficiency scales with Strength and Dexterity.

  Mana cost: 50 per minute

  The notification lingered for a moment, letting the weight of it settle in his mind before fading. Ludger exhaled slowly, feeling the shift inside his mana circuits, subtle but real. New pathways forming. Strength sharpening in ways that felt both familiar and new. Something about the Repair skill pulsed in his hand, almost instinctually calling him to shape mana into a tool’s handle, to reinforce an object’s structure with a single, precise tap.

  Raukor glanced at him, mane shifting slightly. “Your face changed. What happened?”

  Ludger didn’t hide it. He held out his hand, letting a thin layer of mana swirl around his palm, shaping itself into a faint outline of a hammer.

  “It is nothing.”

  Magic Blacksmith. A class that didn’t just forge metal, it forged mana and matter together. And the skill Repair felt intuitive, as though he’d been using it before without knowing the name. He could already picture dozens of applications, maintaining gear in the field, strengthening constructs, reinforcing weapons mid-battle.

  He looked down at the polished blade resting on the rack, frostwind curling from its edge in quiet spirals. Finally, a path forward. Forging would not slow him down anymore. It would push him further.

  Raukor studied the finished sword for another long moment, his amber eyes narrowing as if searching for any last-second imperfection. When he found none, he lifted the blade, turned it once so the frostwind drifted in a graceful arc, then held it out toward Ludger.

  “Take it,” Raukor said. “Give this to Torvares. A gift for his granddaughter’s birthday. I am in his territory, it is proper to show respect.”

  Ludger blinked, surprised but not disappointed. “Why not give it to her directly?”

  Raukor stiffened, his mane bristling slightly. Then he looked away and muttered, “…I do not want to.”

  As if that alone settled the matter. Ludger waited for elaboration. None came.

  Raukor was a beastman. A wandering blacksmith. A perfectionist who spent three days beating froststeel into submission. Fine, maybe “I don’t want to” truly was his final answer. In any case, Ludger had something else to test.

  He let a breath flow through his mana channels and summoned a hammer from the ground. The earth rose at his feet, forming a solid tool shaped exactly to his grip. The moment it solidified, mana surged along his arm, instinctively aligning with the new skill.

  [Repair] Mana rippled outward, cloaking the hammer in a thin, shimmering layer, almost like liquid light. Ludger could feel the intent woven into the skill: stabilize, reinforce, restore.

  He extended his left arm and tapped his forearm guards with the mana-coated hammer. The result was immediate. Where the metal had tiny scratches from fights, the mana flowed into the grooves and evened them out, smoothing the surface with microscopic precision. On the shin guards, the mana sank deeper, rebuilding the internal structure without changing the weight or balance.

  The impacts weren’t heavy, he didn’t need power. The Repair skill wasn’t about brute force. It was about mana commanding metal to remember its perfect shape, and the hammer acting as the channel to bring it back.

  A soft chime echoed in his mind.

  [Repair +30 XP]

  Not bad. Not cheap, either.

  Ludger exhaled, feeling the mana drain tug at his core. “This is… expensive.”

  Raukor huffed. “Magic worth using always is.”

  Ludger nodded. True enough. And repairing gear outside battlefields would be simple. Leveling the skill wouldn’t take long. He tapped the final scratch on his shin guard and watched it fade into a flawless sheen.

  A new class. A new skill. A forged sword that breathed winter. And a birthday gift that, hopefully, would not break Viola’s house in half. Progress.

  Raukor watched the last shimmer of mana fade from Ludger’s guards, his brows furrowing in a way that suggested confusion and reluctant admiration struggling for dominance. The beastman crossed his massive arms, eyeing Ludger as though trying to classify him into a category that clearly did not exist.

  “I did not teach you that,” Raukor said at last, voice low and firm. “I did not explain the logic. I only showed you the basics, the principle of stabilizing mana while shaping metal. Yet you understood the repair concept instantly. Too quickly. That is… abnormal.”

  Ludger shrugged, letting the earth-hammer crumble back into dust. “I’m a fast learner,” he said, tone matter-of-fact. “Ask anyone who’s tried to teach me anything.”

  Raukor blinked, expression unreadable behind the mane. It wasn’t disbelief, more the resigned acceptance of a craftsman realizing his student was ignoring several steps but still ending up ahead. Ludger didn’t push the subject. He wasn’t interested in impressing Raukor; he just needed to learn.

  He dusted his hands off and stepped toward the forge’s exit. “In any case, I should head home. If I take too long, my mother will come looking for me.”

  Raukor’s ears twitched at that, though he didn’t comment. Ludger continued, speaking half to Raukor and half to himself.

  “And I’ve got ten days left to figure out a proper gift for Viola. I’d better take it seriously before she holds a grudge over me for giving her something weird.”

  The thought of Viola narrowing her eyes at a strange gift, or worse, smiling politely while plotting a sparring-session revenge, made Ludger sigh. He respected her. She wasn’t the type to whine about presents… but she was absolutely the type to remember everything for later. Especially if it was embarrassing.

  A mountain-destroying sword probably wasn’t the best move. Neither was whatever absurd idea his brain would come up with at the last minute.

  He really did need to think. Ludger glanced back once at Raukor, who was already grabbing another block of froststeel, clearly preparing for another perfectionist marathon.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Raukor nodded once. “Do not come late. The ore will not wait.”

  Ludger smirked faintly. “Neither will my mother.”

  With that, he stepped out into the cold Lionfang air, the frostwind rolling past him as he headed home, thinking about forging, training, beastmen politics, and, unfortunately, birthday gifts.

  Ten days. It was going to be a long ten days.