Chapter 112: Chapter 112: Workshop
"You are..." George tried to find any semblance of Siderius inside his memory but there were none.
Siderius pulled his scarf down to reveal his face. George recognized him immediately.
"Snow?!" George blurted out. He covered his mouth quickly and looked around.
They were both escaped prisoners. It wasn’t a good idea to blurt out their name in broad daylight.
"Apologies..." George said, now with a lower tone, almost to a whisper.
"No worries, George. You seem to be settling in the new place quite well."
Siderius entered the shop. There were swords placed everywhere on the wall with all shapes and sizes. Short sword, long sword, even the rare great sword for crowd control.
Along them were shields, armor and even rare weapons like the morningstar and flail.
"Finn is an old friend of mine. It’s lucky that he didn’t chase me away when I came here. He has every reason to do so." George said.
The blacksmith observed Siderius closely. He had a hard time to believe the man in front of him was the boy that was almost hung under the gallows.
Snow was a handsome face with little else to offer. But standing in front of George was a man. A man of battle hardened and strength.
The oversized hunter uniform had fitted much better thanks to the growth that Siderius had experienced for the last four weeks. It looked less baggy and only seemed to be a little bit loose. His muscles filled the frame nicely.
Siderius’ aura had also settled inside this body. It had lost its innocence and gained a level of hidden intimidation.
Not only that, each movement of Siderius was strong and stable, like a rooted tree that was hard to be flipped over. The Horse Stance had increased his center balance and footwork a lot.
George had seen a lot of warriors throughout his years. Siderius gave him a dangerous feeling like all of them.
Maybe even more. He almost seemed like a witch.
Siderius noticed the changes in George’s eyes. He silently contemplated this man’s intuition.
"You owe me, remember?" Siderius said.
"I remember. I am alive now thanks to you. What do you want me to do?"
"I need a sword."
"Pick any you like. I’ll tell Finn to deduct it into my salary." George pointed at the swords on the racket.
"Not these swords."
Siderius shook his head. He carefully traced his finger on the edge of a sword. The steel was brittle, dull and barely holding itself together.
It was a bad sword. Similar to all the swords in this workshop.
"I need you to help me forge a sword. A sword with a special kind of steel."
"What are you talking about?"
Siderius smirked. "I visited your house while you’re gone, George. I saw your notes and schematics. You want to make Petrinium Steel, huh?"
George jerked back. He was surprised. He didn’t think Siderius would dare to enter Mucktown and even come inside his house to see his schematics.
George shared a bitter smile.
"I know what you’re thinking. You want me to make you a Petrinium Sword.
But I can’t do it, Snow. I do not know how to make Petrinium."
"Who said I want you to make Petrinium?"
"Then what do you want me to do?" George’s brow furrowed.
"Another kind of steel. One that will put all of these poor steelworks to shame."
Siderius picked up a sword and admired it. "Even with your limited technology, the blacksmith here did well."
George lingered on the word ’here’. His ears perked up with interest.
"Where have you seen better?"
"That I cannot tell you.
Let us be honest with each other, George. I’ve changed, as you can very well see. We all change in life. The truth is we would never be the same people as who we were yesterday.
We cannot stop the change or fight against it. We can, however, dictate what we can change into."
Siderius circled around George like a predator assessing its prey.
"What are you trying to say, Snow?" George felt danger emanating from Siderius. He instinctively clenched the hammer in his hand.
"What do you most desire in life, George the blacksmith?" Siderius stopped and faced George head on.
The blacksmith squinted his eyes. Then his gaze glanced over to the objects being exhibited in this workshop. They had a lot of sweat and tears poured into it. But still, they were inferior.
They lacked aspects to be truly great. Or rather, George lacked the knowledge to make them great.
"As a blacksmith. My desire is one thing.
It was a childhood dream of mine to create a legendary weapon. A weapon that the name of it would roam this land like thunder. A weapon that would hold the heart of a warrior better than any woman.
But that was a child’s dream. Life happened, Snow. I needed to live and to get by. In time, I forgot about it."
"Then what happened?"
"I woke up in the middle of the night. I remembered the Petrinium Sword I once saw. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
So I tried again. Even though I knew that it was too late. That it was pointless."
Siderius took out a piece of paper and handed it to George. It was his notes.
George shared a bitter smile. "Thank you for bringing it here."
Then he crumbled the piece of paper and threw it away. "But as I said. It was pointless. When I actually tried to make the Petrinium steal, I realized how hard it would be.
I have no way to create it. Not even a faintest clue."
Siderius stood beside George, looking out onto the open field.
"And what if I say to you, I can help you make your dream come true?"
"Then I would ask. Are you a demon that comes for my soul?"
Siderius grinned.
"Everything has a price, my dear George. You are one of the very few to understand that grave fact.
I am the demon that has bestowed upon you. I ask not for your soul. But for your loyalty. An undying never-ending loyalty to me, to us, and to our guild."
The hair on George’s body spiked up. Then he heard Siderius’ whisper.
"In exchange, I can make you the best blacksmith in this entire world. The only man that can forge swords that you can only see in fables.
I will show you wonders that you can never imagine. I will show you how steel cries, how flame rages, and how a weapon of unimaginable power is made.
Don’t you want that... My dear George..."
Siderius’ words pierced into the blacksmith’s heart. He slumped down a chair with his chest heaving.
"Who are you?" George the Blacksmith asked.
"I. Am. Snow."