Chapter Nineteen: Mission Accomplished

The term "Primal Fire" was a particularly sensitive topic in the small branch of the Divine Armory Pavilion in Flame Town.

“Honored customer, may I ask your esteemed name and where you hail from?” the shopkeeper inquired, a glint of cunning flickering in his eyes.

“Don’t ask what you shouldn’t know—just take care of your own life,” Chen Bo replied coldly. He understood well enough what scheme the shopkeeper was plotting, but as they had no acquaintance, why should he bother entertaining him?

“Ahem, then, dear customer, do you only require Primal Fire? Would you need any other forging materials? Though our humble shop is small, we do have a good selection,” the shopkeeper said, a shade embarrassed at having his intentions laid bare, but he quickly covered it up, as if nothing had happened at all.

That performance was truly remarkable—almost enough to rival Chen Bo himself.

“I only want Primal Fire. Do you have any?” Chen Bo asked.

“Yes, yes! Only, the price is a little high,” the shopkeeper replied, rubbing his hands together.

“How much?” Chen Bo frowned. If he couldn’t afford it, he’d be doomed—the mere thought of punishment for failing his task was terrifying.

The shopkeeper held up two fingers, chubby as little carrots, and said with a broad smile, “One portion of early third-grade Primal Fire for a single low-grade Primal Stone. That’s a fair price, wouldn’t you say?”

Chen Bo secretly breathed a sigh of relief at the price—thankfully it was still within his means. He had two low-grade Primal Stones, enough for two portions of early third-grade Primal Fire.

One portion could forge a weapon once; two portions would allow for two attempts.

He took out the two stones. “I’ll take two portions of early third-grade Primal Fire. Here are the stones.”

The shopkeeper was momentarily stunned, then sneered inwardly. Anyone wanting to forge a weapon—even a skilled forgemaster—usually failed two or three times. With only enough Primal Fire for two tries, Chen Bo was either dirt poor, or a truly formidable forgemaster.

But clearly, even though Chen Bo had deliberately lowered his voice, the shrewd shopkeeper could tell he wasn’t very old. How could a young forgemaster be that accomplished? Only prodigies could achieve such skill, and what prodigy would come to a backwater like Flame Town?

So, in the shopkeeper’s mind, Chen Bo was now labeled: poor, very poor, desperately poor.

He summoned a servant to bring over two portions of Primal Fire. When they arrived, he collected Chen Bo’s stones, handed over the Primal Fire, and offered a few polite words.

Chen Bo ignored him. The two portions of Primal Fire were stored in bottles resembling crystal, warm to the touch. Inside, the orange flames burned fiercely, radiating intense heat.

Once he had secured the Primal Fire, Chen Bo left. He wandered around Flame Town for most of the day, ensuring he wasn’t being followed before removing his conical hat and black robe and returning to the Chen estate.

The forging chamber at the Chen residence was in a remote corner, seldom visited by anyone—hence, Chen Bo had the nerve to come here in broad daylight.

No forgemasters had come to Flame Town for years, and the forging chamber had lain abandoned just as long. The moment he opened the door, a wave of musty stench assailed his nose, forcing him to retreat, hand over his face. The smell was truly revolting.

He had no choice but to spend time cleaning the place up—the dust he swept together formed a small mound, a testament to how filthy it was.

The forging chamber was fairly spacious and well-ventilated. A large furnace dominated the center, while a heap of metal blocks, all materials for forging, was piled to the left.

Chen Bo selected some metal blocks and placed them on the stone platform of the furnace. Then he took out a portion of Primal Fire, uncorked the bottle, and silently chanted an incantation to control the flame.

He set the Primal Fire inside the furnace. With a muffled boom, the entire forging chamber was bathed in a yellow glow.

Following the steps in the Forgemaster’s Manual, Chen Bo began forging a longsword. For the design, he drew inspiration from the bronze swords of Earth—they were, after all, quite handsome. In these times, even weapons had to look good.

Before long, he was drenched in sweat, swinging a massive hammer with rhythmic clangs. Sparks flew everywhere in a spectacular display. He had long since shed his upper garment, revealing a body with defined muscles.

“Who would have thought that a theater student like me would one day become a blacksmith?” Chen Bo shook his head. “If I keep this up, sooner or later I’ll turn into a muscle-bound action star.”

Though he jested, he worked with utmost seriousness. Forging might look rough and simple, as if it were nothing more than swinging a hammer at random, but that was utter nonsense.

Leaving aside the precise proportions of materials, just wielding the hammer involved great skill.

Each strike had to maintain a strict rhythm. If he struck once every three seconds, he needed to keep precisely to that interval—no more, no less. Otherwise, the forging would fail; worse yet, the furnace could explode, and the Primal Fire could injure him.

The force of each blow also needed careful control. If not for the knowledge instilled in him by the Forgemaster’s Manual, Chen Bo might have spent years just learning to swing the hammer properly.

“Whew... whew. Dear viewers, especially the younger ones—never try this at home. It’s not just dangerous; swinging this hammer alone nearly did me in. Also, the hammer is way too heavy—at least a hundred pounds,” Chen Bo said, panting, but his hands never slowed, maintaining a steady rhythm. The sound of metal striking metal wove a unique song, though none could decipher its melody.

“Does the host need me to mail over a bottle of Sprite?”

“Big tip! 333 gold coins! They say Sprite is icy-cool and lifts your spirits!”

“Are you really going to tempt the host like that? But honestly, those muscle lines are beautiful. What am I going to do—I’m melting here.”

“Don’t worry, miss. I’ve got a big sniper right here.”

“Speaking of Sprite, I’m annoyed. That commercial shows someone getting doused with cold water after drinking it. I’ve had a whole crate and haven’t seen a single drop—total scam!”

“I feel like I’ve heard that joke somewhere before.”

“I think eating popsicles is better for cooling off. I read that carbonated drinks kill sperm—I don’t dare drink them.”

Reading the barrage of mischievous comments, Chen Bo could only laugh bitterly. He’d just have to accept his fate with this crowd of oddball viewers.

He had no idea how much time passed before he was utterly exhausted. Next came the quenching and other finishing steps. After wasting several buckets of water, he finally forged the first weapon of his life!

Though, the shape looked stranger the more he examined it—the handle was too long, the blade seemed a bit bent, and one edge had even chipped during grinding. If not for the fact that it was clearly brand new, anyone would have taken it for a piece of scrap abandoned for years.

“Side quest complete! Reward: One early-stage Treasure-grade longsword, already placed in the system inventory.”