Chapter 36: The Kobold Blacksmith

On one side of the lord’s manor, the burly, bald Valery was leading a few men in constructing a furnace against the outer wall. The furnace stood tall, nearly three meters high, resembling an oversized water jug.

Ulyan, Ruthef, and several other leaders hovered nearby, pointing and gesturing with excitement. Leo walked over, studying the odd contraption before him, and asked, “What is this thing?”

“That’s a blast furnace—never seen one, have you?” Ulyan replied with pride, seizing the opportunity to give the younger man a little lesson. “It’s a great thing. Valery served five years as a blacksmith’s apprentice when he was young, so he’s half a blacksmith at least. If this furnace works, we’ll be able to smelt the kobolds’ iron ore into ingots ourselves!”

Leo grew excited as well. In Isenpol, a proper pig iron ingot was worth more than five times the same weight in raw ore. If this furnace worked, they could triple their profits simply by refining the kobolds’ ore.

But that was if it worked. Leo didn’t have much faith in a furnace built by a blacksmith’s apprentice. His skepticism was clear: “Five years and still only an apprentice?”

Ulyan and the others let out a derisive laugh, ignoring Leo’s naivety. Being a blacksmith was no simple matter in the North; it was a prestigious trade, its techniques and recipes closely guarded secrets. A rural lad like Valery might spend a lifetime at the forge and never rise above apprentice if the master kept his secrets.

Valery had spent three years as a bellows boy, chopping wood, burning charcoal, hauling water, and cooking, before he was finally allowed to swing the hammer. After five years, he could smelt iron on his own, but when it came to forging, the master had taught him nothing—he’d learned only by watching and experimenting in secret.

There were always five or six apprentices like him in a smithy, and those who stuck around eventually picked up enough skill to make simple tools or drive nails. But to inherit the true craft, you practically had to be the master’s son.

In his sixth year, the old blacksmith was summoned by the lord to forge weapons and armor for the army—a great honor, but Valery was left behind. Versatile as he was, Valery turned to carpentry and masonry, picking up enough skills to become the most capable craftsman in the village. The reason a group of simple villagers could construct a manor of several hundred square meters was largely thanks to him.

Leo and the others crowded around the primitive blast furnace, their interest piqued, but none could offer any constructive suggestions.

When it came to the varieties and history of ironmaking, Leo could talk circles around the villagers, leaving them dazed, but when it came to specifics, he found himself at a loss.

As they watched, Leo suddenly said, “Don’t the kobolds have blacksmiths? Why not bring one over, exchange some experience, learn from each other? Maybe we won’t have to buy farm tools anymore—we’ll just make our own.”

Ulyan clapped his hands. “Excellent idea! So why aren’t you off already?”

“Why me?” Leo protested.

“Who else? You’re the one who knows the kobolds best, and they respect you. They won’t listen to me.”

“Didn’t you say last time that if you waited outside the latrine three times, you could invite their strategist over? Why can’t you do the same with their blacksmith?” Leo frowned, baffled at the accusation.

Urged on by Ulyan and the others, Leo grudgingly set out. As he neared the oak grove, Freya, who was digging a canal, tossed aside her work and insisted on coming along for fun.

The kobold valley wasn’t far, and the constant traffic of ore porters had worn a clear path up the hillside, leading straight to Riverbend Camp.

The kobolds spotted Leo and Freya from afar, barking in alarm. Some ran back to the valley to give warning, others brandished their weapons, trying to drive off the intruders.

But as Leo and Freya drew closer, the kobold sentries hastily hid their weapons behind their backs, shrinking away like a group of guilty schoolchildren.

Within the valley, the old and weak among the kobolds cowered in terror at the sight of the massive groundhog. Some even grabbed their heads and fled.

The giant beast had finally come to devour the kobolds!

Freya found it all amusing, standing tall and waving her arms to scare the nearby kobolds as they went.

Leo was thoroughly pleased with the effect. A show of force could better ensure peace and discourage any foolish ideas.

He also noticed that many kobolds now sported improved equipment. After several clashes with Riverbend Camp, the kobold tribe’s warriors had been greatly reduced; now the main force consisted of leaner adult kobolds.

These adults carried small shields made of bark or wooden planks, short spears or iron picks in one hand, and pouches at their waists filled with egg-sized stones. A few even carried three or four short spears on their backs.

Nearly every kobold now wielded a sling.

They were, in essence, a ragtag version of the Riverbend militia. Though frightened by Freya and unwilling to approach, they instinctively clustered together in a defensive shield wall.

Previously, the kobolds had strength in numbers but no discipline—they’d scatter at a single blow, even to an outsider like Leo. But now, under Fissa’s leadership, things had changed. That silly-looking husky had barely taken charge and already whipped the tribe into shape, maxing out her internal affairs skills.

By the time Leo and Freya entered the valley, Fissa had already rushed over, alerted by her scouts. She was well acquainted with Leo and Freya, often visiting Riverbend Camp, and greeted them calmly, without a hint of anxiety.

To her tribesmen, however, this was astounding—their new chief was bold and fearless, truly formidable.

Once Leo explained his intentions, Fissa nodded readily. “You may take one of our blacksmiths.”

Unlike the other kobolds, who treated their primitive ironmaking as a sacred mystery, Fissa found it all rather simple and not worth hiding.

She led Leo and Freya deeper into the valley to the kobolds’ smelting furnaces. Unlike the human version, the kobold furnaces were small, squat earthen mounds less than a meter high. Half of them were still smoking, with kobolds manning the bellows.

One cooled furnace had been opened up, and two young kobolds, blackened by charcoal dust, crawled inside, searching for the iron. They retrieved tiny grains of iron like sand, which were then collected in clay jars. Once enough had been gathered, they would be reheated to form spongy iron lumps.

Beside the furnaces, four robust kobolds worked at two anvils, hammering the red-hot spongy iron into the desired shapes. An elderly kobold, wearing a circlet of woven grass and a cloak of feathers and leaves, sang and danced nearby, offering prayers for the forge.

Leo felt as though he had been transported back to a primitive age.

Fissa spoke: “Our blacksmith, you may take one.”

To her, these basic ironmaking techniques were nothing special—simple skills with no need for secrecy.