Chapter 63: If Heaven Had Not Birthed Me, the Kobold, the Craft of Artisans Would Remain in Eternal Darkness!

In the past, kobold blacksmiths were straightforward: ask them to forge an iron spearhead, and they would make an iron spearhead; ask for an iron pickaxe head, and that’s exactly what you’d get—never anything more, never anything less.

Now, things had changed. A kobold blacksmith would suddenly point at a human apprentice’s forged tool and bark, “This won’t do. Keep hammering!” “You idiot! Woof woof woof!” Valery scrutinized the pickaxe made by the apprentice, turning it over in his hands, unable to spot any obvious flaw. The kobold blacksmith snatched it away, slammed it hard against the anvil. Sparks flew, and the tip snapped clean off in response. With iron of this quality, never mind mining—mere land clearing would wear it out in days.

“The smell is wrong!” Nearby kobold blacksmiths sniffed the air from a distance, nodded in agreement, and began barking. “Too brittle! Temper! Temper! Woof woof woof!” “Keep hammering, woof woof woof!” “Humans, idiots, woof woof woof!” As the smithy erupted in a chorus of barking, Valery sensed a pivotal shift. He didn’t act on his own, but immediately summoned Ulyan and Leo.

Watching the kobold blacksmiths sort through a pile of iron tools, plucking out those that, despite identical appearance, failed to meet the standard, the men stood dumbfounded. One particularly fine spearhead was selected, but its flaw was elusive. Two kobolds came over, sniffed it, then one suddenly twisted it with force. The spearhead bent easily, turning into a hook. “Too soft! Over-hammered! Woof woof woof!”

“So, you judge iron by scent?” Leo asked, incredulous. “Woof woof woof!” After a difficult exchange, Leo and the others finally understood why Fisha could train so many kobold blacksmiths in such a short time. Those unfamiliar with traditional forging often assumed it was just a matter of strength and relentless pounding. In truth, transforming an iron ingot into a tool or weapon by hand was a challenge beyond reckoning.

Selection, heating, forging, shaping, steel refining, quenching, tempering—each step took human apprentices at least a year to master, assuming their mentor was willing to teach. Marginal disciples like Valery might swing the sledgehammer alongside their master for years and still never get the chance to handle the core process.

But kobolds were uncanny. A sniff told them whether the iron needed another round in the furnace. A sniff revealed if the metal was too brittle or too soft, if it required further forging, quenching, or tempering. Then, relying on their ingrained experience, they could proceed with confidence. Once a kobold apprentice learned the basic process, ten or so repetitions of each tool sufficed to grasp the essentials, after which it was just a matter of following routine.

Human apprentices, lacking this miraculous sense of smell, relied on intuition honed through countless strikes, on eyesight and touch developed over years. Their starting line was three years behind the kobolds. To kobold blacksmiths, this seemed utterly foolish—humans simply weren’t suited for the trade.

When Fisha arrived at Riverbend, Leo recounted these discoveries and demanded to know why she hadn’t warned them beforehand. Fisha, half gloating, half feigning surprise, replied, “What? Humans? Can’t do it?” “Humans, so stupid, woof woof woof!”

It turned out kobolds possessed not only sharp noses, but equally extraordinary vision and hearing. They had night vision, able to spot rats in pitch-black tunnels, see beasts a hundred meters away under moonlight. Their hearing could catch the breath of a nearby mouse, pinpointing its location, or discern the low howls of distant wolves and interpret their messages. They could even sense a target’s emotion through the rhythm of its heartbeat and breathing. So, whether Leo lied, disliked, or spoke from the heart, Fisha saw through it all.

Most astonishing of all was the kobold’s sense of smell. They could gauge distance from a beast’s scent, evade danger, find food—basic survival skills. With training, they could sniff out ores, herbs, even disease. Seasoned kobold blacksmiths could detect the components within iron by scent and optimize accordingly.

Listening to Fisha’s descriptions, Leo’s eyes were opened at last.

In his previous life, though he didn’t keep pets, he enjoyed watching videos of animal companions—especially those sniffer dogs performing miracles in search and rescue. With only their noses, they could detect bombs, poisons, and even cancer. He often lamented that humans lacked such abilities.

And now, kobolds had appeared.

Perhaps this was why, despite being a vulnerable race, kobolds survived in the wild and never went extinct!

Feeling victorious, Fisha grew smug, selling out her own kind entirely. As she boasted on and on, Leo’s gaze drifted to the group of dopey kobold pups clustering around Olivia.

These young kobolds, tended by Olivia as carefully as Riverbend’s children, possessed digestive systems far superior to humans. Whatever they ate, they grew—rapidly. From just a few pounds at first, in little more than a month, they had reached several dozen pounds. Besides the food provided by Riverbend, they foraged for roots and insects, sometimes helping mice maintain the pond and snacking on fish and shrimp.

Their diet was richer than anything in the kobold valley.

Some of the older, early arrivals, growing fast, were nearly a meter tall, their fluffy milk fur replaced by sleek golden coats.

Raised by Olivia, fed two fine meals a day, bathed, brushed, and dressed, they looked worlds apart from their filthy, disheveled valley kin—each one a handsome specimen. Yet, spending so much time with the mice, they’d picked up her taciturn habits, seeking affection at Olivia’s side, idly fattening themselves, looking not particularly bright.

“So that’s how it is…” Leo’s smile grew sly.

After raising them so long, it was time they started working, to repay Riverbend’s care!

Seeing Leo’s predatory grin and striding toward her, Olivia seemed to sense instantly what he intended. “What are you doing?” She put down her work, gathered up seven or eight of the smallest kobold pups, cradling them protectively like a mother hen before the others.

These are my babies!