What do you mean I'm a cultivator?-Chapter 33

Jiang Cheng ignored the gaze drilling into his back. If Liu Wei wanted to copy him again, he wouldn’t stop him, but he wasn’t about to let himself be distracted. With the mission officially registered, he had twenty-four hours to set off. That meant gathering supplies, checking his map, and making sure he was fully prepared.

After all, while this wasn’t a dangerous mission, it still required him to leave the sect grounds, and he wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate the dangers of the outside world. Bandits, wild beasts, rogue cultivators. Plenty of things could turn a simple task into a disaster.

The massive stone steps descended from the mountain plateau once again, connecting the sect to the mortal world below. Each step had been worn smooth by the countless disciples who had tread this path over the sect's long history.

Cheng approached a modest pavilion built into the mountain wall beside the staircase. once more, he had permission to enter, and arm himself with supplies.

The pavilion's wooden doors creaked open, releasing the familiar scent of metal, leather, and dust. Just as it had the first time Jiang Cheng set foot inside.

Cheng stepped inside, His eyes running over everything inside. From mortal grade Iron swords in barrels, to Spears and poles leaning against the walls in untidy clusters.

Cloth packs, waterskins, and coils of rope hung from hooks along the walls. Everything was functional. But now ,they felt even worse, Thanks to his trained eyes, each and every item felt worn. It was like he could feel the wear and tear on each item.

Just as he had figured out, Nothing a cultivator learns is useless. One would think learning how to craft, would not mesh well with other tasks like identifying if something was of shoddy craftsmanship. But thanks to Qi, it did. And it meshed very well.

At the back of the pavilion sat behind the old wooden desk, the old man was there again.

Jiang Cheng sensed the steady, powerful flow of Qi within him.

This time, he could sense the difference between him and this elder clearer. At least two stages above him. It was clear. It wasn't like he was making a educated guess. He could roughly feel that to be the case. The density of the Qi. His hidden presence. Everything had a small sign to his eyes now.

Jiang Cheng approached respectfully, stopping and clasping his hands.

"Elder, disciple Jiang Cheng requests supplies for a sect mission."

"Mission slip." The elder spoke, eyes opening, his gaze on Cheng. After a moment, he held out a calloused hand.

Jiang grabbed the jade slip under his inner robe, placing it on the elder's palm. The elder pressed it between his fingers, and the slip glowed briefly as he extracted its information.

"Take what you need." The elder's voice was laced with a bored tone. He did not care one bit about this mission, making it clear that this time there was no dialogue to be had.

"Disciples understands, Elder." Cheng spoke, cupping his hands and going his merry way.

He approached the sword rack, and closed his eyes for e second, remembering his teachings.

He imbued Qi in his eyes, and saw each sword. Instantly, two thirds were of really bad quality.

Among the rest of them, some had decent craftsmanship. Clearly these swords were purchased in bulk from a market of some kind, as all of them were not swords had had dedication put into their forging.

Then, he picked one up. He felt it's weight. he let his Qi flow in it, feeling it's structure. A crack on its' wooden handle. A chip on the blade's edge, almost imperceptible to the naked eye. A fracture running down the inside of the blade, likely from some kind of blow to a hard material.

It would not last more than a year or two, with such usage.

He went through all of the swords, but this time, he found no suitable one. Sure, some fit his hand well, But he liked none. All had a issue or two. Whether that be a chip, a crack ,or structural damage.

Seems like he'd have to dirty his hands. Not that Cheng minded. Quite the opposite in fact. The person he trusted most, was himself.

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Jiang Cheng exhaled slowly, setting the last sword back onto the rack.

None of them were satisfactory. Shame. But not really.

With his mind made up, he turned away from the supply racks and made his way toward the weapon shed.

Master Liu was already working on a wooden spear when Cheng entered. The elderly craftsman stood before the table, his hands expertly shaping the broken wood, mending it with his Qi, the almost effortless manipulation betraying the years he had spent here.

"Master Liu." he greeted, cupping his hands.

The old man turned, wiping his oil covered hands on his apron. His sharp eyes flickered over Jiang with an assessing glance. "Back so soon? What do you want this time, boy?"

Jiang got straight to the point. "I need a sword."

Master Liu snorted. "Plenty of swords in the Outer pavilion. Pick one and be on your way."

Jiang shook his head. "I checked. None of them are good enough."

That made the old smith pause. He narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?"

Jiang nodded. "Chips. Cracks. Fractures in the metal. They wouldn't last long. I’d rather make my own."

A slow smirk tugged at Master Liu’s lips. "You’re finally thinking like a true craftsman."

Technically, Cheng wouldn't be able to have a weapon on his own. But, If he created one alongside Master Liu, he'd be able to store it there, not fearing a fellow disciple breaking in his cabin when he would be somewhere else.

That was why the knife Master Liu had gifted him, the beautiful piece made out of chromatic iron, was stored here. No disciple would be stupid enough to steal from a elder's home.

Master Liu turned away, moving toward a storage chest at the side of the shed. Flipping open the lid, he rummaged for a moment before pulling out a solid ingot of dark gray metal. It gleamed faintly even in the dim light.

Cheng took a deep breath, as the ingot fell on his hands.

Spirit Iron.

This was no ordinary mortal metal. Spirit Iron naturally absorbed Qi, when deep down in the depths of the earth making it far more durable than common steel. It was the foundation for all proper cultivator weapons. Even a blade forged from low-quality Spirit Iron would outlast any weapon in the outer pavilion.

Spirit iron was the most common material to create weapons in the Qi condensation realm, thanks to its' plentiful amounts.

"You’ve been pestering me for months about forging theory," the old smith said. "Now’s your chance to prove you've learned something. Let’s see if you can make something worth wielding."

Jiang bowed deeply. "I won’t disappoint you, Master Liu."

The old man just grunted. "Get to work, then."

Jiang wasted no time.

He set the ingot in the forge, pumping the bellows to stoke the flames. The heat intensified, the orange glow deepening to a brilliant yellow as the Spirit Iron absorbed the heat.

Master Liu stood nearby, arms crossed, observing silently.

Technically, A forge wasn't needed here, But Master Liu had used up some of his contribution points to install one here. And the sect had no problem doing such. To the jealous few that fucked Master Liu over, Him having a forge meant nothing. After all, his cultivation had been wrecked.

Once the metal was hot enough, Jiang used the tongs to pull it from the fire and laid it on the anvil. He took up the hammer, gripping it tightly.

Then, he began.

The first strike rang out, sending a deep vibration through the metal. He adjusted his stance, finding the rhythm, each strike deliberate. Too weak, and the metal wouldn’t shape properly. Too strong, and it might crack under the force.

Steady. Precise. Focused.

Time blurred as Jiang worked. Sweat dripped down his brow, his muscles burned, but he ignored it. The metal slowly took form under his hands, shaping into a blade.

All the while, His Qi was flowing into the metal. From his dantian, to his body. From his body, the the hammer. And from it, to the metal.

Each blow costed him some Qi. But it was worth it. The metal Absorbed his Qi, As he willed it to change.

Jiang Cheng was not a mortal blacksmith, Content with hammering till the metal eventually changed.

He was a cultivator. And through his Qi, his will, He molded the metal to the image he had in his mind.

Reheat. Hammer. Quench. Repeat.

The repetitive cycle was meditative, his mind narrowing to the single task before him.

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The Spirit Iron resisted at first, stubborn in its nature. But Cheng was nothing but patient. He understood the process. And as the hours passed, the blade took shape. A single edged sword, light yet sturdy, with a strong, balanced core.

Finally, he stepped back, exhaling a deep breath. The rough forging was done.

Master Liu stepped forward, running his calloused fingers over the blade’s surface.

"Hmph. Not bad." he muttered, though his eyes gleamed with approval. "Needs refining. Quenching process must be perfect, or it’ll be brittle.

But I suppose your will was satisfactory. Fell the blade. It's form has been Changed by you."

Jiang Cheng nodded at his master, and placed his hand on the metal, Feeling it's warmth. If he was a mortal, the still hot material would likely burn his hand off, even if it wasn't that hot now that the blazing furnace was not heating it up.

But he was a cultivator. And so, he closed his eyes. He felt the blade. The warmth of the heat remaining. He flooded his Qi in it. He felt it's structure. Not perfect. But no clear faults either.

He carefully heated the blade once more before plunging it into an oil bath. The room filled with steam as the metal hissed and cooled. When it emerged, the surface was smooth, hardened, and darkened slightly from the process.

The next steps were meticulous. Polishing, sharpening, reinforcing the hilt.

By the time he finished, dawn was breaking.

Jiang held the sword in his hands, testing its balance. The weight felt right on his hands. The edge gleamed with a sharpness that could cut through anything with ease.

Master Liu took one last look, nodding in satisfaction.

"You’ve done well," he said simply. Though his gaze was locked on Jiang Cheng, rather than the blade. His weathered eyes saw a rare image that day.

The image of a young man, His silver eyes blazing, holding his Sword, With a focus perhaps sharper than the edge of his creation.