Using the bellows, I stoked the fire to raise the temperature even higher, hot enough to heat the iron. When the metal had reached the perfect temperature, I took it out and began to strike it with the hammer. At that moment, I realized how much muscle you needed as a blacksmith.
“I get it now,” I said with a grin on my face. Sparks leaped into the air from the force of my strikes as I shaped the iron. It was exactly like how it was depicted in the videos I’d used to watch in my previous life. What a thrill to experience it for myself! I was aiming for the shape of a Japanese sword, but I wouldn’t try to make it quite as delicate. When the iron was roughly the correct shape, I left it to cool while I ate lunch.
As Samya and I ate, I asked her if there were any cities nearby. She told me there was one that was a quarter of a day’s journey away, though she rarely left the forest herself. A round trip was technically doable in one day but would be no walk in the park.
After lunch, I forced Samya back to bed for more rest and returned to work. By the time I got back, the fire had died down and cooled significantly. I fed it more charcoal to raise the temperature again, which was something I still had to do manually.
By now, I was at the tail end of the forging process. Japanese swordsmiths traditionally worked at night so they could pinpoint the exact temperature of the fire by its color. However, since my smithing skills were cheats, I could discern the temperature even when it was still bright outside. Once the blade had heated to the right temperature, I went to quench it in cold water to harden the metal. For my first time around, I wanted the edge and back of the blade to harden evenly, so I didn’t coat any parts of it with clay like I would’ve for selective quenching.
When I plunged the knife into the water, a loud hiss filled the room. It was similar to the sound produced by a hot skillet being submerged in water, but several times louder. I could feel the knife cooling in my hand, and after a while, I lifted it back out. A light vapor coiled around the metal. For the finishing touch, I sharpened the blade on a whetstone.
My workshop’s inaugural item was now complete. I hadn’t planned to use it for anything specific, so I hadn’t made a hilt with a guard and I’d left the grip untempered. I would have to wrap it with cord before using it, but the important thing was that I’d finished it.
Next, I wanted to test the sharpness of the blade. Even though I didn’t have a specific use for it, I still wanted to make sure that it cut through things—that was the whole point of a knife after all. I grabbed a log as a makeshift counter and set a bundle of straw on top of it.
I slashed the knife down toward it.
The straw bundle split apart...along with the log.
Huh?! What the hell just happened?
The knife I’d made as a test sliced all the way through a log?! That was a little...no, very hard to accept. It was my first knife! Sure, my skills came from a cheat, and admittedly, I’d put in extra effort for my first project, but even so, this outcome was hard to swallow. The knife seemed almost like a magical item. In fact, it was probably too sharp; it could really hurt someone.
What if it wasn’t my knife-making skills but my knife-wielding skills that were top-notch?
I had to experiment to find out.
I retrieved the knife I’d used to cut Samya’s clothing yesterday and tested it on the same straw-and-log setup. That blade made a clean cut through the straw, but the log was undamaged. My new body did seem to possess some degree of swordsmanship—or should I say knifesmanship?—but this was proof that the knife I’d crafted really was of a different caliber.
Back on Earth, we would call this situation “using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.” No one in their right mind was going to buy a knife that would slice through the cutting board along with their meat. However, the knife had potential as a weapon. Normal knives were only effective against an opponent without any armor—most couldn’t even cut through leather. My knife would have no problem against leather, though metal might be enough to stop it.
Anyway, I hadn’t been planning to sell this knife. It had turned out better than I’d anticipated, but I’d made it as a trial product and it was on the smaller side. I decided to keep it for self-defense.
I made a scabbard for the knife out of the log I’d accidentally split. I cut two planks from the log, which were about the thickness of the knife and slightly larger in shape. I carved out the centers, glued the two sides together, and fitted a leather piece over the mouth. It was a simple sheath, but now I could carry the knife around with me.
Onto the next experiment—my goal was to test and see if everything I made would be this high quality. Please let the answer be no.
I decided to make three knives slightly larger than the one I’d just finished, about the size of a survival knife. However, I would put in different amounts of effort. The first I’d make with the same effort as my other knife; on the second, I’d cut some corners; for the third, I’d slack off completely. I grabbed three sheets of metal, lit the furnace, and set to work.