Chapter 4
As he ran straight to the smithy, the sight of laborers working and running all over the place since morning unfolded before his eyes. Riftan was puzzled at the sight. Perhaps it's because of his mood that the smithy seemed busier than usual.
"Finally, you're showing up!"
As he entered the smithy, a blacksmith hammering loudly commented with a booming voice. He scrutinized him from head to toe, making Riftan feel uncomfortable.
"You're not ill, you look fine."
"...It was just this morning that I finally woke up."
The blacksmith laughed out loud.
"Are you saying I should get another fool to use and discard you instead?"
Riftan swallowed the urge to retaliate which is building up in his throat. He did recover from his illness, but it was just this morning that he was able to move his body out of bed. Despite that, he didn't want to get on the blacksmith's bad side and get hit on the head with the man's greasy hands. The blacksmith dreadfully stared at him and then pointed to the sacks piled up in the corner.
"Just last night, the royal knights came in, making work pile up to a mountain. I want to finish it right away, but my hands are full, so I have no choice but to accept you again this time!"
You're making a big fuss out of everything. Riftan began to work silently, sarcasm boiling inside him. As the blacksmith had said, there is indeed a lot of work to do; from repairing armors, swords, maces, battle axes, spearheads, shields, and making hundreds of arrowheads.
I wonder where's all of this going to. They were ordered to make hundreds of horseshoes for the royal knights' battalion of horses, the hammering sound never ceased for a moment. All the blacksmiths were preoccupied with all the work that even he was called to do a job.
"It's been a few months since you came in so you must know how to make horseshoes, right? I'll give you a sample, so make use of that."
He was never taught anything properly and was stunned that a job was suddenly thrown at him but Riftan tapped the iron without saying a word. All this time, while he worked errands in the smithy, he looked over the blacksmith's shoulders to see how the work was done and tried to imitate based on how he remembers it.
He placed the iron against the blazing charcoal and pounded it with a hammer, forming the shape of a horseshoe. There was a huge difference with just seeing how it's made and actually making it himself. But he was skillful, and the iron seldom bent against his will that he was able to make four pairs with the time he had.
The blacksmith inspected his work, checking the size, thickness, and its durability. Satisfied with the output, he then threw it to the basket with the other finished products; Riftan's work passed. He then moved on to continuing other tasks.
He was barely able to get out of bed yet here he is, sweating profusely, hammering until his shoulders ached terribly, he felt like he was on the edge of death; but he did not dare say a word about it nor show that he was having a hard time. If he took a single break, the blacksmiths would give him hell for it.
He hammered for a long time, and when his basket was filled to the brim with horseshoes, he lifted it up on his shoulders and headed for the stables. As he swiftly moved through the forest, the outbuilding appeared before his eyes, making him feel nostalgic. He couldn't control his impulse and his feet went to that direction instead.
He felt like an idiot carrying a heavy basket of irons, but he couldn't shake off the desire to see the girl is well with his own eyes.
As he approached, his pace slowed down and his eyes carefully scanned the garden. The little girl was sitting in front of the flowerbeds, scratching the ground with a stick of branch.
