Episode 310: The Iron of Eternity

Dang Mujin took the money and went to see Old Man Tae.

Old Man Tae’s reaction was exactly as Dang Mujin had anticipated.

With a cryptic tone, Old Man Tae spoke, “I figured it was about time.”

“Yes, I’ve come for the Iron of Eternity.”

Old Man Tae opened a box containing the iron, and Dang Mujin picked up a chunk from the bottom. It was a piece of metal that felt cool to the touch, though it seemed a bit lacking to be called the Iron of Eternity.

Dang Mujin handed over a pouch filled with gold.

Old Man Tae didn’t bother to check the contents of the pouch. It wasn’t a particularly dignified thing to do.

At the same time, it was clear he had no intention of offering a discount.

For a moment, Dang Mujin was tempted to claim it was just ordinary iron, not the Iron of Eternity, hoping to haggle the price down.

But he decided against it. He knew Old Man Tae might get offended and either raise the price or refuse the deal altogether.

In truth, even at this price, the iron was a bargain.

Instead, Dang Mujin gave Old Man Tae a meaningful look, hoping for a little extra thrown in.

Old Man Tae simply turned his head away.

“It’s a precious item. Use it well.”

“Yes.”

Dang Mujin left Old Man Tae’s place, feeling a bit dejected.

A nagging thought lingered in his mind.

Wasn’t this essentially using the money Hong Geolge earned from the martial arts tournament to make a sword for Namgung Myung?

Even though he knew Hong Geolge wouldn’t mind, it still left him uneasy.

‘I should get something for Hong Geolge too.’

But he had no idea what to get him.

Hong Geolge practiced martial arts that didn’t require weapons, and he already had a staff, the Blue-Green Bamboo Staff.

Of course, Dang Mujin could craft a better staff, but the problem was the material.

He didn’t know what the Blue-Green Bamboo Staff was made of. It wasn’t wood or metal. He suspected it might be some unfamiliar gemstone.

Dang Mujin scratched his head in frustration.

‘Namgung Myung will probably get him something.’

With that thought, Dang Mujin headed back to the inn with the iron.

As soon as Dang Mujin entered the inn, he spoke to Namgung Myung.

“Namgung Myung. Hand over your sword.”

“Huh? Alright.”

If anyone else had asked for his sword, Namgung Myung would have ignored them. But since it was Dang Mujin, he handed it over without hesitation.

Dang Mujin locked himself in his room, allowing no one else to enter.

The only person who could come and go was Hyun Gong, who seemed to know exactly when Dang Mujin would get hungry and brought him meals.

In the solitude of his room, Dang Mujin did something very simple.

From sunrise to sunset, he studied the sword, memorizing every detail with his eyes and fingertips.

He meticulously noted every worn spot on the blade, every nick and scratch, and the shape of the handprints on the wooden handle.

He didn’t just examine the exterior. He split the handle to see how the tang had left its mark inside.

These actions would have baffled any ordinary blacksmith. But Dang Mujin had a clear purpose.

Martial artists know that a sword bears the habits of its owner.

But knowing this doesn’t mean they can do anything with it.

Conversely, blacksmiths can produce results but can’t read the habits left on a sword.

Dang Mujin, however, was the best blacksmith in the world and an exceptional swordsmith.

He could read the traces left on a sword and knew how to use them.

Moreover, he knew how Namgung Myung wielded and cared for his sword. After all, he had crafted it himself seven years ago.

He studied how the sword had changed in Namgung Myung’s hands over the years, imagining and recalling every detail.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dang Mujin emerged from his room.

Namgung Myung, who had been sleeping at a table in the inn, was woken by Dang Mujin nudging his chair.

“Namgung Myung.”

“Huh… Oh, you’re out?”

“Come with me. We’re going to the forge.”

“Now? Me too?”

“Yes.”

Namgung Myung yawned and stretched, following Dang Mujin.

He had chosen swords at the forge before, but he had rarely been inside where the blacksmiths worked.

Soon, they arrived at a place with a sign that read “Tae’s Iron Forge.”

As they approached, a blacksmith who had been massaging his shoulders jumped up from his seat.

The blacksmith bowed deeply to Dang Mujin and called out to the others inside.

The deafening noise of the forge fell silent in an instant.

As Dang Mujin and Namgung Myung entered the quiet forge, a young blacksmith closed the door behind them.

As long as Dang Mujin was there, any customers who came to Tae’s Iron Forge would leave empty-handed.

The blacksmiths bowed to Dang Mujin.

“We’ve been expecting you.”

“May I use the forge for a few days?”

“Of course.”

The blacksmiths seemed pleased with the prospect of having Dang Mujin work there for a few days.

Dang Mujin appeared accustomed to the situation, but everything was new to Namgung Myung. He looked around, taking in the intense heat, the still-glowing metal, and the smell of burning coal. He still couldn’t guess why he had been brought to the forge.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To watch your sword being made.”

Dang Mujin gave a brief reply and approached the forge.

In the silence, the only sound was the creaking of the bellows, worked by an old man who kept the fire roaring.

Dang Mujin placed the iron in front of the forge. Most of the blacksmiths had never seen this kind of iron before, but they immediately recognized it as something special. After all, they had spent their lives working with metal.

However, the amount of iron seemed a bit insufficient to the blacksmiths.

“Will you be using this?”

The oldest blacksmith approached Dang Mujin, offering him a long metal rod.

Dang Mujin’s eyes lit up. It was refined steel.

Refined steel wasn’t inherently special like meteorite iron or black iron. It was simply high-quality steel, painstakingly refined a hundred times.

Yet, it was too precious to be used in an ordinary sword and embodied the essence of a blacksmith’s life.

“We prepared this with care. We hope it will be of use.”

Dang Mujin looked down at the old blacksmith’s hands.

They were rough, with nails worn down long ago. A few sparks wouldn’t faze them.

But the old man’s hands were slightly swollen. This wasn’t steel he had on hand; it was something he had prepared after meeting Dang Mujin.

While the people of Wuchang were distracted by the martial arts tournament, this old man had quietly worked away in Tae’s Iron Forge.

“I’ll make good use of it.”

The old man smiled gently at Dang Mujin’s response. He might not have created a masterpiece himself, but he could leave his mark on one.

Despite the old blacksmith’s concern about the lack of materials, Dang Mujin had brought one more thing.

He unwrapped a cloth to reveal the blade of Namgung Myung’s old sword. It had no scabbard or handle, looking a bit shabby.

Dang Mujin placed the iron, the refined steel, and Namgung Myung’s sword into the furnace together.

It wasn’t widely known, but one of the world’s finest swords was about to be melted down and mixed with other metals.

Namgung Myung knew how valuable his sword was, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. He couldn’t help but question whether such a precious item should be used as mere material, even though it was for crafting his new sword.

So he turned to the blacksmiths around him. But they showed no signs of regret.

Namgung Myung asked the blacksmith next to him, “Isn’t it a waste?”

The blacksmith replied firmly, “Not at all.”

“Do you know how valuable that sword is? Once it’s mixed, how is it any different from ordinary metal?”

“Blacksmiths know that the effort and care put into metal never disappear.”

The shape of the sword might vanish, but the effort and care embedded in the metal remain. That was the blacksmiths’ mindset. Namgung Myung tried to understand their perspective, and Dang Mujin’s as well.

Clang, clang, clang—

Dang Mujin placed the hot metal on the anvil and began to hammer it. The three materials merged into one.

When the metal cooled and darkened, Dang Mujin would place it back into the forge.

Once the metal glowed red-hot again, he would take it out and hammer it repeatedly.

Even the finest sword in the world doesn’t have a noble creation process. In fact, the making of a masterpiece is far noisier, more chaotic, and bustling than that of an ordinary blade.

The blacksmiths watched this commotion, this slight chaos, with a kind of absent-minded fascination.

Unlike the blacksmiths, Namgung Myung couldn’t grasp the depth behind the hammering. He knew he would never truly understand it, and that realization left him with a sense of regret.

The shape of the metal slowly began to change.

Yet, Dang Mujin didn’t rush to mold the metal into form. Even as he worked late into the night by candlelight, he remained patient.

By the time the second day turned to noon, the old blacksmith who had given Dang Mujin the precious steel stepped forward with tongs in hand. The rough iron tongs held the glowing metal steady.

Dang Mujin struck with force.

Clang—

A clear yet thunderous sound rang out, and sparks burst forth like fireworks.

The sword gradually took shape.

It was an incredibly dynamic scene, yet the process was painstakingly slow. So many visitors had come to the forge only to leave, unable to wait any longer.

”…That Dang Mujin, he used to finish a sword in less than a day.”

The metal slowly flattened, then elongated into a rod, which gradually took on the shape of a sword.

At some point, Namgung Myung realized he was watching the process as if entranced, just like the blacksmiths. Was this, too, a kind of inevitable return to the source?

As the sword neared completion, Namgung Myung realized he needed to do something.

But he knew nothing about metal.

So he approached the water barrel prepared for quenching. The blacksmiths’ eyes followed him.

Namgung Myung took out a small knife and cut his palm. Blood trickled down his fingers and mixed with the water in the barrel. It was a considerable amount of blood.

He thought Dang Mujin might scold him for ruining the sword. But neither Dang Mujin nor the other blacksmiths stopped him. Just as the effort and care put into the metal wouldn’t disappear, neither would the sincerity.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the mountain on the third day, Dang Mujin submerged the sword into the water.

Sizzle—

A loud hiss accompanied the splash of water. That was the end. The hammering that had echoed through the forge ceased.

Of course, this didn’t mean the work was finished.

Dang Mujin sat in a corner of the forge and began sharpening the sword on a whetstone. He didn’t start with a coarse stone to shape it, but rather began with the finest stone.

It took another four days to finish sharpening the blade.

At last, the sword was complete. After a week, Dang Mujin finally spoke.

“Namgung Myung.”

“Yes?”

“Thank the elder. Thanks to the steel he gave us, we could make the hilt of your sword from metal.”

Without hesitation, Namgung Myung bowed deeply to the old man and the other blacksmiths.

It was the blacksmiths who felt awkward.

Though they weren’t warriors, they knew well the prestige of the Namgung family name and how proud those who bore it were.

It took another day to craft the hilt and yet another to make the scabbard.

Only then did Dang Mujin lean back against the wall and hand the sword to Namgung Myung. For the moment when the world’s finest sword found its owner, it was surprisingly understated. But Namgung Myung knew how exhausted Dang Mujin was.

Almost instinctively, Namgung Myung accepted the sword with both hands.

Without drawing it, he gripped the hilt.

‘Huh…?’

A new sword should feel unfamiliar.

Yet, it felt astonishingly familiar. It was like the wooden hilt of the sword he had wielded for years.

Namgung Myung raised the sword to eye level and examined the hilt closely.

The imprint of his hand on the old hilt was perfectly mirrored on this one.

’…’

Namgung Myung stepped outside with the sword. The full moon shone brightly in the sky.

The blacksmiths followed him out, but Dang Mujin remained seated inside, leaning back, not even glancing outside.

Namgung Myung slowly drew the sword.

A well-crafted sword usually sings a clear note as the blade meets the scabbard.

But this sword made no sound, even as it was drawn. The blade touched the horn of the scabbard, yet remained silent.

Namgung Myung didn’t notice. The sword, once free of its scabbard, captivated him completely.

The blade, breathtakingly beautiful, shimmered with a faint, graceful curve under the moonlight.

An indescribable emotion surged within Namgung Myung’s chest. But there was no need to describe it. Any warrior would feel the same upon seeing this sword.

The blacksmiths wondered if Namgung Myung might perform a sword dance.

But he simply raised the sword slowly and made a single, deliberate slash. That was all. The night remained silent. None of the blacksmiths grasped the subtlety contained within Namgung Myung’s movement.

Namgung Myung took a deep breath, then sheathed the sword with trembling hands. He returned to the forge.

He didn’t know what to say to Dang Mujin.

Should he express his gratitude, say he didn’t know how to repay the kindness? Or should he, as usual, brush it off casually?

There was no need to decide. Dang Mujin had already fallen asleep.

Seeing this, Namgung Myung smiled and sat outside the forge, gazing at the moon.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint what he felt was so precious, but it was so precious that he couldn’t bring himself to draw the sword again for the rest of the night.