Iron Powder and Spellcaster

It was getting dark, and the two men were still busy in the blacksmith shop.

The old blacksmith Misha holds the red-hot iron billet, and the young blacksmith Balian swings the hammer. The shadows of the two people on the wall danced with the firelight, as if they were performing some kind of special dance.

Every time the iron billet was forged by Balian, Misha would adjust the angle appropriately. The two blacksmiths worked together seamlessly, and soon a slightly curved sword grid emerged from the iron billet.

Misha threw the formed sword grid into the oil drum and called his assistant to prepare the hilt.

Balian returned to the back room of the blacksmith shop and took out a wooden handle. The material was oak sapwood with good feel and elasticity. It had been processed into a suitable handle according to the user's hand shape in advance.

The hilt engraved with spiral grooves was tightly wrapped by Balian with milky white stingray skin and glued with glue made from the swim bladder.

After confirming that it was firmly adhered, the young blacksmith placed a can of black ink next to the forge to simmer and began to paint the sword hilt.

For Winters, who was watching from the sidelines, the previous work of the two blacksmiths, although interesting, was nothing special.

But when the brush dipped in black ink touched the stingray skin, he was amazed.

Under the influence of black paint, the originally plain fish skin shows exquisite and fine texture, which makes people want to touch it just by looking at it. Black ink has become a magic touch that turns decay into magic.

What's even more amazing is what's behind. After completing the two processes of painting and drying, Balian took out another plate of silver wire.

After the young blacksmith fixed one end of the silver wire to the end of the sword hilt, he began to wrap the silver wire around the sword hilt along the groove. Soon the black leather was divided into equidistant segments by thin silver lines.

No gold was used, no jewels were set in it. But in Winters' view, the hilt of this sword is as exquisite as the sword on the waist of any prince or noble.

The black fish skin and bright silver thread contrast with each other, which is not only exquisite, but also practical. This simple and generous beauty makes those jeweled ceremonial swords look vulgar.

Not only Winters couldn't keep his eyes off the young blacksmith's hands, but even the old blacksmith Misha next to him couldn't help but marvel.

A door in his memory was suddenly pushed open, and Winters suddenly remembered where he had seen similar craftsmanship, or rather style, and aesthetics.

It was on a dagger that almost took his life - the hilt of Sophia's dagger was so similar to the hilt of this sword.

The silver wrapping process is completed quickly, and the remaining finishing work is very simple. Just install the various parts on the sword strip and then deliver it. But it seems that for the young blacksmith, these are not yet finished.

After simply fixing the sword frame, hilt and weight ball, Balian handed the sword to Winters and said briefly: "You try it first."

This is a one-handed sword, one of the weapons Winters ordered a few days ago. The sword strip was a ready-made product bought by the people of Misato from the city of Jevaudan, the county seat. It took the merchants a little half a month to go back and forth.

Winters took the sword and pressed the tip of the sword downward on the ground. The sword body deformed under the force and bent into an arc toward the side. Let go and the sword will rebound naturally.

The second lieutenant squinted his eyes and saw that the sword was still straight and not deformed.

He struck a few more times on the spherical anvil where the sword was tested. The force of the chopping gradually increased, but the sword remained strong without any frontal bending or breakage.

Winters nodded with satisfaction.

Misha, the Dusak blacksmith next to him, lamented: "You have to die when you compare with others, and you have to throw away when you compare goods! Steel Castle's finished sword bars are much better than my work. The sword I made would have been broken if I tried it like this." No more. It can’t be compared, it really can’t be compared.”

"These sword strips have been tempered and have better toughness." The young blacksmith said simply.

Winters swung it in the air a few more times, and the fish-skin silver-threaded hilt felt great in the hand. It is comfortable to hold but does not feel irritating, and the grooves can also drain sweat away from the handle to prevent it from becoming slippery.

"The center of gravity is a bit far back. Let's adjust it a little further forward, one foot in front of the sword grid." Winters returned the sword.

The center of gravity of this one-handed sword is now near the sword grid, but Winters prefers to have the center of gravity closer to the front, so that the slashing power will be greater.

The advantage of custom-made weapons is that everything can be changed, but in fact there are not many things that can be adjusted in the weapon itself.

The special requirements of buyers are more reflected in the decoration. The reason why Winters was in the blacksmith shop was because Misha asked him to come over and choose the decoration style.

"You really don't need to etch any patterns on the sword?" The old blacksmith couldn't help but ask.

"No need." Winters smiled and shook his head: "Will it damage the strength of the sword?"

Misha waved his hands repeatedly: "It's okay, it won't have much impact. After all, a sword needs to have some patterns to look good."

"I like it simple."

Misha said regretfully: "Etching is a skill. I'm afraid only Balian has this ability in the entire county. It would be a pity not to try it. Alas, wait until you want to add some tricks to the sword."

"Okay." Winters had a thought in his mind and said casually: "Even a layman can tell that you are really good at making swords."

"I'm an old man who can't make swords. I can also make farm tools." Misha looked happy and patted the young blacksmith on the shoulder and said, "This kid is really capable! The swordsmiths in Gevaudan can't compare." Fuck him. It’s a pity that it’s in this small place. If he were in a big city, this kid would have made a fortune long ago.”

"Don't say that." Balian whispered briefly.

This young blacksmith was taciturn and cherished his words. Most of the time, he was busy with his work in silence. If there was no work, he would sit on a chair in the corner and stare at the fire.

"There is no need to be modest. Excessive modesty is also pride. If your craftsmanship comes to Hailan, the order can be placed until next year." Winters asked casually: "I don't know where your hometown is? Balian."

"On the north side."

"empire?"

"Um."

"Where is the Empire?"

The young blacksmith raised his head and looked at Winters, then quickly lowered his head: "Solingen."

"Are you from Steel Castle? Little Balian. I don't even know!" The old blacksmith was surprised: "No wonder you are so good at your craftsmanship. It turns out you are the famous Steel Castle blacksmith."

Winters, the famous name of Steel Castle Solingen, also heard a little about it. He smiled and asked: "Steel Castle is far enough from here, so how did you come to Plato?"

Before the young blacksmith could speak, old Misha answered first: "This kid is a Protestant and is very unpopular in the north."

Balian nodded.

"Alas!" Old Misha patted his thigh and said with some sadness: "Every few years, they would find a reason to kill the Protestants over there. I was also ordered to do that kind of thing when I was working for the old emperor. Alas, when I was young at that time, I would cut down indiscriminately, alas..."

The old blacksmith became more and more sad as he talked, and the young blacksmith also stopped what he was doing and shook his head slightly to indicate "it doesn't matter."

Winters asked one more question: "Are there any family members coming with you?"

"My brother."

"Then your brother is not a blacksmith?"

"He works as a long-term laborer for the Bunting family."

Didn't find anything useful. But Winters doesn't particularly care about the origin of Sophia's dagger. Hailan is far away in the horizon, so what if we find out clearly?

"Please come tomorrow for the sword," Balian said.

Winters was a little surprised: "Isn't it almost done? Can't we finish it today?"

"The sword frame needs to be polished, and the accessories need to be sharpened." The young blacksmith simply explained: "I will do it overnight, and you can just pick it up tomorrow."

"Polishing is a delicate job, and the cost of polishing is sometimes more expensive than the cost of armor." The old blacksmith added: "Go back first, this guy will definitely do it for you."

It was already dark, and old Misha was leaving town with Winters. The old blacksmith's home is in Dussa Village, and he rides there and back every day. The young blacksmith lives and eats in the blacksmith shop, and he also visits the shop.

…

When Winters returned to the Mitchell estate, he saw lights in the distance. Mitchell Manor, which used to rest at sunset, was extremely lively tonight.

The weather is getting cooler and it is time for the last tobacco harvest at the Mitchell Estate.

In newly cultivated land, tobacco has to be harvested in three stages due to climate reasons. In the first two harvests, only some leaves of the plant were picked, and in the third harvest, all the tobacco leaves were completely picked.

For the Mitchell Estate, tobacco harvest season is the most important day of the year.

Except for a small part used to grow food crops, the remaining two hundred hectares of land of the Mitchell family are all used to grow tobacco.

Paying taxes, paying salaries, buying seeds... the operation of Mitchell Manor is entirely supported by tobacco. Therefore, the tobacco harvest determines the entire year's income of this large estate.

Harvesting tobacco leaves is a hard and tiring job, and the speed must be fast.

It's September now and frost could fall at any time. Once the tobacco is frosted, that year's harvest is ruined.

So when the tobacco leaves mature, pickers must race against time to harvest the leaves while they are still perfect.

The picked tobacco must also be bundled, dried and stored as soon as possible, otherwise the quality will be affected.

Therefore, during the tobacco harvest season, the Mitchell family would work around the clock. Regardless of masters, servants, long-term workers, men, or women, everyone has to work in the tobacco fields.

Pierre, an idle boy, was just breaking tobacco leaves in the tobacco fields.

Not only the people from the Mitchell Manor were working hard in the tobacco fields, but many villagers from the five villages under the jurisdiction of Wolf Town also came to help.

In addition to the Mitchell Manor, most other tobacco-growing estates also harvest during these days.

In order to recruit more manpower, each manor will offer very high salaries to the farmers who come to help.

Therefore, the tobacco harvest season is one of the few times of the year when farmers in Lang Town can earn extra money. Men, women, and children from all villages will come out in droves.

It was already dark at this time, but bonfires were set up in the tobacco fields, and everyone was still working hard.

The entire harvesting process has a clear division of labor. People working in the tobacco fields break the tobacco leaves intact from the plants and load them into trucks for transportation to the curing houses.

Individual tobacco leaves are tied into bundles with strings outside the curing house and hung on wooden racks. Compared with harvesting tobacco leaves, bundling tobacco requires more skills. Only women with dexterity can do it.

Therefore, there are almost no men among the people working outside the oven. The women moved so fast that the hemp ropes flew between their fingers. The eyes of onlookers could not keep up with the movements of their hands, and they could tie up a row in the blink of an eye.

The tobacco leaves neatly hung on wooden racks will be sent to the curing room for drying, and a large amount of coal will be used generously in the baking process.

When we arrived at the baking room, there were only men left working. Because it was so hot in the oven, most of the workers climbed up and down the ladders naked, so naturally there were no women.

But even without clothes, the person responsible for curing tobacco leaves can only stay in the curing room for a short time, otherwise there is a risk of suffocation.

Winters saw an interesting scene: Mrs. Mitchell and her little daughter were driving a carriage full of wine barrels with iron hoops. The two seemed to be going to deliver drinks to the people working in the tobacco fields.

Everyone else was busy, and the two ladies didn't seem to be very good at handling horses.

The heavy-duty draft horses with thick skin and flesh were gnawing wheat in the fields beside the road without restraint. No matter how hard they were beaten by the Mitchell mother and daughter, they had no idea of ​​moving forward.

Seeing this situation, Winters immediately stepped forward to help. He actually doesn't know how to drive a cart, but he can still hold the reins and move forward.

When they arrived at the tobacco field, the driver of the Mitchell family saw the ensign leading the horse and hurried over to take over Winters' work.

Mrs. Mitchell smiled and thanked Winters, and Miss Mitchell almost buried her face in her mother's arm.

Seeing everyone in the manor working hard, Winters suddenly felt a little ashamed.

"I'm here to help with the work, too, but you have to remember to pay me wages." Winters joked.

"I also have something to ask you." Mrs. Mitchell said with a smile: "Mr. Mitchell is on the west side of the baking room. Can you please be his assistant? He needs a reliable helper." .”

"Of course, no problem, ma'am." Winters stepped on Red Mane and nodded in greeting, then galloped towards the roasting house.

Before riding anywhere, Winters understood what was going on in front of him.

There was an alluring aroma in the air, the smell of barbecue.

A few dozen meters away to the west of the tobacco room, Girard and his old Dussac guys were busy.

There are several huge arched wooden covers buckled on the ground, and fragrance and smoke waft out from the gaps in the wooden boards.

A nearby lid was lifted, allowing Winters to see the structure inside: beneath the wooden lid was a large pit nearly one meter deep. The walls of the pit were paved with stones, and the bottom layer was made of wood and charcoal. It seemed to be a kind of fire pit. Makeshift oven.

Seeing Winters coming, Gilad waved to him happily: "Come on! Help!"

When he got to Girard's side, Winters understood why such a large "oven" was used - because this oven could roast a whole pig at one time.

A whole pig was split in two from head to tail and spread out on an iron frame. It walked peacefully.

Girard filled the pit with charcoal and wood, and six men worked together to lift the two pig fans and the iron frame to the fire pit and close the lid.

Several pig noises were heard not far away. Looking at the blood stains on the grass and the pigs in the basin, Winters realized that they were still being slaughtered and roasted.

He counted six smoking pits on the ground. There were at least twice as many pigs in the temporary pigsty not far away.

He asked in surprise: "Isn't it too much to bake at once?"

"When you invite people to work, you must give them good food." Gilad's face was full of smiles.

Old Sergey was also there, and he laughed and said: "The roast pig at Mitchell Manor is famous far and wide. Not only the captain's family, but also the people who work in other families will come over if they smell the smell, and all the work will be done. I can put it down."

"The tobacco harvest season is a rare holiday." Another familiar voice came to Winters' ears: "Only at this time of the year can there be enough fuel and time to roast a whole pig. Boy, you It’s such a blessing, I don’t know when the next time you will be able to eat such delicacies!”

"Why are you here too?" Winters stared at the old mendicant monk with wide eyes.

"Come and eat meat."

"How come I didn't see you among the people carrying the grill just now?"

Brother Rhett replied matter-of-factly: "I can't lift it."

"Okay, I have to go take a nap." Old Sergey yawned: "I'll come back to replace you later."

After saying that, old Sergei ran not far away and found a flat place to lie down.

"Take a nap?" Winters had never seen such a battle before: "How long will it take to bake?"

Gilad scooped a glass of sweet wine from the barrel next to him and handed it to the ensign: "About ten hours."

Thanks to the book friends who have always voted for recommendations;

Thanks to book friend Black Computer Accessories, Flower Planter’s Yellow Rabbit, Last Night’s Stone, Social Justice Lao Wang, Moon Night Front, behere370, Calm Gray Pass, Ami, xiaoheizi369, shuyou 201910007064305842, Sky Lens, and Jiang Xue Diao Weng for their recommendations. Thank you for your vote.