Iron Powder and Spellcasters

   Chapter 135 Blacksmith and Roast Pig

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

  The old blacksmith Misha was holding the red-hot iron billet, and the young blacksmith Bellion was holding the hammer. The shadows of the two on the wall danced with the firelight, as if it were some kind of special dance.

Every time the    iron billet is forged by Berion, Misha will adjust the angle appropriately. The two blacksmiths cooperated seamlessly, and soon a slightly curved sword grid emerged from the iron billet.

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

  Berion went back to the back room of the blacksmith shop and took out a wooden handle. The material is oak sapwood with good feel and elasticity. It has been processed into a suitable sword handle according to the user's hand shape in advance.

  The hilt, carved with spiral grooves, was tightly wrapped by Berrian with creamy white stingray skin and glued with the glue made from swim bladders.

   After confirming that it was firmly glued, the young blacksmith put a can of black ink on the forge and heated it, and began to paint the hilt of the sword.

  For Winters, who was watching, 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 effect of black lacquer, the originally ordinary fish skin showed delicate and fine textures. Just a glance at it makes people want to touch it. Black ink has become a magical pen that turns corruption into magic.

   What's more, Berian, who has completed the two processes of painting and drying, took out another plate of silver wire.

  The young blacksmith fixed one end of the silver wire to the end of the hilt, and started wrapping the silver wire around the hilt along the groove. Soon the black leather was divided into equidistant segments by thin silver threads.

   No gold is used and no jewelry is set. But in Winters' view, the hilt of this sword is no less exquisite than the sword on the waist of any prince or nobleman.

  The black fish skin and the bright silver thread set off each other, which is not only exquisite but also practical. This kind of simple and generous beauty makes those jeweled swords of honor look vulgar.

   Not only Winters' eyes were inseparable from the hands of the young blacksmith, but even Misha, the old blacksmith next to him, couldn't help but be amazed.

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

   on a dagger that nearly took his life - how similar the hilt of Sophia's dagger was to this one.

  The silver wrapping process is completed quickly, and the rest of the finishing work is very simple, as long as the various parts are attached to the sword, it can be delivered. But it seems that for the young blacksmith, these are not finished yet.

   After simply fixing the grid, hilt and weight ball, Berrian handed the sword to Winters and said briefly, "You try first."

   This is a one-handed saber, one of the weapons Winters ordered the other day. The sword sticks are ready-made products bought by the Misato people from the county town of Revodan. It took half a month for the merchant to go there.

  Winters, who took the saber, pressed the tip of the sword down on the ground, and the blade was deformed by force, bending to the side in an arc. Let go, the blade will bounce back naturally.

  The second lieutenant narrowed his eyes and looked at it, the saber was still straight and not deformed.

   He slashed a few more times on the spherical anvil where he tried the sword. The power of the slashing increased gradually, but the saber remained strong without any frontal bending or breaking.

   Winters nodded in satisfaction.

The Dussack blacksmith Misha next to him sighed with emotion: "People are more dead than people, and goods are thrown away! Steel Castle's finished sword bars are much better than my work. No. Can't compare, really can't compare."

   "These sword bars are overheated and have better toughness." The young blacksmith said simply.

   Winters swung a few more times in the air, and the hilt of the fish-skin silver thread felt very good. It's comfortable to hold without feeling awkward, and the grooves allow sweat to escape so the hilt doesn't get slippery.

   "The center of gravity is a bit backward, 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 grid, but Winters prefers to have a higher center of gravity, and the power of the slash will be greater.

The advantage of    custom weapons is that everything can be changed, but in fact there are not many places where the weapons themselves can be adjusted.

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

   "You really don't need to etch anything on the sword?" the old blacksmith couldn't help asking.

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

  Misha waved again and again: "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter much. After all, a sword needs to have a pattern to look good."

   "I like something simple."

  Misha said regretfully: "Etching is a skill, and the whole county is probably the only one with this ability in Berrian. It's a pity that you don't try it. Oh, come back when you want to add some tricks to the sword."

   "Okay." Winters thought, and said casually: "Even if I am a layman, I can see that you are really good at making swords."

"I am an old man who can make swords, and I also play farm implements." Misha smiled and patted the young blacksmith on the shoulder. Fuck him. It's a pity it's in this small place, if in a big city this kid would have made a fortune long ago."

   "Don't say that." Berian whispered short words.

  This young blacksmith is taciturn and shrewd in words. Most of the time, he is busy with his work in silence. If he has no work, he sits on a chair in the corner and stares at the fire.

   "You don't have to be humble. Excessive modesty is also arrogant. If you are in Hailan with your craftsmanship, the order can be placed until next year." Winters asked casually: "I don't know where your hometown is yet? Berian."

   "On the north side."

   "Empire?"

"Um."

   "Where is the Empire?"

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

   "Are you a steelcaster? Little Bellion. I don't even know!" The old blacksmith was taken aback: "No wonder your craftsmanship is so good, so you are a famous steelcaster."

  Steel Castle Solingen's famous name Winters also heard a little. He asked with a smile: "Steel Castle is far enough away from here, so why did you come to Palatu?"

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

  Berion nodded.

"Alas!" Old Misha patted his thigh and said sadly, "Every few years there will be an excuse to kill the Protestants. I was also ordered to do that kind of thing when I was working for the old emperor. Alas, when I was young, I cut down indiscriminately, alas..."

   The older the blacksmith said, the more sad he became. The young blacksmith also stopped what he was doing and shook his head lightly to indicate "it's okay".

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

   "My brother."

   "Then your brother is not a blacksmith?"

   "He worked as a long-term worker at the Bentins."

   didn't ask anything useful. However, Winters didn't particularly care about the source of Sophia's dagger. Hailan is far in the sky, so what if you can find out clearly?

   "Please come and pick up your sword tomorrow," Berian said.

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

   "The sword grid needs to be polished, and it is equipped with important grinding." The young blacksmith briefly explained: "I will do it overnight, you can pick it up tomorrow."

   "Polishing is delicate work. Sometimes the wages for polishing are more expensive than armor." The old blacksmith added on the side: "Go back first, this kid will definitely fix it for you."

  It was dark, and Old Misha was leaving town with Winters. The old blacksmith's home is in the village of Dusa, and he rides back and forth every day. Young blacksmiths eat and live in the blacksmith's shop, and watch the shop by the way.

  …

   When Winters returned to Mitchell Manor, the lights were seen from a distance. The Mitchell Manor, which originally rested at sunset, was extremely lively tonight.

  The weather is getting cooler, and this is the season for the last tobacco harvest at Mitchell Estate.

  In the newly cultivated land, because of the climate, the tobacco is harvested in three times. In the first two harvests, only part of the leaves of the plants were harvested, and in the third harvest, all tobacco leaves were completely harvested.

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

  Except for a small part used to grow food crops, the remaining more than 200 hectares of land in the Mitchell family are all used to grow tobacco.

  Taxes, salaries, seed purchases… Mitchell Manor runs entirely on tobacco. So the tobacco harvest determines the income of this large estate for a whole year.

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

   It’s already September and it could be frosty at any time. Once the tobacco is frosted, that year's harvest is ruined.

   So when the tobacco leaves are ripe, 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 also be affected.

   So during the tobacco harvest season, the Mitchells work round the clock. Regardless of master, servant, long-term worker, man or woman, all must go to work in the tobacco fields.

  Pierre, the idle boy, is as honest as breaking tobacco leaves in the tobacco field.

  It is not only the people from Mitchell Manor who are 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 estate, most of the other tobacco-growing estates are harvested on these days.

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

   Therefore, the tobacco harvest season is one of the few times of the year when farmers in Wolf Town can earn extra money.

   It was already night, but a bonfire was raised in the smoke field, and everyone was still working hard.

   The whole harvesting process has a clear division of labor. People working in the tobacco fields break the tobacco leaves from the plants completely and load them to the barn.

  Individual tobacco leaves will be bundled with twine outside the barn and hung on a wooden rack. Compared with harvesting tobacco leaves, bundling tobacco is a more test of skill, and only a woman with ingenuity can do it.

   So there are hardly any men who work outside the barn. The women moved extremely fast, the twine fluttering between their fingers. The eyes of bystanders could not keep up with the movements of their hands, and a row could be **** in the blink of an eye.

  Tobacco leaves neatly hung on the wooden rack will be sent to the roasting room to be dried, and a large amount of coal will be used generously in the roasting process.

   When we got to the barn, only men were left to work. Because it was too hot in the barn, almost all the operators climbed up and down the ladders naked, and naturally there were no women.

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

   Winters saw an interesting scene: Mrs. Mitchell and her young daughter were driving a carriage full of hooped wine barrels. The two seemed to be going to give 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 riding horses.

  The rough-skinned and thick-skinned heavy-duty draught horses were recklessly gnawing at the wheat in the farmland by the roadside. No matter how the Mitchell mother and daughter beat them, they had no idea of ​​moving forward.

   Seeing this, Winters immediately stepped forward to help. He doesn't really know how to drive, but he can still do it by holding the reins.

When    arrived in the tobacco field, the coachman of the Mitchell family saw the second lieutenant was leading the horse, and hurried over to take over the job of Winters.

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

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

   "I'm here to help too, but remember to pay me," Winters quipped.

"I have something to ask you too." Mrs. Mitchell smiled and said, "Mr. Mitchell is on the west side of the oven. Could you please help him? He needs a reliable helper. ."

   "Of course no problem, ma'am." Winters stepped on the red mane and nodded, galloping towards the barn.

   Before he got to the place, Winters understood what was going on ahead.

   There is an enticing aroma in the air, the smell of barbecue.

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

   Several huge arched wooden covers were buckled on the ground, and aroma and smoke wafted out of the gaps in the wooden boards.

A lid that was lifted next to it allowed Winters to see the structure inside: under the wooden lid was a large earth pit nearly one meter deep. Temporary oven.

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

  It wasn't until Girard's side that Winters understood why he had to use such a large "oven"—because it roasted a whole pig at a time.

   A whole pig was split into two from head to tail and spread out on the iron frame, it walked very peacefully.

  Girard filled the pit with charcoal and wood, and the six men worked together to lift the two pigs and the iron frame onto the fire pit and fasten the lid.

   There were a few pig calls not far away. Looking at the blood on the grass and the pigs in the wooden tub, Winters found that it was still being slaughtered and roasted.

   He counted, and there were already six smoking pits on the ground. Not to mention, there are twice as many pigs in the temporary pig sty not far away.

   He asked in surprise, "Is it going to bake too much this time?"

   "If you invite people to work, you must give them a good meal." Girard's face was full of smiles.

Old Sergey was also there, and he laughed and said, "The roast pigs at Mitchell Manor are well-known. Not only the captain's house, but the people who work in other people's houses will all come running when they smell it. I can put it down."

"Tobacco harvest season is a rare holiday." Another familiar voice came into Winters' ears: "Only this time of year has enough fuel and time to roast a whole pig. Boy, you You have a good taste, and you don't know when the next time you can eat this kind of food!"

   "Why are you here?" Winters stared at the old friar with wide eyes.

   "Come and eat meat."

   "Why didn't the person lift the grill just now see you?"

   Brother Reid answered rightly: "I can't lift it."

   "Okay, I have to go to sleep." Old Sergey yawned: "I'll change you guys later."

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

   "Sleep for a while?" Winters has never seen such a battle: "How long is this going to bake?"

  Gillard scooped a glass of sweet wine from the wooden barrel beside him and handed it to the second lieutenant: "Ten hours."

   Thanks to the book friends who have been voting for recommendation before;

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   (end of this chapter)