Ashen Dragon

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

The saying goes, hoist the bellows with a whoosh, snatch the hammer with a clang. At this moment, a player with the ID "Steel Torrent" was frantically blacksmithing with brute force, and a pile of processed iron pipes had already accumulated beside him.

Steel Torrent, entirely oblivious to the scorching heat blowing against his face and the sweat streaming down his forehead, looked incredibly excited, as if he had boundless energy to expend.

This guy chose the Barbarian occupation but had hardly fought, only to have more strength.

That brute force was only used for one thing: blacksmithing.

Yes, since entering the game, he had been tirelessly forging iron, and now he had become the youngest and strongest blacksmith in Daimo Blacksmith Shop in Barto City.

The Tiefling old blacksmith Daimo, watching from the side, blew his beard and glared: "You rascal, idling around all day and tinkering with this junk. What's the use?"

He shook his head in regret, his face full of heartache.

"Such a waste of materials! With this much fine iron, I could have forged a set of the best armor in my younger days."

Steel Torrent gave the old blacksmith a disdainful glance, his hands never stopping.

"It's not like I haven't done my job properly. I've completed all the task targets. What I do on my own time is none of your business."

He looked at the crooked steel pipes with an excited expression and a strangely enthusiastic tone:

"Old Daimo, just wait and see."

"The direction of the times is right under my hammer!"

Steel Torrent continued to blacksmith passionately, brimming with confidence.

Daimo: "..."

Fortunately, he had seen plenty of these things these days. No matter what these so-called "players" said or did, Old Daimo wasn't surprised at all.

"Tsk tsk, these guys."

He was used to it, just that.

Daimo fell into his memories.

A few months ago, he was manning the blacksmith shop when two seemingly normal players came to buy equipment.

One chatted with him, while the other boldly started stealing right in the shop, causing a mess and even reaching into Daimo's pockets.

And the one trying to "distract" him didn't even blush or show any guilt, continuing to chat with him.

This left Daimo profoundly shocked. He had seen thieves but never so brazen ones, nor such arrogant ones.

Old Daimo couldn't take it anymore, veins bulging on his arm. He directly picked up a ten-pound hammer and knocked both of them out.

When he called the sheriff to arrest them, the two "players" still struggled, faces full of disbelief, muttering nonsense like "I bypassed you", "My stealth is very high", and "I clearly triggered dialogue". This left Daimo speechless.

However, similar incidents became more frequent, and Old Daimo grew numb, hitting thieves unconscious with a hammer expressionlessly, like a seasoned farmer harvesting wheat.

But later, he noticed the positive side of these players, their tirelessness, and disregard for life and death.

For example, he didn't have to work anymore. All his tasks were handed over to these blacksmith apprentices.

"Got it! Got it!"

"I did it!"

Steel Torrent's excited shout interrupted Old Daimo's thoughts.

Just as he was about to step forward for a look, a dozen blacksmith apprentice players swarmed ahead, completely ignoring the frail old Daimo.

"These rude brats."

Old Daimo muttered softly.

But he couldn't be bothered to check what they were up to this time.

Old Daimo lay back in his chair, squinting, covering his face with an old, yellowing book, enjoying the leisurely time of not working.

"Got it, got it!"

Steel Torrent shouted madly.

Everyone gathered tightly around the blacksmith shop, staring at the still warm, rough iron gun barrel.

They were all members of the same guild—"Mechanical God Cult".

This guild was formed by machinery enthusiasts, led by Steel Torrent, and their slogan was "Flesh is weak, mechanical ascension!" Unfortunately, there were no mechanics-related occupations in the early game. Continue reading stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Luckily, they found that the reactions of reality might appear in magical form in Anzeta, so these Mechanical God Cult players pioneered a new way to blacksmith—blacksmithing.

Now, Daimo Blacksmith Shop was filled with various items, iron pipes, crude springs, taps and dies, simple lathes, and table drills and vices. All were made by these machinery enthusiasts.

Daimo turned a blind eye, considering they worked for free.

A guild member and famous firearm enthusiast, "Battlefield Wheelchair Man," shouted: "Bring me the best wood! The stock needs to be big!"

Now, the Mechanical God Cult players were busy and happy in the blacksmith shop.

"One part nitre, two parts sulfur, three parts charcoal. The equipment isn't perfect, but we'll use the old method to make black powder."

"Where are the triggers and hammers?"

"Crap, Daimo made them into rings. We'll have to remake them."

"Where's the gunshot pellet? Let's use scrap iron and crush it."

"Bullets? Just put some lead into small steel beads, wrap it in cloth, and shove it into the barrel. It'll stay inside."

Soon, after everyone's busy work

Perhaps the first firearm in Anzeta was born.

A primitive front-loading shotgun lay there, with its rough wrought iron barrel, simple hammer-firing mechanism, oversized wooden stock, and "bullets" wrapped in oiled cloth. Some small steel beads even accidentally fell out, and the air was filled with the scent of saltpeter.

Although it looked crude and like garbage from an abandoned factory, it represented the collective effort of everyone.

They created this in a place with medieval-level productivity, naturally filled with difficulties.

"Is it a success?"

"Quick, try it out."

Steel Torrent carefully picked up the makeshift gun and laboriously stuffed the oiled cloth-wrapped bullet into the barrel, with several steel beads falling out.

He slowly raised the gun, aiming at a prepared straw target.

The members of the Mechanical God Cult held their breath.

"Bang!"

The gunshot resounded like thunder in the flatland.

Old Daimo, napping soundly, was startled awake, the book falling from his face.

He yelled furiously: "What are you brats up to now?"

Only to see the players celebrating, dancing around a bizarre-looking, ragged iron tube.

Next to them, a straw dummy was in pieces, black smoke rising, with iron beads still warm on the ground.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder.

"So they're tinkering with this junk again."

Old Daimo muttered softly, picked up the old book from the ground, dusted it off, and covered his face again, falling back into a deep sleep.