Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 1: The Frontier

Feng Country, the frontier.

Yellow sand scourged the sky. It was the kind of place where a careless breath earned you a mouthful of grit.

From a tent in the frontier army’s camp, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal echoed without cease.

*Ding! Clang! Clang!*

Inside, the scorching heat of a forge painted a young man’s resolute face in crimson light.

*BANG!*

With a final, resounding strike, the war spear he had labored over for half the afternoon was complete.

“Li Erniu, is my spear done yet?!” a coarse shout boomed from outside the tent. The voice alone marked its owner as a brute.

Li Erniu—his real name was Li Qing, but the nickname ‘Two Oxen’ had stuck. It was a simple camp joke, born from the fact his family owned a pair of oxen and he had an older brother.

Li Qing breathed out, his voice steady despite the heat. “Just the quenching left, Centurion! Won’t be a moment!”

With that, he gripped the heavy spear with both hands and slowly submerged its sharpened head into a vat of water.

*HSSSSSS!*

A violent hiss tore through the air as steam erupted from the water’s surface, which soon roiled with angry bubbles.

After a moment, Li Qing lifted the spear. Its head, now cooled, reflected the forge light with a deadly, cold gleam.

[Successfully forged Mortal Grade weapon: Fine Iron War Spear. Reward: five months of Lifespan!]

*The rewards are shrinking,* he thought. *There must be a tier of weapon beyond Mortal Grade.*

Li Qing stared at the line of text only he could see, his eyes flicking to the ever-present countdown timer that was his life. A silent sigh echoed in his mind.

With a brief glance, he carried the newly forged spear out of the tent.

He pushed aside the flap and saw a burly, powerfully built man standing there, a thick black beard covering his chin and lips.

“Centurion Chen! Why wait out here in this sandstorm?” Li Qing’s face split into a disarmingly honest grin as he handed over the spear.

Chen Meng scoffed good-naturedly. “Your tent is hot as a furnace. Only a madman would want to wait in there.”

He took the heavy spear, testing its considerable weight and feeling the last of the warmth bleeding from the metal. A booming laugh escaped him.

“Hahahaha! Not bad, not bad at all! At this rate, it won’t be long before you’re a Master smith yourself! Your progress is damn fast!”

Chen Meng gave the spear two powerful swings, cutting through the air with an imposing roar.

“Your martial skill is incredible, Centurion Chen!” Li Qing praised, a genuine flicker of envy in his eyes.

The spear, so heavy he needed both hands to manage it, danced in the man’s single-handed grip like a willow branch. Such raw power was something to be coveted.

“Enough of your flattery,” Chen Meng grunted, though he was clearly pleased. “Just keep working hard and learn everything you can from Master Gu. The old man’s getting on in years. You’ll be the one to take his place.”

With that, Chen Meng strode off, spear in hand, a smug grin stretched across his face that threatened to split it.

Watching his retreating back, Li Qing slipped back into the sweltering tent, carefully sealing the flap against the encroaching sand.

“Whew… Seventeen years.”

He slumped to the ground, his back against a rack of weapons. Grabbing a rag, long since stained black with grime, he wiped the sweat from his brow and let out a long sigh.

Seventeen years had passed since he’d been inexplicably thrown into this world. His original plan had been simple: use some modern knowledge to get rich, marry a few wives, and live out a comfortable, unremarkable life.

That plan had shattered when he was ten. He’d suddenly started seeing a line of numbers, visible only to him.

It took him years to understand. Those numbers were his lifespan.

In his previous life, the thought of dying of old age had never seemed particularly terrifying. But that was before he could literally watch his life counting down, starting from the pitifully small number of fifty-four.

Panic had seized him. He was just a boy, yet he was staring at a death sentence. He couldn’t accept being doomed to die so young.

As the years passed, the number ticked down, confirming his worst fears. Barring some miracle, his life would end in his early fifties.

Fortunately, there was a way to change his fate. A year ago, he’d been forcibly conscripted into the army as a blacksmith. It was then he discovered the miracle: forging weapons extended his lifespan.

In the beginning, a simple iron sword would grant him a full year. Now, the returns had diminished. A successfully forged Mortal Grade weapon only netted him five months.

But it was enough. The number floating in his vision now read: 142.

A satisfied, almost foolish grin spread across Li Qing’s face.

One hundred and forty-two years. As long as he avoided sickness and disaster, he could live to be nearly one hundred and sixty.

It was an astonishing figure. In this era, reaching sixty or seventy was a feat. Eighty was the mark of a revered elder.

But just as Li Qing was basking in the glow of his newfound longevity, a commotion erupted outside.

“Quickly! Get a doctor! Someone get the doctor over here!”

The urgent shouts shattered the camp’s relative calm.

Li Qing shot to his feet, throwing open the tent flap to see what was happening.

Squinting against the dust, he saw three or four men stumbling back toward the camp, each carrying a grievously wounded soldier. More men poured from their tents, drawn by the cries.

“What’s going on?” Chen Meng demanded, rushing over from the training grounds with his new spear in hand, his brow deeply furrowed.

“Centurion, it was bandits! We were ambushed!” one of the soldiers gasped, struggling under his burden.

“Bandits?” Chen Meng’s expression hardened, his eyes flashing with fury. “Damn it all. Those bastards have some nerve, attacking the Wuli Army!”

Li Qing ignored their talk, his gaze fixed on the wounded.

Arrows bristled from their bodies, some having punched clean through. Blood, dark and stark, soaked their tunics beneath their leather armor. The sight was gruesome.

Fatal wounds. None of them would survive.

*Gulp.*

Li Qing swallowed hard, his face paling. A tremor ran through his body that he couldn’t control.

He had been on the frontier for nearly eighteen months, and this was the first time he had seen soldiers so close to death. The border had been deceptively peaceful. There were minor skirmishes with the neighboring Liang Country, but both sides always showed restraint, pulling back before things could escalate into true war.

But this was still the frontier.

Peace was a fragile thing. If there was no real threat of war, why station so many troops here?

And bandits… bandits and the army usually kept out of each other’s way. An attack this bold was sudden, and it felt wrong. It hinted at something more than simple raiding.

Li Qing had seen enough. He retreated silently into his forge, slumping down beside the weapon rack once more. The trembling wouldn’t stop.

This was bad.

Working as a blacksmith here was a goldmine for lifespan, but if war broke out, this camp would become the most dangerous place on earth.

What good was a lifespan of a hundred and sixty years if a stray arrow could end it all tomorrow?

He was just a blacksmith. Stronger than most, maybe, but in the chaos of battle, he was nothing.

He had to get out.

He had to leave the frontier, and soon.

That was the only thought in his mind.

“I’ve been a fool.”

New book launch, seeking collections and follow-up reads!