Meteor Fall Master in the 'Starry Abyss'
Chapter 755 - 364. Blacksmith

Chapter 755: 364. Blacksmith

Deciding against making three corn rolls had been the right choice; this time he used his best skill set with 800-layer Damascus steel, easily accomplishing the fusion. The metal was neat and, in its red-hot state, shimmered beautifully like the sun.

Next, all he needed to do was to secure it with a clamp, straighten and elongate the steel billet, conduct localized fire quenching, and after ensuring the blade was perfectly straight without any bends and well-polished, a good knife would essentially be declared complete, the rest was just fitting a handle that suited the user’s palm size.

But today had already been busy enough.

Since the morning when that girl came over to ask for nails, only to say she would pick them up in the evening, his work had been disrupted several times, sometimes due to people causing trouble. Then, cleaning the room and clearing the store in the afternoon took a lot of time, not to mention delivering goods to people.

He glanced at the horizon, realizing it was already late.

——Fortunately, today’s progress hadn’t fallen behind.

The quality of the steel was truly remarkable, and he was really reluctant to use it up—but working overtime today felt too exhausting for the blacksmith.

He would heat and reprocess it tomorrow when his hands felt just right.

After letting the steel cool down naturally, the blacksmith turned off the furnace, satisfied.

"Hey, blacksmith fellow."

As soon as he had turned off the furnace, he saw an elderly woman with a hunched back and a headscarf coming down from the bridge, her cheeks as rosy as apples and her high cheekbones prominent, yet not detracting from her kind appearance, which was complemented by her broad face.

The blacksmith recognized her; she was Granny Baba Yaga, a woman who lived in the woods. She was said to have been a researcher at a Council’s institution in her younger days, living alone, childless, and subsisting on farming and raising chickens.

She occasionally came to town to sell the fungi she cultivated, and many wealthy masters were utterly infatuated with the mushrooms she peddled.

"You really are hardworking, Granny. I saw your furnace burning since this morning, all the way to now—how many hours do you work each day? You aren’t working a full eight hours, are you? You’ll overwork yourself to death like that!"

Granny Baba Yaga approached him, the kindly old woman unfazed by his unattractive appearance as she prattled on.

The blacksmith was somewhat at a loss, as hardly a few people were ever so friendly and enthusiastic towards him; Granny Baba Yaga kept rubbing her back and exclaiming in pain, so he hastily brought out a small stool for her to sit on while he himself sat on an adjacent bridge pile.

"Ah, good lad, I knew you’d offer an old lady like me a seat."

Granny chuckled heartily and sat down without reservation, starting to ramble again:

"Eighty years ago, before Void had descended, although we had nothing, children back then weren’t as void and elusive as today’s. Now, with technology so advanced and their lifespans multiplied, they can’t even grasp basic manners and morality."

The blacksmith didn’t know what to say and just stared down at his large feet, focusing on them.

"But I can’t really blame these kids; actually, it’s us, the older generation, who haven’t managed them well. We’re too obstinate, sacrificing some deep-seated wishes for certain aims."

"It’s pathetic for those children; they’ve become vessels for our desires, struggling daily to fulfill their parents’ dreams, so what dreams can they possibly have themselves?"

"By the time we’re old and gone, they’ll have taken over this world, and then who will guide them? It’s our fault for not setting a good example; no wonder the kids are lost. They live in an age of confusion, embracing a void self... It’s not their fault."

Granny Baba Yaga continued massaging her shoulders and neck as she spoke:

"Blacksmith lad, how long have you been in this village?"

The blacksmith stretched out his hand, his five plump fingers resembling carrots, marked by burns and calluses.

"Five years now, that’s quite some time." Granny asked, "Do you like it here?"

The blacksmith paused for a moment, then turned to look towards his tidy and solemn blacksmith shop.

Even though some people discriminated against and feared his appearance, no one questioned his craftsmanship. His business wasn’t booming, but his shop had been safe and sound for five years.

There was no war, no invasion from the Void, and when the Substance Rain fell, the rooftops did not leak.

Thus, he looked towards Granny Baba Yaga and nodded.

"Truly not easy."

Granny Baba Yaga was surprised:

"You’ve already lost everything, why do you still enjoy such a life?"

Until now, the Blacksmith still had not said a word.

He simply shifted his gaze silently towards the distant mountains, and following his eyes, Granny Baba Yaga reflected:

"That is the place overrun by the Void—indeed, although it is terrible here, at least we are still alive."

But soon, she realized something was amiss.

Because the Blacksmith’s small eyes were not looking at the boundless gray mist beyond the mountains but were directed upwards, towards the dark ink-blue starry sky.

"...What is that?"

Granny Baba Yaga asked:

"Are you looking at the sky?"

The Blacksmith gazed into that deep ink-blue expanse and didn’t answer for a long time.

Granny Baba Yaga said:

"You are now not wealthy, plus clumsy, ugly, and lacking confidence. Rejected by most people, you live a hard life. Living in a remote and unnoticed village, with no technology to serve you, no knowledge to enrich your spiritual world, and no one to love you and accompany you, this world is falling apart, and this planet does not favor you. You have no extraordinary abilities, you don’t even have the capability to change such a life—dear child, what exactly sustains your boring life?"

"The Moon."

It was the first time Granny Baba Yaga heard the Blacksmith speak, her dim, chaotic eyes suddenly lit up.

"...What did you say?"

The Blacksmith bowed his head and with a faint, bashful voice said:

"I remember, I promised someone to show her the Moon."

"What is the Moon? My child."

"I don’t know, I vaguely remember, it is something clear, bright, bearing longing and beautiful dreams. When the fierce Sun falls below the horizon, the cool, clear Moonlight will take its place and watch over the world for us."

"...That sounds beautiful."

Granny Baba Yaga was moved, the old lady gently said:

"Even though you have an ugly face, what you’ve just described... is more beautiful than anything in this world."

The Blacksmith did not respond, he just sat guarding his knees, as if embarrassed by the compliment.

"It’s nothing to fuss over, child. Listen well, the charm of a person, the so-called beauty, does not come from the decoration of appearance and wealth, a tyrant’s statue carved in gold, no matter how many times it is erected, will be overthrown by people; whereas a gentleman hero molded from mud, even if it is far off in a temple deep in the mountains and forests, will still have people coming to continue the incense offerings."

Granny Baba Yaga patted the Blacksmith’s shoulder, her demeanor was as gentle as a mother’s.