Arthur jolted awake, eyes wide. "I need to hammer!" he shouted instinctively.
Then he blinked, confused. He wasn't at the forge. He was lying in bed, under soft sheets, in the guest room of the Seok family estate. His hands—bandaged and clean—showed no signs of the bleeding wreckage they had been before.
"What…? Why am I here?" he muttered, looking around.
A dry voice answered, "Because you passed out, obviously."
Arthur turned to see Grandmaster Kim lounging in a nearby chair, sipping tea with the smug serenity of a man who definitely *had not* just spent ten hours hammering metal.
"Now that you've rested," Kim said, setting his cup down, "eat something, and then get back to it. That iron's not going to hammer itself."
"Hmph… heartless old man," Arthur thought. "Even after I collapse like a dead ox, he still wants me to go back and smash that iron bar." He pouted dramatically. "I've hit that thing hundreds of thousands of times, and it's still only one-sixth its original size. Does he think I'm a divine blacksmith or something?"
Grandmaster Kim shot him a sidelong glance. "Don't overthink it. Just do what you're supposed to do, use your body, feel the heat. Effort never betrays you."
He stood and made his way toward the door.
"And if you manage to finish this task… the reward will be beyond what you can imagine." he added calmly, before leaving the room without another word.
Arthur stared at the door after it shut. "Cryptic old geezer…" he muttered. But his fingers curled into fists.
He exhaled, then nodded to himself. "Well, it's not like I've got a better offer. One of the strongest cultivators in the kingdom wants to teach me, and all I have to do is flatten an indestructible bar of iron. Totally fair."
After a hearty meal that nearly brought him back to life, Arthur made his way to the training grounds. The forge was still blazing, its fire roaring like it had been waiting just for him.
He spotted the iron bar resting on the anvil—still stubborn, still unyielding.
Arthur sighed. "Alright, round two. Let's see who breaks first, you or me."
He grabbed the bar, tossed it back into the flames, and waited until it turned bright yellow with heat. Then he took it out, set it on the anvil, and lifted the hammer.
CLANG!
The hammer struck with a little more weight than yesterday. His grip was more stable, his stance slightly firmer.
"Just do it… Just do it…" he murmured under his breath, falling into rhythm.
Minutes passed.
Hours crawled.
Sweat poured, muscles screamed.
CLANG! CLANG!
And then—barely, almost imperceptibly—the iron compressed a fraction more than it had the day before.
Arthur's eyes widened. "Yes!" he shouted, grinning like a madman. "Take that, you oversized nail!"
He resumed hammering with renewed vigor.
CLANG! CLANG!
Little by little, his strikes grew sharper, cleaner. His posture steadied. His movements flowed.
The iron bar, once defiant, was beginning to submit—ever so slightly.
And with each strike, Arthur's smile grew.
He hadn't noticed, but from a distance—hidden within the shadows of a stone pillar—Grandmaster Kim stood silently, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"This brat definitely has the will to grow stronger."
Clank.
Clank.
Clank.
Each strike echoed like a thunderclap through the lonely expanse of the mansion's training grounds.
Sparks danced around Arthur like fireflies as he raised the hammer high, brought it down, again and again, sweat soaking through his tattered shirt, muscles trembling from fatigue, but never stopping.
His breath had long since turned ragged. His arms felt like lead. His fingers burned, blistered and torn. But his mind… it was quiet. Empty, focused.
In the forge, the iron bar glowed a deep molten orange as he retrieved it once more and laid it upon the anvil. Then—another strike. And another.
Far from him, hidden in the shade of an upper balcony cloaked in ivy and shadow, Grandmaster Kim stood silently. Arms crossed. His expression unreadable, though a faint smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.
"This brat..." he murmured, the corner of his eyes narrowing with admiration. "He really wants to grow stronger… and he's got the madness to chase it."
Day turned into dusk. Dusk into night.
Yet Arthur never stopped.
Food? Forgotten.
Sleep? Irrelevant.
Pain? Unwelcome.
He had crossed a threshold where the world faded. It was just him, the forge, the fire… and the sound of iron.
Clank.
A rhythm, a mantra, a meditation.
He wasn't thinking anymore. His body moved without his consent. Every breath he drew, every motion he made—it belonged to the act of forging. It was no longer a task. It had become instinct.
Unknowingly, he had entered a rare state—an "Engulfed State," as cultivators called it. A phenomenon where the practitioner becomes so immersed in their training that the conscious mind is left behind, and only progress remains.
Five days passed.
Five entire days without food. Without sleep. Without anything but the relentless rhythm of hammering.
Somewhere on the fourth day, his body shuddered. A ripple of qi coursed through his marrow, washing like a wave through his bones, his nerves, his blood.
But he didn't notice.
The marrow stage of the Body Tempering Realm was supposed to be brutal—a painful and slow process of rebuilding one's very foundation. Yet Arthur pushed through it with sheer willpower and mechanical focus, bypassing agony with obsession.
On the sixth day, the bar glowed white-hot in the forge. When he struck it again—
TCHHHHHK.
It finally compressed. A clean, resounding fold. One last strike. Then another. Until the iron bar, once thick and unyielding, had been hammered down to precisely one-tenth of its original size.
Arthur stood, arm raised to strike again—
But before he could bring the hammer down, a firm hand caught his wrist.
"Enough, brat," came the voice—calm, amused, and powerful.
Arthur blinked, dazed. His eyes were sunken, lips cracked, hands bloodied—but his spirit still burned.
"G-Grandpa?" he croaked. "Why'd you stop me?"
"You fool." Grandmaster Kim grinned. "Take a good look at that iron bar, first."
Arthur slowly turned, staring at the now-silenced forge and the compressed metal lying on the anvil.
His breath caught in his throat.
"…I did it?"
"You've done more than that." The old man nodded, resting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You hammered for six days straight. No food. No water. No rest. I've seen war veterans faint after two. Yet here you are, still standing."
Arthur's legs buckled as those words hit. He sank onto the training ground's stone floor, heart pounding in his ears.
"I… didn't even notice," he muttered.
"You were in what we call the Engulfed State," Kim said, kneeling beside him. "It's a rare condition cultivators sometimes enter—when the soul aligns completely with the body's intent. In this state, progress happens without conscious interference. Most people chase that state for decades. You stumbled into it on your own."
Arthur looked down at his hands. Bruised, shaking, covered in dried blood and calluses.
"And I broke through, didn't I…?"
Kim chuckled. "You passed the marrow stage. Your body's foundation has strengthened. Your qi now circulates deeper, more harmoniously. You probably didn't feel it—but your resilience, speed, and energy retention have all improved significantly."
Arthur's lips curled into a tired grin. "Huh. So hitting metal like a madman actually worked."
Kim burst out laughing. "Brat, you remind me of myself at your age. Reckless. Stubborn. And damn hard to break."
The sun was rising behind them now, casting golden light across the courtyard. Arthur leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the warmth soak into his bones.
"…I thought you were punishing me," he said quietly.
"I was teaching you something no technique manual can," Kim replied. "Discipline. Patience. The feel of progress forged through pain. Now you know what true cultivation is—it's not flashy moves or loud clashes. It's slow. Relentless. Like the forge."
Arthur nodded slowly. "Thank you… master."
The old man didn't respond at first. Then, with a rare gentleness, he ruffled Arthur's hair.
"Rest today," he said. "Tomorrow, we begin the real training."
"Let's see how much time it takes you to change the nature of your qi." Grandmaster kim thought while leaving.
And as the old master walked away, his robe catching the wind, Arthur lay there with a half-smile and a fire in his heart.
The hammer had taught him more than just strength. It had etched something deeper into his bones—endurance, patience, grit. But even more than that…
Something was changing inside him.
Arthur lay sprawled on the training ground, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling slowly. A warmth was spreading through him—not just the lingering heat from the forge or the burn in his muscles—but something alive, something stirring in his core.
He blinked slowly, his hand resting over his lower dantian.
"…My body feels so hot," he muttered under his breath.
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