"Thirty-five jin for a sledgehammer? This young warrior actually said it was light? Did he think fighting was about swinging a hammer? Just smash the enemy to death and be done with it? This is forging! Forging! It requires one strike followed by another, incessant hammering on raw iron."

Franklin shook his head, sighing as he patted Gan Jin's shoulder: "Young man, it seems you truly have never worked iron before. You should just leave. I’m looking to hire experienced blacksmiths."

"Boss," Gan Jin stood his ground, pointing a finger at the hundred-jin-plus forging hammer in Franklin's hand. "I'd like to borrow that hammer to work the iron."

"What?" Franklin looked up at Gan Jin, wondering if his hearing had betrayed him. This young man was openly asking to use that hammer?

The surrounding blacksmiths momentarily forgot how to laugh. Ever since Franklin's Smithy was established, students from Oakwood Academy came seeking employment every session—they had seen every kind of person imaginable, but never once had anyone chosen Franklin's massive hammer.

The enormous head, the thick, heavy haft—any fool could look at that hammer and know it wasn't light.

"Kid, are you angry because we laughed? You don't need to pick such a heavy hammer to save face, do you?"

The blacksmiths, recovering from their initial surprise, erupted in a roar of laughter louder than any previous round.

"Just let me try," Gan Jin maintained his indifferent expression.

Franklin shook his head with a wry smile. Young people nowadays truly didn't grasp how vast the world was. He smiled, handing over the hammer, "It's very heavy. Be careful not to smash your foot. You should really use both hands."

Gan Jin shook his head, smiling, and stubbornly reached out his right hand to take the hammer, repeating his request in the same tone: "Just let me try."

Franklin looked at the arrogant youth, then silently placed the great forging hammer into his palm.

The hundred-plus jin hammer settled into his grip. Gan Jin's arm dipped slightly under the weight, then instantly arrested its downward momentum, held steady and firm.

"Oh..."

A gasp of surprise rippled through the crowd. Several people even let out sharp intakes of breath. The expectant smiles on the blacksmiths' faces, waiting to see Gan Jin embarrass himself, instantly froze; their initial anticipation had dissolved into nothingness.

Gan Jin tested the weight of the forging hammer in his hand. About one hundred and ten jin. It was significantly lighter than the forging hammers in that virtual game, Endless World. While still a bit weighty in his hand, it was manageable—certainly better than a thirty-jin hammer.

Franklin was somewhat taken aback. This massive hammer was the only one in the entire smithy he himself could wield comfortably. Yet, this young man seemed to handle it without visible strain? Such strength—even among the warriors at Oakwood Magic and Warrior Academy, few could manage it. Had he activated his Battle Qi? What level warrior was this young man?

Gan Jin picked up the iron tongs resting beside the anvil with his left hand, swiftly clamping the billet, glowing cherry-red from the heat, and gently placed it upon the anvil. His right hand raised the massive, hundred-jin hammer suddenly. The speed of its descent whipped up a sharp whoosh of air, sounding like a sudden gust of wind materializing from nowhere. The great hammer trailed a shadowy arc of dark light, resembling a star plummeting from the heavens, and slammed down heavily onto the searingly hot iron billet.

Clang!

The hammer struck the billet, and incandescent sparks flew outwards like brilliant fireworks. The sound of colliding metal was like a sudden peal of thunder.

The blacksmiths, whose smiles had long since solidified, simultaneously gaped slightly in astonishment the moment they witnessed this. Was this kid from a lineage of master smiths? That single blow was not something any common blacksmith could deliver!

Gan Jin paid no mind to the reactions around him. The hammer in his hand was already raised again, and the momentum it gathered descended once more, smashing fiercely onto the billet resting on the anvil.

Another clang, almost painfully sharp, rang out. Franklin’s eyes, which had initially held mere appreciation, were suddenly alight with astonishment.

What was this? Franklin felt his brother, Francis, nudge his elbow. Looking up, he saw that Francis's eyes were also filled with confusion and surprise.

Just like warriors and mages, the world of blacksmiths possessed its own tiered system. Most blacksmiths spent their entire lives as mere apprentices, like the others in the yard.

But when a smith's skill reached a certain echelon, passing specific assessments and evaluations, they could become a First-Rank Blacksmith!

Once graduated from the apprentice ranks to First-Rank, that status instantly became different. The quality of weapons and armor they forged was conceptually worlds apart from that of an apprentice.

Both Franklin and Francis were First-Rank Blacksmiths, nearly the most renowned in all of Oakwood City. Their discerning eyes were infinitely sharper than those of the apprentice smiths.

Franklin was certain that in those two strikes Gan Jin had just delivered, the height to which he raised the hammer and the trajectory of its descent remained utterly unchanged. It was as if the action had been recorded by some legendary Phantasm Magic and replayed twice.

Three strikes... five strikes... ten strikes... thirty strikes...

The rear yard of the smithy fell into an unprecedented silence. Although the apprentice smiths couldn't fully gauge Gan Jin’s level of craftsmanship, they could clearly see that the methodical, rhythmic nature of his work was definitely not that of a novice.

A series of cold gasps hissed through Franklin's clenched teeth. His eyes, initially normal in size, bulged out to twice their usual width. The look of appreciation had thoroughly morphed into sheer shock!

Francis's Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably; his eyes were equally wide open.

Fifty forging blows—the same height, the same swift, powerful impact, a precise trajectory seemingly bound by predetermined tracks. With every strike, the resulting sparks were brilliantly luminous, perfectly synchronized with that unique, steady rhythm...

"Is that..." Franklin looked at his brother, Francis, who spoke with a tone of surprise mixed with a touch of doubt: "A First-Rank Blacksmith?"

Francis nodded repeatedly in his shock, mentally questioning if Gan Jin truly was a student from Oakwood Magic and Warrior Academy. Was he absolutely certain this wasn't a smithing prodigy raised in a true master family? How old was this boy? Blacksmithing, like warrior arts and magic, required talent! To possess the skill of a First-Rank Blacksmith at such a young age—why bother being a warrior? He should pursue forging! He undoubtedly possessed a future of unimaginable brilliance!

One hundred hammers... one hundred and fifty hammers...

Gan Jin hammered on, seemingly tireless, beating the iron billet that continuously shrank beneath his blows. Sweat soaked his clothes until he looked like someone who had been hauled out of a water vat.

Two hundred hammers!