Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 1023 - 62: Whirlpool (Four)_3

First, he visually inspected whether the blades were perfectly straight, followed by pressing down on them to test their resilience and whether they could spring back to shape after bending under stress.

The final step was the most critical and brutal: he would hack at a spherical anvil with an unsharpened blade. If there were any hidden cracks or imperfections, the blade would deform or even break at this stage.

Winters used eye signals for Caman to randomly select ten blades, but the inspection itself was conducted by him personally.

Through the gloves, he grasped the steel strip without a sword hilt with just the right amount of firmness, suddenly feeling a familiar sense of precision and reassurance.

The slender blade was tough and resilient, with even the movement at the tip accurately transmitting to his hand.

Winters swung the blade gently, and as the metal sliced through the air, it emitted a “whoosh” sound.

After getting a feel for the weight, he struck the anvil with the blade.

With a crisp “clang”, a shallow gash was left on the surface of the spherical anvil, and the blade remained undamaged.

Without needing further words from old Schmid, young Schmid could see that the so-called “Baron” was a sword expert.

Chopping the anvil was difficult, but the difficulty laid not with the swordsmith, but with the swordsman.

The best of swords couldn’t withstand force applied from the side. With strength applied correctly, even the finest saber could be snapped over a knee.

The key to chopping the anvil was to strike the curved surface perpendicularly. If the blade was slapped flat against the anvil, it would deform no matter the quality.

Young Schmid silently retracted his disdain for his peer—”Baron” possessed clean and precise movements with a straight blade, which hardly deformed during the chopping.

Winters was satisfied, too. Since the handle and pommel were not fitted, the blade’s center of gravity was forward of where it would be on a proper sword. When he used only half his strength to chop, the blade remained unharmed, proving the craftsmanship of Schmid Workshop was trustworthy.

Picking up other blades, Winters asked, “None of them are sharpened?”

“If you need them sharpened, I can contact the sharpening workshop tonight,” young Schmid hurriedly answered. “Fitting handles or sheathes is not difficult either.”

Without confirming or denying, Winters laughed and said to the Schmids, “Let’s look at more blade strips… I may need more sabers.”

Blade strips—Schmid Workshop had many in stock, all forged in the preferred style of the Paratu Cavalry, with a blade length of about one meter and a slight curve.

Young Schmid thumped his chest, assuring that if “Baron Your Excellency” wanted the Empire Cavalry’s favored heavy broad-bladed Saracen-style sabers, he could get them, and in any quantity needed.

Later, Schmid and his son found an excuse to leave temporarily, giving the “Baron” and his “personal priest” some privacy for discussion, a gesture of goodwill to allow them to confer alone.

“[Old Language] That’s it?” Caman asked incredulously, “[Old Language] Just like that?”

“[Old Language] How could it be?” Winters sipped the clear water with a smile and replied, “[Old Language] The stock from his tiny workshop—how could it be enough for our purchase? Just you watch, this is only the beginning. White Eagle treats us as pawns, but pawns have their advantages, especially when we know the player’s intentions.”

Caman corrected with precision, “[Old Language] You mean you, not us.”

“[Old Language] You were there that day.”

“[Old Language] I was merely a witness; I didn’t take part.”

While they were chatting idly, the Schmids returned to the room, the older blacksmith leading, the younger carrying an exquisite wooden box in his hands.

“Baron Your Excellency,” old blacksmith Schmid bowed slightly, “My son was rude just now. To express our apologies, please accept this gift.”

Young Schmid carefully placed the wooden box on the table and opened the lid.

Inside the box, a short sword quietly rested on silky brocade.

The sheath of the short sword was made from black sheepskin, devoid of any gold, silver, or jewels. The hilt was wrapped in shagreen, which offered an excellent texture but was also unadorned in style.

“A truly fine sword has no need for a luxurious scabbard; those are merely for show.” Old blacksmith Schmid drew the short sword, revealing a blade covered with cloud-like patterns: “And this sword is not for show.”

“This is…” Winters’ gaze was immediately captivated.

“Yes, a Damascus steel blade, the divine weapon of the Saracens,” Schmid said with pride. “The blade is made from genuine wootz steel, forged and ground by my own hands, unfortunately, it’s just a small piece. The handle comes from the craftsmanship of the Fortress of Steel, featuring stingray leather and wrapped with silver wire.”