Deus Necros

Ludwig stared at the blade. His first forged steel. A moment that felt like he didn’t earn something by fighting an evil being, didn’t kill someone to obtain their weapon, and didn’t lose a life to gain an advantage.

The steel itself was short, imperfect, still carrying a faint sheen of oil and the memory of heat, yet it sat in his hands with a weight that wasn’t measured in metal.

There was no corpse behind it, no stolen trophy logic, no system reward window telling him he had done well because something else had died.

This was something that he himself created, with his own effort. With his own ability. Something that was his and his alone, and now he has the knowledge to make it again.

A permanent addition. Far more powerful than any stat or random weapon. Knowledge.

That last part was the one that unsettled him, not because it was frightening, but because it was honest. If he failed later, he couldn’t blame a bad drop, or bad luck, or a cheap trick. He would have the understanding, and the understanding would be his responsibility.

He turned to Andre and asked, “Why make me break the billet earlier?”

“So you would see failure before success.” Andre stepped closer to Ludwig, close enough that the forge heat and the soot scent seemed to follow him like a cloak.

“Metallurgy is not about making steel harder.” He tapped Ludwig on the chest lightly, “It’s about balance. Structure, and invisible forces within.” He paused for a bit, then continued with the same blunt calm he used on every lesson.

“You understand coin, politics, power. And the blade. That all requires balance. Same here.”

Ludwig looked down at the blade in his hands again, not admiring it now, but reading it, the slight wavering of the spine, the edge that would hold but not impress.

“Yes, too rigid and it fractures. Too soft and it bends. The same way in politics, and the blade… I see it now.”

Andre’s mouth curved faintly, “Now you are learning.”

Silence settled between them. The apprentices drifted back to their work, the forge breathing low and steady, a rhythm that didn’t care about noble blood or undead bodies.

Andre took the blade from Ludwig’s hand and set it aside, not dismissing it, just placing it where it belonged, as proof of a step taken rather than the destination.

“From here,” he said. “you have two paths.”

Ludwig listened without speaking, letting Andre choose the words without interruption, because this wasn’t a lecture for pride, it was a map for survival.

“The first path, is the one you already begun and started. Hammer, heat, shape, create. You can spend decades perfecting it. You will learn balance by instinct. You will feel when steel resists and argues, you will make good blades that do not shatter in winter nor warp in summer and break skulls without bending or cracking.” Andre looked at Ludwig, the gaze steady and unromantic.

“But, that’s not why you’re here.” He trailed.

Ludwig’s jaws tightened, it was indeed the fact. He needed to learn metallurgy, not smiting.

Making blades was an art you could pour years into. Ludwig needed the knowledge underneath the blade, the part that decided whether steel betrayed you before you even swung it.

Andre continued, “The second path… is slower. And far crueler.” He picked up a small bar of steel from a rack and placed it besides another.

“They look the same,” Andre said.

Ludwig nodded.

“Strike them.”

He did, the first bent slightly under the blow, the second cracked. The sound of the crack was sharp and final, and Ludwig stared at the fracture line like it had been drawn with intent.

“Why?” Andre asked as he saw Ludwig’s stare of confusion.

“Difference in composition? Carbon perhaps?”

Andre nodded. “One holds a pinch of ash, the other holds two. One forgives, the other punishes.” He folded his arms to explain more, not softening the truth.

“Metallurgy isn’t shaping what you have, it is deciding what something is before it is shaped.”

Andre went to a shelf and retrieved small sealed jars.

Inside them were multi colored powders, packed fine and dry, each jar labeled in a hand that looked more practical than decorative.

Ludwig could tell them apart by smell, color, and texture from his old textbooks back on Earth. Sulfur, phosphorus, manganese, silicon… and so on. Andre spoke, “Sometimes you find these inside your iron. Impurities, some call them. Supplements, some call them. Small by themselves, yet their impact is grand upon the billet.” He said.

“I suppose they serve a purpose if you had stored them,” Ludwig said.

“Yes, we’re not going to go over that, but these are examples of the reasons why blades fail without a visible cause. It would take a smith decades to be able to realize what’s mixed with his iron. Only then would he be able to understand why one batch of his iron behaves, and the other betrays.” Andre stood up

Ludwig felt the meaning behind Andre’s words without needing it repeated. The craft wasn’t only hammering. And it wasn’t a prediction.

It was an understanding of the nature of things first. And it was being able to look at a bar that seemed ordinary and know whether it would bend or crack before you ever wasted heat on it.

That was not something that could be handed down easily. That was a treasure that would be kept secret in most smith families. Only allowed to their descendants and the carriers of their craft.

It was the kind of knowledge that families guarded like heirlooms, and Andre was laying it on the table like it was a debt being paid. That was a debt that Ludwig realized that once he took on, he would need to repay several times over.

“If you want metallurgy, you should not begin with swords,” Andre said.

“Then what?” Ludwig asked.

“With failure,” Andre said.