I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 628: First Day In School [Part 1]

Aster didn’t need to announce where they were. From a distance, as they walked closer, Northern could already hear the crude clangor of metals frivolously ripping the air apart.

As they approached the smithy, the first thing he noticed was its sheer scale. The building stood like a fortress of industry, its walls constructed from dark stone that bore the marks of time and countless fiery battles.

Massive oregon iron beams reinforced the structure, their rivets glowing faintly as if imbued with latent heat. The roof, a sweeping dome of the same oregon metal but more blackened than the beams, caught the sunlight, reflecting it in golden flashes where it wasn’t dulled by soot.

A towering chimney pierced the sky, belching columns of smoke that mingled with the low-hanging clouds, announcing the forge’s activity against the backdrop of the mountain and wildlife.

Around its base, a network of pipes and vents hissed with the steady exhalation of steam, lending the air a humid, metallic tang.

Aster’s steps finally came to a stop, and so did Northern’s. Unmiraculously, Northern’s threat had worked perfectly.

Northern had meant every word of the threat: if Aster had continued talking, his plan was to release all the void aura he had been suppressing since entering and have the boy pass out cold on the ground.

The blabbermouth pointed to the industry-like building before them.

”There is LaRosa Workshop.”

Northern already knew—anyone would, given how announcing the building itself was.

”I see. Thank you, Aster.” Northern gave a short response and focused on the building.

He thought Aster would have silently walked away until he heard the boy’s modulated voice reach his ears.

”So won’t you at least give me your name? Can’t keep calling you ’Fella’ forever, you know.”

Northern sighed internally, looked over his shoulder, and said to Aster, ”My name is Lael, or Artemis. Whichever suits you.”

”Okay, I’ll just go ahead and call you Art. Because now we are friends.”

Northern rolled his eyes away and started to stroll towards the smithy.

”My workshop is just a stone’s throw away from here, you know, towards your right!”

Northern closed his eyes for a moment and willfully ignored the boy’s shout.

Very few people were walking around this place, and Northern liked that not even one of them cared enough to look in his direction.

Everyone strode with a level of haste and purpose that insinuated they were super busy.

Northern finally stopped close in front of LaRosa Workshop, breathing in the edifice before bringing his gaze down.

The entrance was marked by double doors crafted from solid steel, etched with intricate carvings of roaring flames, twisting gears, and mythical creatures—symbols of creation and destruction.

Each door was flanked by statues of hammer-wielding smiths, their faces stoic and their stances powerful, as if they guarded the secrets of the craft within.

Above the doorway, a massive cogwheel spun lazily, powered by some unseen mechanism, its rhythmic clinking underscoring the smithy’s heartbeat.

As Northern entered the smithy, the first thing he noticed in the enormous, hot space were wagons laden with mineral ore and supplies queuing at the loading bays, while students in casual, body-fitting black and white shirts and trousers darted to and fro, their arms piled high with tools or raw materials.

Even from the threshold, Northern could feel the heat radiating from within, a relentless pulse that seemed to reach out and challenge him.

The faint scent of burning coal and hot iron filled his lungs as he stood there at the entrance, the symphony of clanging hammers and roaring fires threatening to rip his eardrums apart.

Inside, the smithy spread wide and high like a cathedral of craftsmanship, aglow with the molten light of countless forges.

Walls of blackened stone bore intricate carvings of legendary weapons and the forge legends themselves.

Enormous chimneys ascended toward the dark heavens of the smithy. Inside, a labyrinth of workstations bustled with blacksmiths of all specialties, each immersed in their craft.

Rows of anvils sat atop reinforced bases, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of labor.

Bellows, powered by a blend of manual effort and hydraulic mechanisms, fed roaring flames that danced in the massive forges.

A series of overhead cranes transported heavy ingots across the smithy, while grindstones and sharpening wheels spun at dizzying speeds under the steady hands of several students.

In the corner, a pool of water and a barrel of oil served as quenching stations, their surfaces rippling with steam.

Racks upon racks of tools—hammers, tongs, chisels, and punches—lined the walls, each gleaming with the promise of precision.

A specialized section featured magical runes and alchemical inscriptions, where enchanted alloys were shaped into artifacts of legend.

Northern stood there, his head slowly twisting, enraptured by the uncanny beauty of this place. The smell of sweat, the intense heat, the busyness, the violent sound of metals, the coordination and discipline that existed in this building—they were all to his pleasing.

He loved it and started to think.

’Learning Blacksmithing might turn out to be the greatest decision I have ever made for myself.’ Northern’s lips curled out a fulfilling smile.

”What a weird kid. You know, take off those fancy clothes and get working. Shampoo, show him the drills.”

Northern did not have the opportunity to see the man for more than one second; his thick monotonous voice carried his words too quickly, complementing his hasty demeanor.

That one second, however, was enough for someone like Northern to make out his entire physique.

This man had a muscular build, with broad shoulders and arms that seemed forged themselves. His red hair, styled in a rugged manner, complemented his confident and almost arrogant demeanor.

A neatly trimmed beard framed his strong jawline, enhancing his aura of experience and authority.

His outfit was practical yet iconic: a heavy brown leather apron adorned with reinforced metal plates, protecting him during his craft.

Around his waist was a belt loaded with various blacksmithing tools, from hammers to tongs, each meticulously placed for easy access.

His hands held a large, custom-designed hammer, the kind that could shape both steel and legends, to his right shoulder. His boots and bracers were sturdy, made for long hours of labor.

Despite his rugged appearance, there was a spark of intelligence in his eyes, hinting at someone as thoughtful as he is skilled.

Northern watched him stride purposefully out of the smithy and beyond.

The person he had called, Shampoo, arrived in front of Northern. He was a lithe-looking guy with a slightly bent frame, perhaps his posture over the years had contributed to that.

His eyes examined Northern for a few seconds.

Then Northern caught the flash of a villainous grin. He raised a brow, ’Huh? Did I imagine it?’

The boy adjusted his glasses and raised his chin, looking down on Northern even though they were around the same age.

”Today is your first day, right. Did you come with your work suits?”

Northern frowned, ”I don’t even know what those are.”

”Look at this runt. Talking back at your senior, foolish freshman, you will know your place soon.”

Northern tilted his head, innocently shocked, ”Heh?”