Without another word, Mang Tian turned and strode into the main forge, returning moments later with two round, dull-gray metal blocks and four compact, serious-looking forging hammers. He placed one block and two hammers on each of the lowered worktables. The hammers landed with a solid, weighty thud.
"See those?" Mang Tian's voice was a low rumble, cutting through the tense silence. He pointed a thick finger at the metal blocks. "That's your test. One thousand strikes. Five hundred on each side." His eyes, sharp as flint, scanned their young faces. "And don't think a lazy tap will count. The sensor needs to feel a proper swing—the force of you lifting the hammer and bringing it down with purpose. The counter will tell you if it's good enough."
He paused, letting the sheer physicality of the task sink in. "You finish this, you've earned the right to come back tomorrow and call me 'teacher.' You don't..." He shrugged, a gesture that was more dismissal than indifference. "It means you don't have the foundation for this craft. Don't waste my time again. Begin."
With that final, cold pronouncement, he turned on his heel and left the practice room, the door closing with a definitive click.
Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin exchanged a glance—a mix of determination and nascent dread. They moved to their respective stations. Yao Xuan wrapped his hands around the handle of a hammer. It was cold, solid, and unforgiving. He hefted it, gauging its weight. About five kilograms each. For a six-year-old, it was a brutal demand. A thousand swings was a test of endurance that would break most children.
But they were not most children.
With the Primary Ancestral Dragon Body tempering his form and his bloodline unlocked to 1.2%, Yao Xuan's strength was a hidden wellspring. The hammers felt substantial in his hands, but not oppressive. Across from him, Tang Wulin, bolstered by the latent power of the sealed Golden Dragon King, also lifted his hammers without visible strain.
Then, the cacophony began. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Yao Xuan fell into a rhythm immediately, his movements fluid and economical. Each swing was a precise arc, the hammer head striking the stubborn metal with a clear, resonant ring. The number on his soul-guided screen began to climb at a steady, rapid pace. 10... 25... 87...
Within ten minutes, he had passed five hundred strikes. Only then did a faint burn begin to whisper in his shoulder muscles, and a fine layer of sweat glossed his skin. But as he worked, something else stirred within him—a deep, comforting warmth that flowed from his core into his weary muscles. It was the residual Ancestral Dragon power, slumbering since his last enhancement, now awakened by the intense physical exertion. Where the warmth traveled, fatigue receded, and his cells drank it in, growing subtly denser, stronger. He wasn't just performing a task; he was tempering his very body, forging himself alongside the metal.
A quick glance to his side told a different story. Tang Wulin was drenched, his simple clothes plastered to his skin. His breath came in ragged pants, and his face was flushed with effort. He had barely passed 350 strikes, and each new swing was a visible battle against his own limits.
"Wulin!" Yao Xuan called out, his voice steady despite his own exertions. "Don't fight your body! Match your breathing to your hammer! Inhale on the lift, exhale on the strike! Let the rhythm carry you!"
Tang Wulin's head snapped up, his eyes, clouded with strain, clearing for a moment. "I... I understand! Thank you, Brother Xuan!" The gratitude was palpable. As he adjusted, his movements became less frantic, more sustainable. The relentless climb of his counter, which had begun to slow, picked up pace once more.
The notification was a welcome chime. His total was now 13. Yao Xuan returned his full focus to his own work, the hammer in his hands feeling like an extension of his will. The rhythmic impacts were a meditation in force and control.
CLANG! Nine hundred ninety-eight!
CLANG! Nine hundred ninety-nine!
CLANG! ONE THOUSAND!
The final strike echoed in the room. Yao Xuan lowered the hammers, setting them down with a soft clink. He took a deep, controlled breath. His arms hummed with a manageable ache, but the circulating dragon's warmth was already soothing it away. He glanced at the clock. Less than twenty minutes. He nodded to himself, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest.
He was done.
He looked over at Tang Wulin, who was now approaching 650. The younger boy's arms were trembling, flushed an angry red with exertion. Each lift of the hammer was a monumental effort, his small frame shuddering with the strain. He was pushing himself to the absolute brink.
"Don't stop now, Wulin! You're more than halfway there! You can do this!" Yao Xuan encouraged, his voice firm and supportive.
Tang Wulin heard him, and through the haze of pain, a spark of fierce determination ignited. 'Brother Xuan is already finished... He's so strong! I can't give up! I won't be left behind!' He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight.
Just then, a strange, electric tingle shot up from the base of his spine. It was a bizarre sensation, like a dormant circuit flickering to life. The crushing fatigue lessened by a crucial fraction. The hammers in his hands didn't feel lighter, but his body found a new, desperate reserve of strength to wield them.
Leaving Tang Wulin to his grueling battle, Yao Xuan walked out of the practice room and found Mang Tian in the adjacent chamber. The master blacksmith was seated on a worn leather sofa, meticulously examining a complex metal component.
"Master Mang Tian," Yao Xuan announced, his tone respectful. "I have completed the task."
Mang Tian's head jerked up. The component in his hands was forgotten. "What?" he barked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You've finished?" His gaze darted to the heavy clock on the wall, then back to the calm, slightly sweaty boy before him. Less than twenty minutes. A task he had set as a near-impossible barrier for children their age had been demolished. The look he gave Yao Xuan was no longer one of mere assessment, but of sharp, undiluted shock.