WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Chen
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Occult World’s Coveted Blacksmith ◈
Chapter 3: The Shaman Granny
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“What’s your name?”
“...Lee Do-hyeon.”
“Do-hyeon.”
The man set down the perfectly forged paring knife and looked at me.
“You said it was your first time earlier... Have you ever learned blacksmithing somewhere? No, with skills like this, you’d have had to work under a master craftsman for decades.”
“No. It really was my first time. I’m just... taking a leave from college.”
He looked like he couldn’t believe me, but he didn’t press further.
“...Right, you’re on leave. Do you have another job right now?”
“No.”
A grin spread across his face.
“Then could you help out here? No, please help me out. We’re short-handed these days. This punk still can’t sharpen a knife properly after five years.”
“Master...!”
Jun-ho, who had collapsed to the floor when his legs gave out, let out a wounded groan. The man didn’t even glance at him.
“I’ll make sure the daily pay is worthwhile. Think of it as a part-time job.”
There was no reason to refuse.
I had nothing to do, no money, and an empty bank account. More than anything, I wanted to feel that electrifying thrill coursing through my veins when I’d gripped the hammer earlier.
I wanted to feel that insane rush of dopamine again, the proof that every skill I’d built over ten years actually worked in reality.
“...All right.”
Fine lines formed on the man’s stern face at my answer.
“Good. Be here by eight tomorrow.”
I bowed and left the forge. As I walked through the market alley, my steps felt so light I could’ve flown.
I looked down at my hands. The sensation of gripping the hammer’s handle and the recoil from striking steel still lingered vividly in my palms. It was hundreds of times more real and overwhelming than anything I’d felt in the game.
My heart began pounding wildly. At last, I had somewhere to prove those ten years.
* * *
That was how my first day at the forge began.
Clock in at eight in the morning, clock out at six in the evening.
The work was simple. Carry charcoal, tend the furnace, organize the tools, sweep up metal scraps.
Sometimes, I watched the man work from beside him.
He was incredible.
There was no wasted motion in the process of making a single knife.
Heat it, strike it, fold it, heat it again.
None of his movements looked extraordinary, yet they were fast and precise.
It was exactly like watching max-level blacksmith NPCs in the game.
‘Even his timing for quenching... is perfect.’
The color of the steel the instant he pulled it from the furnace, the angle at which he lowered it into water, the time he held it there.
He made it look effortless, but every movement came from decades of experience.
The longer I watched, the itchier my hands became.
The urge to stand there and start hammering rose within me.
Still, I held it back.
A part-timer who’d just started asking to stand before the anvil would look arrogant no matter how you looked at it.
Jun-ho still didn’t seem to like me.
Whenever our eyes met, he immediately turned away. If I spoke to him, he only gave short answers.
“Excuse me, where’s the charcoal?”
“The storage room.”
That was how it went.
At least he didn’t pick fights with me outright.
The paring knife incident must’ve taken some of the wind out of him.
* * *
A few more days passed, and I began to get a sense of the forge.
More people came here than I’d expected.
When I first arrived, it sat in a dead-end alley at the edge of the market, so I assumed it was a quiet shop.
It wasn’t.
On Tuesday, a middle-aged man in a crisp suit came by.
Judging by the way he casually spoke to the blacksmith, he seemed to be a longtime customer.
“Hey, take a look at this new kitchen knife I’ll be using. The spine keeps warping.”
I later learned he was the owner-chef of a two-star Michelin restaurant.
On Wednesday, an elderly woman with white hair came by and chatted with the blacksmith for a long while.
She left behind a pair of scissors. The man examined them for quite some time before carefully beginning to sharpen them.
“Who was that?”
“A National Intangible Cultural Heritage holder. A master knot maker.”
Jun-ho answered gruffly, as though it were nothing special.
A master knot maker?
I didn’t know what that was, but being a National Intangible Cultural Heritage holder sounded impressive.
That was the kind of place this forge was.
The signboard was half-peeled away, and the shop was tucked at the end of an alley, but everyone who knew, knew.
“It’s always different after you work on it.”
The chef’s words, spoken when he came to pick up his knife before closing, stayed with me.
The blacksmith had simply handed the knife over without a word.
* * *
It happened on Thursday morning.
The blacksmith was finishing the kitchen knife the chef had left with him, and Jun-ho was carrying charcoal from the storage room.
As usual, I was tidying the area around the workbench.
Then I sensed someone outside the shutter.
“Is the master here?”
I turned and saw an elderly woman standing there.
She wore a hanbok jacket and skirt. Her hair was neatly tied in a bun, and she held something wrapped in cloth.
The blacksmith looked up.
“Oh, Shrine Grandmother. It’s been ages.”
He rose from his seat to greet her.
“Oh dear, Master Mu-hyeok. Sorry to bother you when you must be busy.”
“Not at all. What brings you here...?”
The elderly woman unwrapped the cloth.
Inside was a brass bell.
It was the size of a palm, and one look told me it was old.
Its surface had blackened, and the loop at the top was loose.
“It won’t ring properly. No matter how I shake it, it only makes a dull sound. There’s no resonance. Could you take a look at it?”
Mu-hyeok’s expression stiffened slightly.
It was only for an instant, but I saw it.
He looked troubled.
The expression disappeared right away.
Still, the way he looked at her made it clear she was someone he couldn’t easily refuse.
Mu-hyeok took the bell and shook it a few times, then tilted his head.
“I think there’s a crack inside. It’ll take some time to inspect it properly.”
“It’s not urgent. Do it whenever it’s convenient.”
“All right.”
After she left, Mu-hyeok placed the bell on the workbench.
“Do-hyeon.”
“Yes?”
“Clean this up. We need to remove the oxidized layer on the outside before we can see what’s underneath.”
“All right.”
I picked up the bell.
The moment it touched my hand, I felt something strange.
A peculiar sensation, as though it were trembling faintly.
‘...What is this?’
I focused on my fingertips.
It seemed to be coming from inside the bell.
It felt familiar.
Right. It was similar to the feeling I’d had in the game.
The sensation of touching something imbued with a presence.
‘I don’t know what it is, but...’
For now, I focused on stripping away the oxidized layer.
I wiped the surface with a cloth soaked in vinegar, then polished it carefully.
As the black tarnish came away, the brass regained its original shine.
As I cleaned it, though, I noticed something.
The thickness of the bell’s inner wall wasn’t even.
One side was slightly thinner.
That would create uneven resonance.
One side would vibrate while the other produced a dead sound.
‘This... needs to be adjusted from the inside.’
I remembered a technique I’d used to repair bell-type items in the game.
You lightly struck areas where the inner wall was uneven to balance the density.
It involved sending a tiny flow of mana through the metal and evenly aligning its structure.
There was no mana in reality, so the result might be different.
Still, wouldn’t the principle be the same?
I picked out a small hammer. From the opening of the bell, I began lightly tapping along the thinner section inside.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sound of hammering the bell’s inner wall echoed through the quiet forge.
I read the thickness through the sensations transmitted to my fingertips.
Thicker areas. Thinner areas. The point where the crack began.
Just as I’d done tens of thousands of times in the game, I felt my way through it and matched it to a rhythm.
Feeling the flow of the metal as I struck it, then adjusting my strength to match that flow.
In the game, I would’ve sent mana into it as well.
Naturally, that wasn’t possible in reality, but my hands moved the way they always had in the game.
Clang. Clang-clang. Clang.
My palms began to feel faintly warm.
How much time had passed?
I struck it one last time and stopped.
Then I shook the bell.
Jingle─
A clear sound rang out.
It was completely different from before, clean and bright.
‘It worked.’
Satisfied, I was about to set the bell down on the workbench.
“Do-hyeon.”
Mu-hyeok’s voice came from behind me.
I turned to find him standing at the entrance to the workshop, watching me.
How long had he been there?
“I told you to clean the bell, not repair it.”
“Ah... I’m sorry. As I cleaned it, I noticed the inside was uneven, so I just...”
“You just?”
“My hands moved before I realized it. I’m sorry.”
Mu-hyeok approached without a word and picked up the bell.
He shook it.
Jingle─
The clear sound spread through the forge.
His hand stopped.
He held the bell up to the light. He peered through the opening. Then he shook it again.
He kept doing that for a while.
“...Nice.”
That was all he said.
Unexpectedly, he didn’t scold me for tampering with a customer’s property. Nor did he make a huge fuss about how well I’d fixed it, like last time.
He looked deep in thought.
Then he put down the bell and went inside.
* * *
The next morning.
Shrine Grandmother came to retrieve the bell.
Mu-hyeok handed it to her.
“The inner wall thickness was uneven. I adjusted it.”
“Oh my, thank you.”
She took the bell and shook it once.
Jingle─
Her hand stopped.
She lifted the bell beside her ear and shook it again.
Jingle. Jingle.
“......”
Slowly, she turned to look at Mu-hyeok.
“Did you do this?”
“Yes.”
Mu-hyeok replied calmly.
She stared at the bell for a long time.
She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but in the end, she kept quiet.
“...Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
“It’s fine. Between us, this one’s on the house.”
“......”
She fell silent.
After studying Mu-hyeok’s face for a long moment, she pulled several bills from her wallet and placed them on the workbench.
“I won’t feel right otherwise, so take it.”
Before Mu-hyeok could say anything, she turned away.
At the door, she looked back once.
The hand holding the bell was trembling slightly.
I was carrying charcoal from the storage room, stealing glances through the shutter.
It was the bell I’d worked on yesterday. I couldn’t help worrying about it.
Once I saw her leave, I came out to the workbench.
“She left.”
“Yeah.”
Mu-hyeok was organizing the workbench. His back was turned, so I couldn’t see his expression.
The image of Shrine Grandmother’s trembling hand stayed in my mind.
Was it really something worth trembling over?
‘...Well, it was an old item. She must’ve been attached to it.’
It did bother me that Mu-hyeok had said he’d repaired it when I was the one who’d done it.
Maybe Shrine Grandmother would’ve been uncomfortable knowing a part-timer had worked on it. That was probably all it was.
I thought that was the end of it.
At least, I thought it was.
* * *
That evening.
Shrine Grandmother was performing a shamanic rite.
She was at the home of a middle-aged couple whose business wasn’t going well.
Everything they did ended in an accident, and every night they heard noises from the ceiling.
After seeing the place herself, she confirmed that minor spirits had latched onto it.
They weren’t particularly strong, but they had burrowed deep into every corner.
‘Tsk tsk, someone must’ve cast a curse on them.’
She set the ritual table and placed down her fan.
Then she took out the bell.
The bell she’d retrieved from Mu-hyeok’s forge earlier that day.
When she held it, that strange sensation from earlier returned.
It felt oddly warm.
‘Did the master do something to it?’
Shrine Grandmother didn’t think much of it and steadied her breathing.
Then she began to chant.
She shook the bell.
Jingle─
Her eyes widened.
The sound was different.
The bell’s ringing swept through the room.
Along the walls. Across the ceiling. Through the floor.
Its resonance spread through the entire space.
Rumble.
A dull noise came from the ceiling.
Thud. Thump.
“H-Honey!”
The wife screamed and grabbed her husband’s arm.
Something was thrashing wildly in the ceiling.
The fluorescent light shook. Dry dust rained down through gaps in the wallpaper.
The minor spirits embedded in every corner emerged all at once.
The corner of the ceiling. Behind the sink. Beneath the entranceway.
Normally, this was where it started.
She would have to pressure them slowly with the sound for about an hour, driving them out one by one.
Jingle─
The second ring.
One of the minor spirits lodged in the corner of the ceiling vanished the instant the bell’s sound reached it.
Pop!
“......?”
Shrine Grandmother’s hand faltered.
It hadn’t fled.
It had burst.
Jingle. Jingle─
Flash. Pop─!
A black afterimage sprang out from behind the sink, then scattered apart.
The one crouching beneath the entranceway couldn’t even run before it was crushed where it stood.
Pop-pop─!
Something burst loudly in the middle of the ceiling.
Black, dust-like debris scattered for a moment, then melted away into the air.
Silence.
“......”
Shrine Grandmother stood frozen, still gripping the bell.
The minor spirits lodged throughout the house.
Not a single one remained.
Every last one had burst.
She hadn’t even properly begun the rite yet.
“......”
The couple had no idea what had happened.
“H-Honey...”
The wife called to her husband in a trembling voice.
She was staring up at the ceiling. The frenzied noise from moments ago had vanished as if it had never existed.
“...Yeah.”
The husband swallowed hard.
Silence filled the room.
“Um...”
The husband carefully opened his mouth.
“Is it... already over?”
It had been less than five minutes since she set up the ritual table.
Footnotes:
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