PDLP Chapter 215 Forging Weapons
Chapter 215 Forging Weapons
"You little rascal! When did you secretly learn 'three hands'...?"
boom!
Before Mingxing Jushi could finish speaking, the fire bomb in Brother Li's hand exploded with a bang.
The explosion roused the sleeping night.
Lin Fan reacted instinctively, touching the porcelain bottle, and the giant sword was already in his hand.
"Don't make a fuss. Mojusi Temple isn't exactly a peaceful place. This often happens at night; it's commonplace."
After hearing the old swordsmith explain that the Iron Elephant was actually forged by him, Lin Fan handed the sword over.
The blacksmith was unpleasant to talk to, but he was very sincere, and the Soul-Suppressing Pearl did not receive any negative emotions from him other than disdain.
The old swordsmith's rough hands caressed the giant sword, his face showing a fascinated expression, much like a lecher touching a beautiful woman's stockings.
Lin Fan didn't quite understand. Was it really that nice to touch?
After a long while, the swordsmith reluctantly returned the sword to Lin Fan and casually said, "Thank you. If there's anything I can help you with, just let me know."
Without hesitation, Lin Fan asked, "Could you forge a weapon for me?"
The swordsmith was taken aback. "What? I was just being polite, and you're really asking for an exorbitant price!"
Lin Fan clicked his tongue, thinking to himself, "Aren't blacksmiths supposed to give away weapons to everyone they meet?" He had been thinking about whether he could help the old swordsmith refurbish his blood-stained scythe when he saw him forging it. As the enemy's strength increased, the scythe's lack of sharpness became increasingly apparent.
"Don't you want to ask for directions?" the swordsmith asked tentatively. "You look like you're lost here. I don't care what conflicts you have with the monks or anyone else in the temple. I can show you a way out."
That was exactly what the swordsmith had planned. He intended to wait for Lin Fan to ask him, then put him in a difficult position before giving him directions—after all, giving directions didn't cost anything. Forging weapons? Does he even know how much silver a single weapon he forges costs? He really dares to ask!
Lin Fan shook his head. He wasn't in a hurry to leave, nor did he need to give directions for the time being. He had a vague connection with Xiao Yi, and the others might be there too. His immediate priority was to find them all before coming back to ask for directions. Or perhaps they were just outside Moju Temple, and he might have walked out on his own.
Things didn't go as they had expected, so they stared at each other blankly. A moment of silence followed.
Lin Fan broke the silence first: "Master, could you help me remove all the thorns from my body?"
"Oh...oh? Sure, it's no trouble at all."
The swordsmith couldn't refuse this time, so he stretched out his strong hands and began to remove the thorns one by one.
"Master, what's your name? Would you mind telling me?" Lin Fan asked casually.
"I haven't used my name in a long time. Everyone calls me the Sword Forger. You call me that too? And you? Who are you?"
When asked this question, Lin Fan was momentarily at a loss for words. He didn't know when it started, but even he himself had lost sight of who he was and what kind of person he was.
He didn't want to think about the question too much, and simply replied, "My name is Lin Fan. I used to be a farmer, but now I travel with caravans and occasionally do other jobs."
The swordsmith nodded, not believing it at all. This man was clearly a "cultivator." Otherwise, how could he be so carefree, talking and laughing like a normal person with so many splinters stuck in his body? He didn't bleed when he pulled the splinters out himself, and he didn't cry out in pain much, only grimacing once after pulling out each one.
Clearly, they possessed some kind of supernatural power to do so. However, the Sword Forger did not delve into it. These cultivators always treated their cultivation paths as secrets, making it seem as if everyone coveted them. Each of them thought they were special, that they were the ones who could become immortals, but the Sword Forger had never actually seen anyone become an immortal.
“This is the last one, and this spot isn’t ideal.” The swordsmith pointed to the wooden splinter on Lin Fan’s head. “Are you sure you really want me to pull it out? Don’t you need to find a doctor or anything?”
Lin Fan nodded. He had to remove it because he would have to spit out the Soul-Suppressing Pearl later; the thorn in his head might knock him unconscious. After removing it, he would have to see the effects of the gray pill.
The swordsmith thought for a moment and comforted him, "But this thorn looks scary, it probably didn't go in very deep. If it really went into your brain, you wouldn't be completely unharmed."
"Who knows, it might just go in?" Lin Fan replied with a bitter smile.
"Hey bro, you have to believe in yourself. Maybe it's just on the outside, not inside. Don't scare yourself."
"Stop, stop, stop. Something about what you're saying doesn't sound right. Let's stop talking and just pull it out."
The swordsmith gripped the wooden splinter with both hands, ready to pull it out in one go. "Trust me, if it really gets stuck, I'll forge you a weapon for free."
"A single word is enough..." Lin Fan hadn't finished speaking when he felt a sharp pain in his head. The Sword Forger had taken advantage of his momentary lapse in attention and suddenly pulled it out.
He clutched his head, wincing in pain. It hurt so much; pulling it out and inserting it really did hurt just as much.
"So it's stuck in the brain?" Lin Fan turned to look at the splinter.
The swordsmith stared at the tip of the wooden splinter, at the small, yellowish-white speck, his expression shifting between surprise, regret, confusion, and a slight headache.
He only paused for a moment before quickly flicking the small, rice-grain-sized lump of wood at Lin Fan, then showed it to him, saying, "I told you, don't scare yourself. Look, there's only a little bit of blood on it, it definitely didn't go in."
Lin Fan nodded in disappointment.
He felt a chill emanating from the porcelain bottle. The red sickle inside seemed to come alive, radiating a coolness. Even through the bottle, he could feel his "little secretary" thoughtfully telling him the time.
"Is it already past midnight?" Lin Fan was somewhat surprised; time seemed to have passed rather quickly.
I can't delay any longer; I have to set off immediately.
So he reached down his throat and vomited up the dry food and other things. The pain returned instantly, and he was writhing on the ground screaming in agony.
After a while, he finally caught his breath. Lin Fan looked for the things he needed and carefully picked them up. He then put them back into his mouth and swallowed them.
The swordsmith's face twitched as he watched this series of practiced movements. He'd seen people cultivate unorthodox methods, but never anything like this, torturing themselves like this. What was the point of all this? If you don't like something, don't eat it in the first place! The swordsmith was now genuinely curious about which sect or school this person practiced.
"Master craftsman, no, old swordsmith, thank you very much, but I have urgent business to attend to and must take my leave now."
"Hey, wait a minute. I can't forge weapons for you for free, but that doesn't mean I can't forge them for money. Why don't you tell me what you want forged?"
Lin Fan reached into his pocket and a sickle appeared in his hand, with a red shadow flowing like a ghost.
"A sickle?" The swordsmith was somewhat disappointed. Although sickles were an uncommon weapon, they weren't anything particularly special.