Ethan's hand hovered over the collection of weapons before his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a standard, double-edged straight sword. He lifted it from the iron rack, testing its weight. The balance was standard, the iron crude compared to his usual parameters, but it was structurally sound enough to serve as a disposable tool.
With a casual, almost indifferent flick of his wrist, Ethan swung the blade into the empty space of the forge.
*VUUUM!*
The air shivered. For a fraction of a second, an incredibly sharp, freezing ripple of pure Sword Intent bled from Ethan's fingers and infused the mortal iron. The ambient heat of the blast furnace was instantly suppressed, replaced by a localized, razor-like pressure that caused the hairs on the blacksmith's arms to stand completely on end.
