The academy library was quiet as always.
Dust. Paper. Old wood. The kind ofi silence that let thoughts settle.
I sat at the same table and wrote down the basic combat categories of the Douluo world again, not because I did not know them, but because I
wanted to decide where I belonged.
Attack System.
Direct damage. Strong, simple, decisive.
Control System.
Restrict movement. Bind. Slow. Interrupt.
Agility System.
Speed. Precision. Assassination.
Defense System.
Protection. Endurance. Tank-type fighters.
Support System.
Healing. Buffs. Enhancement.
Food System.
Rare. Special. Practical in its own way.
I tapped the pen against the page and stared at the list fior a long time.
I did not have the martial soul for a pure defence type.
I did not have the talent fior support.
I did not want to rely only on raw attack either.
My martial soul was a broken piece ofi metal. It floated. It responded to me. It had a faint wind tendency. That meant my real advantage was not brute
force.
It was control. And ifi I added enough sharpness to that control, then attack could become my finishing move.
I underlined two words.
Control System.
Attack System.
That was my path.
Not the loudest.
Not the strongest in one blow.
But the most stable.
I closed the notebook and looked out the window.
This world was full of monsters, geniuses, and future legends.
I would survive by being precise.
The Blacksmith Shop
The blacksmith shop sat near one ofi the busier streets of Notting City, close enough to the academy that students sometimes passed by on their way
home.
I stepped inside after classes ended.
Heat hit me first.
Then the sound.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Metal striking metal.
Sparks jumped in the air like tiny orange insects.
And there, under the glow of the forge, was Tang San.
He was not looking at me at first.
His sleeves were rolled up. His posture was steady. His hammer moved with calm rhythm, each strike controlled, each motion efficient. There was no
wasted force in it, no unnecessary show.
He looked exactly like someone who belonged beside fire and iron.
I did not speak immediately. I watched fior a moment instead.
Then he set down the hammer and turned slightly, noticing me only then.
"Mo chen why are you hear Do you need something?" he asked.
His voice was calm, quiet, and direct.
I nodded once.
"I want to make a sword," I said. "And a set of darts."
He looked at me for a moment, as if measuring whether I was serious.
Then he said, "You want weapon balance, not decoration."
I paused.
That was exactly what I wanted.
"Yes."
He gave a small nod and pointed to the material pile nearby.
"Then choose the metal carefully."
I followed his advice and selected what I could afford. Not the best iron, but not the worst either. Just enough to make something durable and
practical.
Tang San did not ask why I wanted a sword. He did not try to become familiar.
That was better.
The interaction stayed simple, direct, and correct.
While I worked, he showed me where my grip should be, how the blade's balance affected movement, and how the darts needed consistent weight
distribution if I wanted them to fly true.
He did not speak much.
But every sentence mattered.
"Keep the center balanced."
"Ifi you want precision, don't force the metal."
I remembered every word.
By the time I left, the first rough shape ofi my future sword had been forged. The darts were still unfinished, but the foundation was there.
I glanced back once befiore leaving.
Tang San had already returned to his work.
No special bond.
Just a brief crossing of paths.