Shrek Academy
In a quiet corner of Shrek Academy stood an inconspicuous building with a simple signboard swaying gently outside — a smithy. From within came the rhythmic sounds of hammer striking metal, echoing like a melody of wind and flame.
Inside, a six-year-old boy swung a hammer with practiced precision. Each strike rang out crisp and clean, the metallic clanging weaving a steady, harmonious rhythm.
After several minutes, the boy paused, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He leaned forward, carefully inspecting the glowing metal on the forging bench.
"Hah... forging is really tiring. Fortunately, I finished today's task. Otherwise, I don't know how I'd face Uncle Feng's punishment," he muttered with a faint smile.
This boy was Yun Xian.
After forming a bond with Xiao Qing, he had chosen forging as his secondary profession — at his parents' insistence. Under his Uncle Feng's guidance, just half a month of hard work had allowed him to reach the level of a First Rank Blacksmith. His next goal — the Hundred Refinements.
Carefully setting aside the small component he had just finished, Yun Xian reached for a block of silver-white metal from his storage bracelet.
The metal block, roughly the size of two bricks yet weighing over twenty kilograms, gleamed faintly under the light. It was Heavy Silver — an uncommon-grade metal found deep beneath the sea, valued for crafting industrial tools, machinery, and even Mechas.
Yun Xian's expression turned solemn as he held it in his hands. He ignited the furnace, and soon, the roaring flames filled the workshop. Minutes later, the block of Heavy Silver began to glow a fierce crimson under the furnace's heat.
Yun Xian's attention was fully locked onto the glowing metal before him. His eyes reflected the flickering crimson light of the furnace as he studied every minute detail of the Heavy Silver, reading its surface like a book written in heat and spirit.
After a few moments, he swiftly pulled the metal out. Any longer, and it would lose its vitality — turning from a living, resonant metal into nothing more than a lifeless hunk of steel.
He placed the red-hot block onto the forging bench, the hiss of contact filling the smithy. Then, from his storage bracelet, he took out a massive hammer.
It was unlike the small one he usually used for crafting components. This one required both hands to wield — its handle reached his waist, and the hammerhead itself was nearly the same size as the block of Heavy Silver on the bench. The head was rectangular, but its ends tapered into sharp, spear-like points.
If anyone else saw it, they would never believe this was a blacksmith's tool. It looked far more suited for battle than for forging.
After becoming Feng Wuyu's apprentice, Yun Xian had personally chosen this hammer. Not because of its design, balance, or practicality — but because, in his own words, it looked cool.
Yes, that was the entire reason.
And strangely enough, Feng Wuyu hadn't stopped him. He hadn't even commented.
Though Yun Xian didn't yet understand the true significance of this hammer, he had chosen it without hesitation — a choice made not with reason, but with instinct.
"It's time," Yun Xian whispered under his breath.
He tightened his grip on the massive hammer, veins faintly bulging in his small arms, and swung it down with both hands.
Clang!
The sharp ring of metal striking metal echoed through the entire room, reverberating off the walls like a roaring challenge. Sparks scattered, lighting the dim smithy in flashes of gold and red.
But Yun Xian's gaze never wavered. His breathing steadied; his heart beat in sync with the rhythm of his strikes. With every swing, he drew a step closer to his goal. Yet he knew well—this was not a simple matter of hitting the metal a hundred times.
The Hundred Refinements—the very first threshold of a true blacksmith.
To complete it meant more than endurance or strength. It required precision, control, and an unbroken will. The essence of the process lay in purifying the metal—expelling its impurities, allowing it to be reborn.
The "hundred" was only symbolic. Sometimes, it took fewer strikes; other times, hundreds more. What truly mattered was the resonance between the blacksmith's will and the metal's spirit.
And so, Yun Xian continued to swing—each strike ringing with determination, each blow carrying the weight of his focus and the faint flicker of his soul power.
Minutes passed.
Yun Xian's hammer rose and fell in a relentless rhythm—clang, clang, clang—each strike ringing with precision and purpose.
He had already struck over a hundred times, yet the Heavy Silver was only halfway refined. Even so, his expression remained calm, his breathing steady, not a hint of impatience in his eyes. Every motion was controlled, efficient—not a single ounce of strength wasted.
Gradually, his focus deepened until his mind and spirit seemed to merge into one. His entire awareness centred on the glowing metal before him. The rest of the world faded away—only the hammer, the heat, and the metal remained.
Under his repeated strikes, the Heavy Silver shrank to two-thirds of its original size, its glow turning purer, its texture denser.
Then—something changed.
It was as if a veil lifted within his consciousness. The exhaustion that had been gnawing at his arms and back vanished. His mind cleared, sharp and tranquil like a still lake. For the first time, he could feel the Heavy Silver's inner pulse—the faint rhythm of its existence.
It was not true communication, not yet—but when the metal gave off a subtle hum, Yun Xian instinctively knew:
it acknowledged him.
Time flowed unnoticed. Half an hour had passed. The metal was now half its original size, gleaming with a deep silver luster. Its density had doubled; each strike rang louder, purer, more resonant.
Yun Xian remained in that strange, transcendent state—his body moving on instinct, his soul aligned with every motion. He was close. So very close.
Then his rhythm changed. The once-fast cadence of his hammering slowed. Each strike now took three long seconds—measured, deliberate, and far heavier. With every fall of the hammer, power surged stronger than before, the air trembling faintly around him.
Another minute passed. The time for the final strike had come.
Yun Xian's chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath ragged, but his grip on the hammer remained firm. He planted his feet, legs sinking into the ground for stability, and drew in every ounce of strength left within him.
"—Haah!"
With a powerful swing, he brought the hammer down.
Swoosh—BOOM!
The impact resounded like thunder. But this time, the sound was different—no longer a sharp clang, but a deep, resonant hum that filled the entire smithy, vibrating through the air and into Yun Xian's very bones.
The Heavy Silver shone brilliantly under the forge light, as though singing in response.
After the final strike, Yun Xian's arms trembled. His breath came in heavy bursts, each inhale sharp and ragged. The hammer slipped slightly from his grasp, and he let it rest against the floor before sinking down beside it.
He was utterly exhausted.
But a gentle smile spread across his face — the kind born not from pride, but from relief and quiet satisfaction. He knew it. He had succeeded.
Just as he was about to laugh aloud in triumph, a crisp sound echoed through the forge.
Pa—pa—pa.
Clapping.
Yun Xian blinked and turned his head. At some point, without him realizing, a figure had appeared inside the room.
It was none other than his teacher — Feng Wuyu.
"Uncle Feng, when did you come?" Yun Xian asked, still catching his breath.
Feng Wuyu didn't answer immediately. He simply handed Yun Xian a bottle of water, his gaze already fixed on the gleaming piece of Heavy Silver lying on the bench.
He examined it closely — running his fingers over its surface, sensing its purity, its weight, its resonance. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.
After a few moments, he turned back toward his young disciple.
"Xiao Xian," he said, a hint of pride glinting in his eyes, "you're truly a forging genius. I never would've imagined you'd complete the Hundred Refinements within a single month of training."
His gaze shifted briefly back to the metal, admiration clear in his tone.
"And not only that…" he continued, his voice growing heavier with meaning, "you've forged a First Grade Hundred Refined Metal."
"Hahaha!"
Feng Wuyu's hearty laughter filled the entire smithy, echoing off the walls. His joy was genuine — the kind only a teacher could feel when witnessing a disciple's true breakthrough.
Yun Xian couldn't help but smile faintly in return. Taking the bottle from his teacher, he unscrewed the cap and drank deeply, letting the cool water soothe his dry throat and burning lungs.
Although Feng Wuyu called him a forging genius, Yun Xian didn't quite see himself that way. His true passion lay elsewhere.
Forging... was something he respected, something he enjoyed — now. But what truly fascinated him were Mechas — the intricate fusion of craftsmanship, technology, and soul power.
Still, becoming a blacksmith wasn't a bad path. After all, high-grade Mechas required metals personally forged by blacksmiths of superior skill. Learning the craft was not just a foundation — it was a gateway.
He had already told his parents about this ambition. To his surprise, they didn't oppose him. Instead, they supported his decision — but with one condition:
He could only begin studying Mecha once he reached the level of a Fourth Grade Blacksmith.
Until then, he needed to master the hammer, the forge, and the fire.
Thinking of his progress, Yun Xian looked up and asked curiously,
"Uncle Feng, does this mean I've reached the Second Rank?"
Feng Wuyu's laughter abruptly stopped. He turned to Yun Xian with a look that could only be described as disbelief — as if he were staring at an idiot.
"First of all," he said flatly, "call me Teacher, not 'Uncle Feng.'"
He crossed his arms and continued, "And second — no. You might be close to the Second Rank, but you're not there yet. To become a true Second Rank Blacksmith, you must learn to fully utilize the skill of the Hundred Refinement. You've only just reached that level. So work harder, you stinky brat!"
Yun Xian sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly. "Huh... I knew it wouldn't be that easy."
Still, he didn't argue. He knew his teacher was right.
"Since that's the case, I'm done for today," he said, stretching his tired arms. "I still have sword training to finish."
He walked over to his storage tool, took out his shirt, and slipped it on. Then he waved toward Feng Wuyu with a grin.
"Bye, Uncle— I mean, Teacher Feng! I'll come again tomorrow!"
Feng Wuyu snorted, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched the boy leave.