My Quiet Blacksmith Life in Another World: Volume 9 [Parts 1 to 4] by Tamamaru

Author:Tamamaru
Language: eng
Format: epub

After Rike and I cooled down outside for a bit, we went back to the forge. We quickly deburred the metal and heated the sheet to blacken it. This process was similar to when I’d given a gold sheen to Helen’s armor.

Once the metal had darkened nicely, I took it outside. I found a large log, cut it to a random length, and then cut that length in half. This left me with two logs of equal size. Next, I used my saw to create identical grooves on both logs—these grooves were as tall and thin as the left and right edges of the message board. I stood the logs up parallel to one another, grooves facing the center, and slotted each side of the message board into the grooves.

Now I had two solid logs holding up the message board in the middle. This was structurally sound, however, the exposed metal would be vulnerable to the rain, which would cause it to rust.

“Now for the protective hood,” I said.

“Right,” Rike replied. “I’ll bring a nice branch.”

“Thanks.”

I found a branch, cut it to the exact length of the message board, carved another groove, and then fit that branch onto the top edge of the board. All I had to do now was nail a wooden hood onto this branch, and then...

“You’re done!” Rike cried, clapping her hands.

It looked like one of those guides or maps that were common along mountain trails back on Earth—the ones made from concrete and decorated with fake branches. The only difference was that this board was blank and blackened.

For the test run, I took a slate pencil from storage and wrote down three letters.

“All right, I can read it,” I said.

“What do these letters say?” Rike asked.

“Hmm... It’s part of a secret language.”

“Huh, you really do know all sorts of things, Boss.”

“No— Uh, well, sure, I guess.”

What I’d written down were the last three letters of the English alphabet. I forced a smile as I rubbed away the letters. Then I wrote, “No messages today,” in this world’s language.

Since we still had some time until everyone returned, I grabbed a bit of leftover wood and started carving a specific design. It was Forge Eizo’s signature—the relief of the sitting fat cat that I usually carved on the pommels of my blades. When I finished, I attached the wood to the message board. An outsider will have no idea who these messages are addressed to, but anyone who recognizes the cat symbol will know.

I stared at the board for a moment, and then something struck me. “We don’t have a sign for the forge,” I muttered.

Nothing on or around our cabin said “Forge Eizo.” We didn’t have anything to identify us—nothing that could tell others what we were doing out here. And even if I do make a sign, it probably won’t reach the eyes of many.

“Do you have a sign at your home workshop, Rike?” I asked.

“Us? We do have one, albeit something rather simple. It has a picture of a hammer and an anvil, and it just reads, ‘Moritz.

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