Mr. Bolton saw that Henry Stone didn’t mind at all and was overjoyed. He immediately went back to discuss with everyone about hiring a craftsman. Henry Stone exchanged a few words with him, which counted as a break, but as soon as Mr. Bolton left, he picked up the hammer and continued practicing.

After lunch, Mr. Bolton took the two strings of coins everyone had pooled together and went out to hire a blacksmith, not returning until nightfall.

At night, Henry Stone continued to practice tirelessly with his soul. After a full day and night of nonstop practice, what used to take two hours to forge a ring-pommel saber now only took one, and the quality had indeed improved noticeably.

At first, the ring-pommel sabers he made would break after leaving only a half-finger-deep mark on the anvil with one strike. Now, although they still broke after a single blow, they could leave a full finger-deep mark.

But Henry Stone felt no joy at his progress. Time waited for no one—if he couldn’t forge a suitable ring-pommel saber, everyone would have to serve in the military, and all the villagers’ efforts over these days might go to waste.

Another night of practice passed. That night, the clanging of ironwork woke several villagers, but thanks to Henry Stone’s quick thinking, he managed to handle them all.

However, one villager stubbornly refused to believe he’d misheard. He insisted that his grandfather once said this valley used to be an ancient battlefield, where many died in a great war, and that it must be vengeful spirits causing trouble.

At first, some villagers believed him—after all, many had heard the sound of iron striking at night. After his words, everyone felt a chill run down their spines.

Henry Stone was startled but kept a calm face and said, “Everyone’s been forging iron all day, so the sound of hammering is always in your ears. What you think about during the day, you dream about at night. It’s normal to think you hear ironwork at night.”

With this explanation, everyone found it reasonable. Some even laughed and teased the superstitious one, calling him a coward who’d let his own ears scare him.

It wasn’t until evening that Mr. Bolton finally returned, panting, with a blacksmith in tow.

It turned out that more than one person had thought of this idea, so blacksmiths were in high demand. Many villages had sold everything they could to hire blacksmiths, bought raw iron from elsewhere, and asked craftsmen to forge weapons. Mr. Bolton had to pull some strings to get this Smith Johnson.

Smith Johnson followed behind Mr. Bolton, head held high and chest out, while Mr. Bolton in front looked humble and servile, almost like a servant.

In any case, hope was finally in sight. The villagers immediately welcomed them. Smith Johnson forced a smile and exchanged a few pleasantries, then glanced at the sky and stretched: “Aiyo, it’s too late today. Let’s start work early tomorrow. Master, what’s for dinner tonight? Old Johnson will say this up front: this is hard labor, and if there’s no wine and meat at every meal, I’ll have no strength. If I delay your progress, don’t blame me, Old Johnson.”

The villagers were stunned: wine and meat at every meal? How much would that cost!

The last time anyone in the village ate meat was when Henry Stone killed that wild boar king. As for wine, that was even rarer—they’d have to get it from a neighboring village.

But thinking about how Smith Johnson was tied to the whole village’s military service, everyone just stared at each other and endured it.

Mr. Bolton hurriedly forced a smile: “Master Zhou, it’s already late today, and there’s no time to get wine from the next village. How about we skip the wine just for tonight?”

Old Johnson’s face changed, and he lifted his foot to leave: “Master, I only came here for the sake of Steward Liu. Go ask around—my, Old Johnson’s, skills are second to none in a dozen villages around here. If I’m not number one, who dares claim to be? There are plenty waiting to hire me. If you don’t want me, I’ll just go…”

“No, no, Master Zhou, please sit, please sit. I’ll send someone to buy wine right away.” Mr. Bolton had no choice but to appease Smith Johnson while turning to discuss with the villagers.

In the end, they picked three experienced hunters to travel at night to the neighboring village for wine.

Once night falls in these mountains, the big animals come out to roam. Even seasoned hunters don’t like traveling at night, so when the three left, the villagers were all worried.

Someone, looking at the arrogant Smith Johnson, was even more annoyed and quietly asked Mr. Bolton, “Steward, how much did it cost to hire this blacksmith?” Mr. Bolton held up five fingers, and the villagers were shocked: “Five strings of coins?” Mr. Bolton flipped his hand back and forth twice: “Four times five strings—twenty strings!”

“Ah!” The villagers were stunned, their faces changing dramatically. Twenty strings was far beyond what they could afford—even if they sold everything, they couldn’t scrape together that much.

Mr. Bolton waved his hand: “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ll cover this expense.” It wasn’t that Mr. Bolton was especially generous—his son-in-law had found him an iron mine, a veritable gold mine. Although they couldn’t sell the iron ore for now because of the military service issue, once this was over, with the war between Daxia and the Ghost Rong, iron ore would be in high demand. Mr. Bolton figured that after the war, his family would be among the wealthiest in the county. Twenty strings of coins was nothing to him. Besides, he wanted his son-in-law to see that he wasn’t someone obsessed with money.