There were countless such weapon remnants; trying to find and piece them together was by no means an easy task. Afterwards, he threw away the broken blade, gathered up the scattered clothing fragments, and quickly left the warehouse.

When Grace Bolton brought him here, she was extremely cautious and was not noticed by anyone.

And now, as he returned to Old Craftsman's forge, it was the same.

Fortunately, it was already late; otherwise, William Carter really couldn't say for sure that he would have gotten what he wanted.

After entering the forge, William Carter glanced at the items in his hands, then immediately went to the furnace, forcefully tearing all the clothing into shreds and feeding them in.

Old Craftsman was the chief military arms smith; although he had access to military weapons, that didn't mean he didn't need a furnace.

In fact, most of the time, Old Craftsman would use the furnace to do preliminary processing on some materials.

Of course, using military weapons to process raw ore was also possible, but it required a huge amount of physical strength, and refining raw ore didn't require precise control, but rather a long period of tempering.

Using military weapons to forge out impurities from raw ore...

Well, anyone who did that and persisted without exception had already died—not from old age, nor from stupidity, but from sheer exhaustion.

So, in this forge, there was a finely crafted furnace.

Naturally, the materials worthy of Old Craftsman's personal attention were all high-quality, while the rough, preliminary refining work usually fell to William Carter.

At this moment, he skillfully lit the fire and fed all the items in. Under the burning charcoal, those things quickly turned to ashes and vanished without a trace.

He reached out with a long iron rod and stirred the fire for a while; even if an immortal came, they wouldn't be able to tell what had been in there.

During this process, William Carter didn't stay idle; he found some raw ore in the forge and began refining it. In fact, it was just throwing the ore into the fire to burn until it softened, then hammering it, repeating the process over and over.

Previously, because he lacked strength, he could only tend the fire, while the forging was done personally by Old Craftsman.

But now, for some reason, he felt as if his strength had increased for no reason at all. He raised the hammer high and brought it down hard, sending a shower of sparks flying.

Chapter 8 Where Did It Go?

William Carter's movements were extremely fast; under his powerful blows, the pieces of raw ore quickly changed shape.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, marveling inwardly. In the past, after a few swings like this, he'd be panting for breath—not exactly exhausted, but with little stamina left. After all, his age was a factor; he was nowhere near as strong as those famous strongmen in the army.

But today, he felt completely different. After swinging the hammer nearly a hundred times in a row, he felt as if nothing had happened, not even out of breath.

“Creak...”

The door was pushed open, and William Carter was startled, feeling suspicious—who would come at this hour?

Looking up, he saw Old Craftsman and a man in his thirties enter one after the other. This man was extremely burly, a true giant. His gaze was sharp as a blade, making it hard for anyone to meet his eyes.

Seeing William Carter holding the hammer, Old Craftsman's face darkened. “What are you up to, kid? Why aren't you resting so late?”

William Carter glanced at the hammer in his hand, speechless.

He had originally come to destroy the evidence from Grace Bolton's body, and after lighting the furnace, he only meant to hammer a few times for show. But somehow, he got hooked and couldn't stop.

“Heh, Old Craftsman, who is this?” The tall man stepped forward to stand beside Old Craftsman, intentionally or not shielding him.

Old Craftsman raised his brows proudly. “General Brooks, this is my only personal disciple. His name is William Carter.”

William Carter's eyes lit up—so this burly man was actually General Ethan Brooks.

Judging by the attitude between Old Craftsman and General Brooks, they seemed to get along well, but that had nothing to do with William Carter.

Ethan Brooks chuckled and said, “So that's it.” The sharp aura around him instantly faded. He looked William Carter up and down for a moment, clicking his tongue in admiration. “Old Craftsman, it's a pity your disciple isn't a soldier.”

Old Craftsman was taken aback. “General Brooks, I've already filled a vacancy for him in the camp—he's part of the army now.”

Ethan Brooks waved his hand. “I mean, it's a pity he's not serving under me.”

The “filling a vacancy” Old Craftsman mentioned and the “branch of service” Ethan Brooks referred to were obviously two different things. Old Craftsman immediately understood and said with a wry smile, “General Brooks, you're joking. This kid was born an orphan, raised by many families—how could he possibly catch your eye?”

Ethan Brooks shook his head slightly. “Old Craftsman, I'm not joking. This kid is exceptionally gifted, his vitality is overflowing. If he were willing to train in martial arts with me, he'd get twice the results with half the effort.”

Old Craftsman was dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing a few times, thinking to himself.