步步惊心丽百度云

A forge, hundreds of faceless beings walking here and there, some stopped by me but most just kept walking. An inspecting eye, one that finally landed on my form finally came to a complete stop. A hand was reached out and with it came a piece of ore, one rough enough that you could barely see the ore within.

However, I was not one to give up, it was the only opportunity that I had to prove myself, to make a weapon that would stand up to the greatest of them all.

With hands that never shook and dexterous fingers I took the ore into hand, carefully placing it over the fire and controlled the fire so that only the ore would be left unmelted.

Days passed by as the heat pounded over my body, the stubborn ore not taking shape. The rock around it had already melted days ago but the ore was stubborn enough that it would not heat.

However I was not one to give up, despite the restless nights, the constant pounding of the headache gained from intently staring at the ore I continued on.

Day after day I would sit by the fire and warm the ore up again and again, despite how the ore only seemed to change one degree even after hours of heating, I still would persevere.

It all culminated on one day when the ore had reached the temperature that I wanted, that the ore needed.

A smile was left on my lips as I resisted the urge to pass out, my long hair was dragged on the floor from the exhaustion that pounded my back.

Usually my head was held high enough that despite the length of my hair it would not touch the ground but the exhaustion, the heat, they had all culminated into back breaking work that forced me to slouch, to lower my back.

But through the pain I took the ore to the anvil, where the faceless disciples all pounded on their own work.

I grabbed a stool, my height hindering me from working without one, and placed the stool next to the anvil.

Stepping into the stool I placed the ore upon the anvil, a hammer in hand as I relentlessly beat upon it. Up and down, left and right, constant adjustments in the force and angle of the hammer were made as I beat it into shape.

I was to make a spearhead, not for anyone else but me. Despite the absentmindedness that came upon me the whole time I beat upon it, I could not help but imagine the final shape.

The way it would fit into the… into the… the what, what was I to fit it into. A creeping headache formed in my head as a design formed in my head. Of a spear so simple, so powerful, so beautiful.

I needed to realize it, I needed to make it, something inside of me burst. Green energy was spilt out as it culminated in the hammer and arm holding it.

I slammed the hammer down, the energy transferring into the heated metal and no longer was I making the spearhead. No, I was refining the ore, the energy facilitating it.

With every hit the ore turned a shade of green, of red, of all the colors. I could never know what color it may turn to be but I knew I needed to keep hammering, to keep refining.

Nothing else was more important. Not sleep, not test, not eating nor drinking.

A trance befell me as the actions turned into instinct.

I did not know of days nor of time, the only thing that was important was the motions of my arms, seemingly infinite energy allowing me to strike once more and once more again.

…

I could no longer hold the hammer, with a clang it fell from my hands but I did not take notice of that. No, I was more focused on the masterpiece in front of me. A perfect spear head, shaped to perfection. One might think of it as basic, with only one edge in a simple triangular shape but I knew better, it was the culmination of trillions of refining strikes.

I reached my hand to it but before I could even reach my hand halfway there my consciousness faded, a deep black taking me from this world.

…

I woke again, this time not to the forge of faceless men, but to a broken tree, a stone the only other landmark.

I loved my hands, my legs, anything to reach towards the stone. However blood dripped down my hands, a sharp object cutting them.

I looked down to my hands and saw the spear tip that I had refined, though I knew it was not done.

That rock had something to do with it, so with bleeding hands, my stomach almost hurling from the sudden loss of blood, I dragged my feet towards the rock.

Upon reaching it I pulled the spear head from my hand and scraped it against the rock. To my surprise the rock did not give, despite the sharpness of the spear head it did nothing.

With widened eyes I looked at the rock in a new light, it was perfect for sharpening.

With deft hands I quickly prepared to sharpen it, the perfect angel was found and kept, in mere moments I was sharpening it.

…

A bowl of water had appeared before me at some point but I did not take notice of it as again the green energy appeared on the rock and the hand holding the spear head.

I was meticulous, making sure that every single swipe along the rock was the exact same as the opposite strike, there was no need to do this as even careless sharpening wouldn't do anything other than sharpen it but I wanted to be thorough to make the best that I was capable of.

…

My eyes opened and before me was the spear tip and shaft that I had been given and made.

The experiences compounded onto my head and gave me a migraine.

Though through the pain I held on, looking at both of them they fit perfectly together.

With hands shaking from some unknown pain I put them together, a flash of light blinding me as they bound together.