"Let me lay down th' rules fer all t' hear," Erlin announced, his voice rising to carry across the hall. "Heir von Hohenheim an' me lad will compete in a smithin' challenge. Th' task be t' forge a tool that'll cleanly sever a gold coin. Th' first t' finish th' task will be declared th' winner."
It shouldn't have come as a surprise, yet Zeke still found himself impressed by how quickly the Ironhides had organized everything. What had begun as little more than a passing whim had solidified into reality in the blink of an eye.
Now, standing beside a fully equipped forge, there was no denying that the contest was happening. A few paces away, Drogar stood with his eyes closed, likely centering himself in preparation for the moment the challenge officially began.
In a contest of speed, every second counted—any hesitation could mean the difference between victory and defeat. It was only natural that Drogar took the time to carefully plan his approach before the challenge began.
Zeke, on the other hand, remained completely at ease. He examined the dwarven forge with the wide-eyed curiosity of someone encountering it for the first time—like a child stepping into a workshop, awed by the unfamiliar tools and machinery. And in truth, it wasn't far from reality. Not once in his life had he operated a dwarven forge. From the tools to the setup to the very layout of the workstation, everything was entirely new to him.
However, the Ironhide family did not see Zeke's behavior as mere curiosity. The initial excitement in the crowd had begun to shift, frustration creeping into their voices.
"Is this a bleedin' joke?"
"Did he just accept th' challenge on a whim?"
"This don't feel right…"
Yet, rather than outright condemning Zeke, most were more concerned about the fairness of the competition. In a way, it was almost heartwarming. After all, Drogar was no novice—he had trained under the finest smiths since childhood. With his high Metal affinity, he wasn't just skilled; he was born for the forge.
Compared to Drogar's expertise, Zeke looked like a complete amateur. It was no surprise that many in the crowd saw this challenge as less of a competition and more of an unfair mismatch. Even if Drogar won, it wouldn't be a triumph—it would be a hollow victory, a stain on his reputation rather than a testament to his skill.
As the murmurs of discontent grew louder, Edna Ironhide—the very instigator of this challenge—began to shift uncomfortably. Though she had been the most vocal in pushing for the competition, it seemed even she was starting to have second thoughts about her impulsive decision.
Zeke didn't mind being underestimated, but he couldn't let this go too far. If the challenge was called off, he would lose his chance to meet the Ironhide family's scholar—a prospect he wasn't willing to sacrifice.
Before the crowd's outrage could escalate any further, Zeke took matters into his own hands. With a casual leap, he landed atop the anvil, his natural height combined with the elevated platform making him loom over the gathering like a mountain. The effect was immediate—conversations died down, and every eye in the hall turned to him.
"I appreciate your concern," Zeke began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the room. "But your worries are misplaced. While I may not be intimately familiar with dwarven tools, I have built my wealth on craftsmanship alone. Do not mistake unfamiliarity for incompetence—nor look down on me."
His steady voice and unwavering confidence silenced all criticism. To argue further would be to dismiss his achievements outright—something few were willing to do. Even those who still found the challenge unfair had no grounds left to object.
However, Zeke couldn't help but notice the shift in the crowd's expressions. Many now wore amused grins, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. It was the look of those eager to see arrogance met with the unforgiving hand of reality.
Zeke paid no mind to those skeptical gazes. If he were in their place, he might have thought the same. After all, it was the height of audacity for an outsider—especially a human—to challenge a dwarven prodigy in smithing. By all logic, he had set himself up for failure.
"Ye both ready?" Erlin asked once the crowd had fallen silent, no further objections remaining.
Drogar opened his eyes, sharp and focused. He gave a single, firm nod.
"I am ready as well," Zeke affirmed.
Erlin gave them one final look before raising his hand.
"Let th' challenge... begin!"
Drogar burst into action, his hands moving with the precision and confidence of a seasoned smith. Every motion was seamless, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next. In mere moments, he was fully immersed in his work, his metal affinity allowing him to manipulate the material before it had even begun to glow with heat.
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Before the forge had time to properly stoke the flames, the rough outline of an edge was already taking shape. By using his affinity to mold the metal at its base state, he was shaving precious seconds off the process—an undeniable advantage in a contest of speed.
Zeke, in stark contrast, hadn't moved a muscle since the challenge began. He stood perfectly still, an unmoving figure amidst the flurry of activity. Yet, the forge was anything but idle.
Tools sprang to life as if guided by unseen hands. From the enchantment table to the smelter, even the delicate mechanisms of fine craftsmanship whirred into motion. It was as if an entire host of invisible dwarven artisans had risen from the very walls of the smithy to assist him.
Meanwhile, Zeke himself bore the expression of a mere spectator—his eyes filled with curiosity and wonder, mirroring those of the astonished onlookers. In truth, he had no idea what Akasha had chosen to create. But he knew better than to question her judgment. If she had settled on a design, then it was, without a doubt, the most efficient and optimal path forward.
Even for him, it was a challenge to keep track of all the simultaneous movements unfolding. He could make out the shape taking form—an intricate tool, somewhere between a shear and a pair of pliers. At first glance, it didn't appear particularly sharp, but the enchantments of [Hardness] and [Sharpness] that were manifesting on the blades would more than compensate for that lack of initial edge.
The handles, already bearing indentations for the placement of affinity crystals, were being shaped with equal precision. Off to the side, Zeke spotted matching leather-wrapped handle guards being prepared, crafted with equal care. As if that weren't enough, Akasha had even set aside the time and attention to add delicate decorative inlays and edging along the entire length of the tool, a touch of artistry that would elevate it beyond mere functionality.
The hall was eerily silent, the only sound the steady rhythm of Zeke's forge in motion. Even Drogar, who had been completely absorbed in his task, paused and glanced over at Zeke's setup, momentarily distracted.
This was no longer the work of a single person; it was the flawless coordination of a fully equipped team. The efficiency and precision were so remarkable that it felt completely unfair. No matter how many heads or arms Drogar had, he would never be able to match the speed and precision of such an operation.
It was simply beyond the scope of what any one individual could achieve.
For Zeke, the sight was equally astonishing. He had been impressed when Akasha had completed her work in Rodrick's shop earlier that day, but now it was clear she had been holding back.
In this one-on-one challenge, with no other considerations, the Spirit was finally unveiling her true potential. Watching her was like witnessing a master conductor guiding a symphony—each movement perfectly synchronized, every action working toward a singular, flawless outcome. It was nothing short of breathtaking.
Zeke nearly flinched as he felt something latch onto his belt. Looking down, he saw an oversized sheet that had somehow looped itself perfectly around his waist. He barely suppressed a smirk. It seemed Akasha had caught onto his tendency to show off, going completely overboard with her performance.
Not long after, the finished tool—a set of dagger-bladed shears—slid smoothly into the prepared sheath. This didn't look like the product of a speed-smithing challenge; it resembled more of an heirloom passed down through generations. The tool could have easily been mistaken for an ancient artifact. With its delicate engravings and four enchantments, its actual performance would likely not disappoint, either.
Zeke felt a swell of pride as he caught the admiring gazes of the crowd. While neither the enchantments, the decorations, nor the craftsmanship were in any way superior to what the Ironhide artisans produced every day, the combination of all these elements, achieved in such a short time, was enough to awe even the titans of the industry.
With a flick of his mind, Zeke's Magic latched onto one of the two gold coins that had been prepared for the challenge. As though drawn by an unseen force, the coin shot toward him at breakneck speed, only to come to an abrupt halt mid-air in front of him.
Zeke unslung the oversized metal shears from his waist and carefully positioned the blades around the coin. With a subtle shift of his focus, he channeled a sliver of Mana into the gems embedded in the handle, and in response, he felt the blades hum with power. Even without applying any additional force, he could sense their edges sinking into the gold. The sharpness they wielded was far beyond what any ordinary smithing technique could achieve.
At this crucial moment, the crowd's expectant gazes were all directed upon the gold coin in his grasp. Would the tool work?
With a delicate pinch of his fingers, Zeke applied just a fraction of pressure. The coin offered no resistance as it parted, sliced cleanly in half, as effortlessly as a hot knife through butter. The edges of the cut, though made with such minimal force, were flawlessly smooth and precise, as if the coin had been forged that way from the very beginning.
A deep silence had fallen over the room, broken only by the sharp clink of the two severed halves of the coin hitting the floor. The sound seemed disproportionately loud in the stillness, snapping everyone out of their stupor.
"I'll be damned," Erlin muttered, the first to find his voice. "How th' hell did ye do that?"
Zeke shrugged, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Warned you."
Though the accomplishment was entirely the work of Akasha, Zeke felt no shame in claiming the credit. After all, the Spirit was as much a part of him as his own hands and feet. Why should he feel guilty for taking credit for something she had helped him achieve?
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Edna and couldn't resist a smirk. His gesture, more playful than mocking, was enough to snap her out of her stunned silence. With a snort, she quickly turned away and made her way over to her son, likely to console him.
Zeke had initially worried that Edna might be a poor sport, but the faintly amused grin on her face quickly put those fears to rest. It was exactly what he had expected from the feisty woman, and it felt reassuring to be proven right. She wasn't one to hold a grudge over a loss.
With that reassurance, Zeke turned to Erlin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Will you help me set up a meeting?"
Erlin nodded, his expression serious. "A promise is a promise, lad. I'll keep me word."
Zeke smiled as he walked past the man, feeling a surge of satisfaction. He was in an especially good mood after this unexpected windfall. Now, all that was left to do was secure trade contracts. Judging by the admiring looks of many of the spectators, he was confident that his proposals would find many open doors.