The small tent village that had popped up in the front yard of the castle was growing by the day. There was a metal smith working under a makeshift tent, pounding the glowing red sword with his hammer until the metal was straight. He picked up the red sword and thrust it into a large barrel of cold water. The metal hissed as a blanket of steam rose from the barrel, wafting through the tent as the man thrust the blade back into the fire.
Cyrus walked toward the blacksmith with a question in mind, closing in on the man before speaking loudly.
"Martin?" he asked curiously, staring at the man with the heavy apron protecting his organs from a mishap with the metal.
"Aye, that's me," the blacksmith said, wiping his hands on his apron as he turned and offered his hand to Cyrus.
"I'm Cyrus," C
