After spending his first birthday in this world with his two families, Ronan was already fourteen years old.
The time for the conscription meeting was drawing closer.
But Ronan didn't feel any urgency—he had already been included on the shortlist. He fully understood what it meant to "have someone in the court to make things easier."
As for how Hannes had helped him secure the qualification despite only being an ordinary Garrison soldier, it wasn't something Ronan needed to concern himself with for now. His focus was currently on mastering the dual-blade technique.
With a gradual increase in arm strength, wrist strength, and grip, paired with his superhuman physique, every swing of the bamboo pole sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh, startling passersby.
Many had noticed Ronan's early "playing" here and written him off as an idle fool. Now, seeing the raw power behind each movement, they felt as if they'd been slapped in the face.
Even his footsteps were noticeably quicker.
There was no helping it—the sound was simply too intimidating. Even though it was just a bamboo pole, it looked capable of knocking someone unconscious.
Fortunately, Ronan didn't continue the high-intensity training for too long.
After nearly half an hour, he stopped.
"This level is definitely enough for now. If I keep going, the efficiency will drop and the gains won't be worth it."
Understanding this, Ronan looked up at the sky, tossed the bamboo pole beneath a large tree, and sprinted toward the area where the blacksmith shop was located. He ran swiftly, not slowing down until he reached the shop's entrance.
He could already hear the clanging of ironwork.
"Starting so early?"
Stepping inside, a wave of heat rushed at him. He saw Uncle Harry, bare-chested and focused, hammering a glowing iron block. Each strike sent sparks flying and echoed through the room with thunderous rhythm.
Compared to Ronan's own forceful hammering, Harry's strikes were more powerful and precise.
It wasn't purely a matter of strength—but of impact. A well-built, muscular man working metal beside a well-proportioned fourteen-year-old created an undeniable visual contrast.
Clang!
As the final blow landed, Harry placed the iron—now cooled and hardened—back into the furnace. He exhaled and finally noticed Ronan, then laughed and grumbled:
"The brat didn't even bother to say hello. The scissors at home are broken—your Aunt Martha's been nagging me about it for days. I figured I'd just make her a new pair. The prep work's done. I'll give them to you later."
Without waiting for a response, Harry strode out of the blacksmith shop, leaving Ronan speechless.
But he quickly snapped into work mode. Staring at the glowing iron blank, now purified and ready for forging, Ronan sighed.
"Old ginger is still sharp. Even though I'm stronger than Uncle Harry, I still can't manage this part."
Then, remembering a long-abandoned task, Ronan felt a spark of determination. "I wonder if the system will recognize the forging if the preliminary work is already done... Whatever, let's give it a try. If it doesn't work, I'll drop the task."
It wasn't that Ronan lacked perseverance—he had tried dozens of times. His forged items had looked great, but the system still refused to acknowledge them as complete.
Technical skill takes time and experience. Talent alone couldn't accelerate mastery.
And with the conscription meeting so close, if all went well, Ronan would enter the Training Corps, leaving no time to focus on blacksmithing. That's why the task had slipped from his mind.
But now, feeling the itch again, Ronan decided to give it another shot.
The process of forging scissors was relatively simple, but time-consuming. Everything had to be done by hand—no grinders or powered tools. One could only hammer the softened iron into shape, then grind it manually.
After dozens of attempts, Ronan was intimately familiar with the process, and this time it went smoothly.
The two scissor blades were quickly shaped. After comparing their size, thickness, and alignment for the joint holes, Ronan felt something click—he might actually succeed this time.
The grinding phase was long and exhausting, requiring brute endurance.
Luckily, physical strength and stamina were Ronan's specialties. The task went well.
He held up the black blade in his hand, the edge glinting coldly in the light...
Scissors.
Ronan nodded in satisfaction. "Is this the best piece I've made so far?"
As if answering him, the system prompt echoed in his mind:
Ding! Congratulations to the host for completing the achievement task [Enter the House]. Strength +3, Coordination +3, Weapon Mastery +3!
A surge of warmth flowed through him. His fatigue, both mental and physical, evaporated in an instant. He had grown stronger—again.
And, more importantly...
He wasn't bald!
Running a hand through his still-thick hair, Ronan let out a sigh of relief.
What he didn't know, however, was that across the street from the blacksmith shop,
Uncle Harry and Aunt Martha were having a quiet discussion—about him.
P.S. Please also take a look at my original novel titled The Real Law.