Darksteel

Chapter 5; Never trust a big man with a battle axe.

There were many things in Asta's life that he was not sure of; his past and how he ended up here being one of them.

However, in that moment, he was sure of two things.

There was an axe stuck in the wall near his head, and he had most definitely just screamed in the most undignified way possible.

Wonderful.

Glancing at Blue, he noted with annoyance that the other boy was trying hard not to laugh--his apparent worries having been forgotten, it seemed, in the midst of Asta's body nearly being separated from his head.

Still, the blond boy was determined to show Blue that he had no reason to be afraid in the first place-- why, it WAS only ONE battle axe, after all.

Or so Asta hoped. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the boy walked shakily into the blacksmith's forge... only to be nearly knocked off his feet by a huge wolf-like dog that wasted no time in putting its large paws on Asta's chest and drooling on him. And as the animal began to thoroughly lick Asta's face, the boy heard someone shouting from amidst the chaos of... whatever this was.

 "Grendell! Get down, you mutt! You don't know where those boys have been!"

 The dog, Grendell, obeyed and reluctantly left Asta to wipe the slobber off his face. Then, from across the forge, a large man who Asta assumed was their professor, practically charged at them and began enthusiastically shaking Asta's hand.

 "Welcome! Welcome!" the man boomed in a baritone voice that shook the walls around them, "I'm Professor Silversmith, but all the boys here call me Smithy." 

 Silversmith— or Smithy, apparently— was tall, broad shouldered, and of considerable girth. His hair was a mane of jet-black curls and he wore his waist-length beard in a braid. As for his eyes, they sparkled a warm brown, crinkling at the corners as though he was a man used to laughing often.

Mostly likely as loudly as he could.

 Even now, within moments of meeting the man, Asta had the general impression that he had all the subtly of a charging elephant.

 To say that he was eccentric would have been and understatement. The smith had no quiet voice, it seemed; he practically shouted everything, and would wave his massive hands wildly to make his point clear.

 "Well, I assume you're the new student?" Smithy asked Asta, clapping the boy on the back and nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. "What was your name again? Arthur? Adrian?"

 "It's Asta, sir. " Asta wheezed, trying not to wince as Silversmith slapped him on the back once more, no doubt knocking a lung loose.

 "Asta, eh? These confounded modern names! I'll never understand 'em!" he then led them into the classroom part of the forge — obviously a new addition which Silversmith did not seem pleased about. "Never had classrooms in the forges in MY day," he grumbled , "Soon, the boys are going to think that they're ENTITLED to a classroom in EVERY forge."

Soon, other students began to file in, all of whom Smithy greeted boisterously. "Malcolm! Nice to see you're back, lad!"  "Thomas, my boy, good to see that Grendell didn't bite your hand too badly! Avoid his teeth for good measure next time, eh? "  "Arthur! Don't touch that sword, boy!"

The last comment was directed at Asta, who had been observing a beautifully crafted sword hanging on the wall. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the booming sound of the blacksmith's voice and quickly backed away from the blade. 

"It's Asta, sir." he corrected hesitantly .

"Really? Looks like a sword to me." Smithy guffawed, patting his ample stomach.