The Diamond Spear Blade Forge

In elder days, when men yet won their living with hammer and plough, there stood a small forge at the foot of a stony hill. Its fire was not known for magic nor wonder, but for the steadfast hand of the smith, Aldred son of Harl. He had no gift save toil, no lore save the ringing of iron on iron.

One winter’s eve, a wanderer brought unto him a stone, clear and hard as ice, sharp as the edge of flint. “This,” quoth the wanderer, “is no gem for a crown, but a thing for work. If thou canst set it, make it hold, then fashion me a spear whose bite shall not break.”

Aldred took the stone and pondered long. Day after day he labored, heating the iron till it glowed, folding it upon itself as bread is kneaded, binding the hard stone within a frame of steel. The forge roared, sparks flew, and his brow dripped with sweat.

At last there lay upon the anvil a spear with blade bright as water and point of diamond. It shone not with sorcery, but with the truth of craft. The wanderer, seeing it, bent his head in thanks. “This shall not rust, nor turn aside in battle, for it is born of labor, not of spells.”

Thus was the Diamond Spear Blade wrought, not by wizardry, but by the faith of a man in fire, stone, and iron. And though ages have passed, the tale yet lives: that the truest strength is not hidden in charms, but in the steadfast hand that builds with care.