"Yes," Ronan nodded truthfully.
For a moment, he didn't know how to say what he wanted. Uncle Harry had taught him everything—experience, techniques, even little tricks of the trade. Treated him like a true successor.
The air turned heavy.
But not even three seconds passed before Harry broke the silence with a grin.
"Go ahead. Young people always have to go out and try their luck."
"Yeah," Ronan replied, his voice firmer this time. Then silence again.
Harry took a deep breath. His large, calloused hand—once heavy and loud like a palm-leaf fan—rested gently on Ronan's head. He rubbed his hair and muttered, "Don't die outside the wall."
Ronan's mouth twitched. "Tch… damn it." Then he looked up and said seriously, "I'll live a hundred years."
"Remember your promise."
Leaving those words behind, Harry turned and headed to the other side of the room, returning to his tools.
Ronan watched him for a while. Thinking he'd been dismissed, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Once his mood settled, he picked up his tools and focused—face calm, expression serious. Around him, other blacksmiths gave him sidelong glances full of envy.
Some of their apprentices even started glaring at Ronan.
Apparently, being too good at your job had its downsides.
But Ronan didn't have time to deal with that. There were still piles of blades waiting to be sharpened.
Although the volume was large, the damage rate wasn't high—thanks to excellent forging quality. The inspection, in truth, was more about maintaining edge sharpness than repairing anything.
As for rarer equipment—like guns or artillery—those were well beyond what the smiths here could handle. If damaged, they had to be sent to the main arsenal inside Wall Maria.
That left one repetitive job: sharpening knives.
These weren't ordinary blades. They were specialized anti-Titan weapons made from black gold bamboo—a rare material unique to Paradis Island. It combined the hardness of metal with the elasticity of bamboo. Perfect for forging deadly weapons.
As Ronan polished the blades, he couldn't help but feel the cold edge beneath his fingers. The impulse to grab one and start swinging surged up inside him.
"I'll have to wait until I join the training corps… and then the Survey Corps… before I can actually use these things. That's a long way off," he thought with a sigh.
Still, his enthusiasm returned as quickly as it had dipped. He focused on the task at hand, and before he knew it, the day had flown by.
Ronan seized every minute, working faster and more efficiently than anyone else. His momentum even dragged the other apprentices along, making them pick up the pace. They were all young and full of pride—no one wanted to be shown up.
Ironically, the blacksmiths—who were supposed to be the backbone of the operation—ended up relaxing more than expected. Harry even had time to play cards with Hannes and drink a little wine.
Ronan made a mental note.
"I'm definitely telling Aunt Martha about Uncle Harry's drinking when I get back."
As for the consequences… well, that wasn't his concern. He just didn't want Uncle Harry getting lazy. Really, it was for his own good.
At the end of the exhausting day, the system issued a quiet notification:
Wrist Flexibility +1
Ronan lit up. "I like sharpening knives the most," he thought, grinning to himself.
But due to the sheer number of blades, it wasn't possible to finish them all in one day. The inspection stretched on for several days.
After gaining three points in wrist flexibility, the system stopped giving feedback. Apparently, the workload wasn't intense enough to push his stats further. However, his arm strength did increase slightly.
Ronan could feel the difference. His body was changing.
Between all the heavy work and constant overeating, his height had jumped noticeably. From 1.55 meters to a solid 1.6 meters in just over two months. For someone not yet fourteen, that was impressive.
Especially considering his peers were still short and skinny.
As his height increased, his frame filled out. He wasn't muscular by any means, but he no longer looked scrawny either. Both Harry and Martha were surprised by the change. In the end, they chalked it up to a growth spurt.
But just when Ronan thought the rest of the inspection would pass peacefully, trouble found him.
It was during a moment when Uncle Harry and the others had stepped out.
A group of five apprentices approached.
"Ronan, you're so arrogant!" one of them spat.
"Huh?" Ronan looked up, tilting his head.
He recognized the look in their eyes—jealousy.
Ronan had been working alone at the level of three or four people, consistently producing top-quality results. Meanwhile, most of the other apprentices were getting scolded every day for their sloppy work.
Naturally, the negative emotions pooled in one direction—his.
Ronan sighed, put down the knife in his hands, and stood up.
He didn't say a word.
Instead, he stepped forward and punched the lead apprentice square in the stomach.
Some things didn't need to be talked out.