Chapter Thirteen: The Unsinkable Iron Ship, Bristling with Iron Spikes

Han Chong exhaled deeply, well aware of the difficulties Cold Moon had mentioned. When they’d encountered the Lady of White Jade that day, it wasn’t even the opponent of a second-tier Demon-Slaying Spell. But now, with the Black Carp Demon wreaking havoc in the river, both the Demon-Slaying and Fire-Spitting spells were utterly useless!

Yet he was not one to rely solely on these two techniques; he already had a plan in mind. If there were no means at hand, he would simply create them.

“Villagers, the only way forward is to forge an ironclad boat and make black iron harpoons—only then can we slay the Black Carp King. I’ll need all your help if we are to succeed!”

“What! An ironclad boat? Doesn’t iron sink in water? How can it possibly float?” The fishermen exchanged bewildered looks, even Cold Moon’s face was full of disbelief.

Han Chong had anticipated their doubts—ancient folk believed boats could only be made of wood. But wooden boats were no match for the Black Carp King’s assaults; no matter how sturdy, they’d be smashed to pieces in one strike! Only by forging an armored iron warship could they stand against him.

“Listen to me: though a lump of iron will indeed sink in water, as long as it is shaped into a boat, it too can float. If you trust me, help me with the construction. If not, there’s nothing more we can do but bid you farewell.”

Too much explanation would be pointless; firmness was needed. And so, his words had an immediate effect. Now the two of them were the last hope; in desperate times, any remedy would be tried—they couldn’t let the pair simply leave.

An elderly man with a snowy beard, past sixty, stepped forward. “Since you give the order, sir, we’ll give our all. Tell us what you need from us, and it will be done!”

“The most important thing for building an iron boat is, of course, the iron itself. Where is the blacksmith? Take us there, quickly!”

“Hey, do you really know what you’re doing?” Cold Moon kicked Han Chong’s leg and whispered her doubt.

“Rest assured, this method will work,” Han Chong replied with steady conviction.

“Sirs, this is the largest town along both banks of the Silver River—Riverside Town. That right there is the biggest blacksmith’s shop; most fishermen come here for ironwork.”

As the sun slanted toward the west, Han Chong and his companion mounted their horses and followed the old fisherman for more than ten miles, arriving in this modest fishing town. Throughout the yards, fish were drying, nets were spread out, and the air was thick with the smell of dried fish.

“Wu, come quick!” the white-bearded elder called from afar toward the blacksmith’s.

“Oh, Uncle Li, what brings you here?” Out strode a burly, bronze-skinned blacksmith, muscles knotted, sweat beading his brow, a pair of iron tongs still in his hand.

“These two are demon-slayers, here to build an ironclad boat to rid the river of monsters. You must help them with all your skill!”

“What! An ironclad boat? Is that even possible? I, Wu, have been smithing all my life and never heard of iron floating.”

The smith’s face was full of disbelief.

“There’s only one way to find out!” Han Chong dismounted, strode into the smithy, picked up a large iron ingot, and placed it in a black ceramic jar. He opened his mouth and spat out blue-green flames—before everyone’s eyes, the iron melted rapidly into liquid!

The blacksmith was dumbstruck—never had he seen such high heat, let alone flames spat from a man’s mouth.

Han Chong poured the water from the smith’s quenching trough, took the iron tongs, and emptied the molten iron into the trough, where it quickly solidified into a large, thin sheet.

He used the tongs to cut two crescent-shaped sheets, fit them together, and welded them with his fire-spitting technique. In the time it takes for half a stick of incense to burn, a small model iron boat was finished. Placing it into a vat of water, the boat floated, never sinking, leaving the fishermen gaping.

“What do you think, everyone?”

The fishermen were full of admiration—even Cold Moon looked at him with new respect. Who would have thought this youngster, so skilled in sorcery, also knew such marvels!

“Sir, you truly are capable of anything. This boat is miraculous! I’ve lived over sixty years and never imagined a boat could be made of iron. From now on, just give your orders, and the thousands of us fishermen will obey!”

Old Li’s face was flushed with excitement as he looked at Han Chong, speaking on behalf of all the fishermen.

“Good! Next, we need large quantities of iron, to be smelted into sheets for the armored boat.” Han Chong nodded, helping Old Li to his feet.

But now, dozens of fishermen looked troubled. In the countryside, iron was a rare commodity. Each family only owned a few essentials—harpoons, iron pots—and to melt them down for this purpose, they would truly be reluctant.

Han Chong surveyed the crowd and understood: the people were reluctant to sacrifice their iron. But without it, how could they forge a boat or spears?

“I know how you feel, but first, I can pay you silver to buy iron goods or scrap from neighboring towns. Second, I’ll cast your scrap iron into finer tools for you in return!”

He took out a gold ingot and handed it to Old Li, then took a lump of iron and fashioned it into a harpoon on the spot. The finished weapon was light and elegant—even Wu the blacksmith cried out in wonder!

Now the fishermen were delighted, and hurried off to gather iron from their neighbors.

That evening, Han Chong and Cold Moon found lodging at the town’s only inn.

“What are you drawing?” After supper, Cold Moon saw Han Chong bent over the table, brush in hand.

“A boat needs a design—this structural drawing will make construction easier.”

Han Chong racked his brain for the design of an assault boat, sketching it out simply.

“You know quite a lot. Where did you learn all this?”

Cold Moon inspected the diagram—it looked surprisingly credible, making her even more curious.

“I once read an ancient book that described how to make such ironclad ships.”

“There are books like that?” Cold Moon raised an eyebrow.

The next morning, after breakfast, Han Chong and Cold Moon returned to Wu’s smithy to find a mountain of iron goods nearly piled to the ceiling, with more still arriving—iron was no longer a problem. Han Chong was delighted and instructed Wu to gather a group of strong men by the smithy.

“Sir, give your orders. We’re ready to help you kill the Black Carp Demon!”

“Very well. I’ve finished the blueprint. Bring over all the town’s black ceramic jars and stone troughs—I need them for smelting the iron plates. Some plates must be curved, so fetch fine sand to make clay molds, line the troughs with it, and pour the molten iron in.”

With everything prepared, Han Chong puffed out his cheeks and spat blue-green flames, melting the iron down. The process began: in less than half an hour, more than a dozen iron plates were made—enough for the prow of the ship.

However, his basic spirit fire was not strong enough. He’d expected 160 points of vital energy to suffice for all the plates. Yet, his energy was exhausted after barely completing the prow—melting so much iron at his current strength required a tremendous amount.

Just as his last trace of spiritual energy ran out, a chime sounded in his mind—the Fire-Spitting Spell was ready to upgrade! Since first learning the technique, Han Chong had used it over two hundred times; through practice, he’d mastered it, saving a skill point.

After a night of meditation, his energy was fully restored by morning. This time, the flames he spat were pure blue, and the smelting went even faster—even heavy iron pots melted in a single breath. Soon, all the iron plates were ready.

A few hours later, Han Chong directed the men to assemble the plates according to the blueprint. They poured molten iron to weld them together, and at last, a fifty-foot-long ironclad boat took shape!

But Han Chong did not stop there. He forged dozens of barbed iron spears and welded them beneath the hull. The whole vessel now resembled an iron porcupine. The fishermen shuddered at the sight: if the Black Carp King bit down, its head would be pierced through!

Two black iron harpoons were made, one lashed to the prow and one to the stern. Han Chong also recast the fishermen’s scrap iron into various tools for them.

On the third morning, the ironclad boat was launched into the Silver River. Han Chong, Cold Moon, and the ten strongest fishermen from the town boarded and set out in search of their foe.

“Release the bait!” In the middle of the river, Han Chong gripped a black iron harpoon and gave the order.

Two fishermen lowered the prepared cow head into the water on a rope, quickly luring the river demons. Han Chong and Cold Moon jabbed down with their harpoons, and soon the water was stained red.

A hundred yards away, the river’s surface suddenly erupted—a massive black carp demon surged up from the depths. Giant waves crashed over the iron boat, but it stood firm, the fishermen bailing water with wooden basins.

The Black Carp King, riding the waves, rammed the boat’s hull with all its might—a thunderous crash, water boiling and churning. Yet, rather than breaking through, the demon was slashed by the dozen barbs, its head and back torn open, flailing in a frenzy.

Seizing the moment, Han Chong and Cold Moon drove their harpoons downward, hooking the beast’s spine, holding it fast.

From the shore, the villagers saw the ironclad ship lurching forward and spinning on the spot, the carp’s tail thrashing out of the water, the water around the hull growing ever redder.

As the demon’s strength faded, Han Chong suddenly leapt into the river, drawing cries of alarm from onlookers.

Beneath the surface, Han Chong dove to the fish’s belly. As it neared death, he unleashed a Demon-Slaying Light Blade, slashing through its heart and killing it outright.

[Ding! Congratulations, host, you have slain a Black Carp Demon! You have entered the middle stage, first level, of Essence Refinement. Current energy: 320 points! Ding! Congratulations, host, you have gained a skill point: you may choose a new spell or upgrade an existing one! Ding! Congratulations, host, on breaking through to a new stage—you are rewarded with a Ghost-Sorrow Peachwood Sword! Even the King of Ghosts dreads it! Its power will grow with yours!]

A bright yellow wooden sword, covered in blood-red runes, appeared in Han Chong’s hand, dazzling to look upon.

“What a fine sword!”

Han Chong praised it inwardly. It seemed that with each new realm, the system would reward him with a real magical treasure.

He stroked it a few times, then stored the peachwood sword away in his pouch.