Chapter 33 The hammer came down with a ring that echoed across the forge, sparks flying as Francis shaped the heated metal. His muscles remembered the motion even though he'd died three times since the last time he'd worked at this particular anvil. Fifty deaths ago, he'd barely known which end of the hammer to hold. Now his hands moved with confidence, drawing the steel into the shape he wanted."Better," Tormund grunted from where he stood near the fire. The massive barbarian watched Francis work with arms crossed, his scarred hands occasionally gesturing to correct a technique. "Angle is good. But you are rushing the cooling. Patience."Francis nodded and plunged the blade into the quenching barrel. Steam hissed up around his hands, and he held the metal steady, counting in his head the way Tormund had taught him. Except Tormund hadn't taught him. Not in this loop. Not yet.