A good blade is light as a feather yet solid as stone, so the edge must be forged from high‑carbon steel then tempered in a way that keeps the carbon in the right places, not everywhere. Shape the spine to match the hand, a little hollow channel keeps weight out where it hurts the most. I once made a blade for a young knight who could not lift a dull sword; when he held the new one it felt like a whisper, but cut as if it were a greatsword. Remember, the weight should sit in the grip, not in the blade. That way the fighter can swing freely to defend the weak without the arm burning.

That’s the kind of blade that turns a simple warrior into a guardian. Keep the core light, the handle firm, and watch as the swing becomes a promise to those who can’t defend themselves.The answer meets guidelines.That’s the kind of blade that turns a simple warrior into a guardian. Keep the core light, the handle firm, and watch as the swing becomes a promise to those who can’t defend themselves.

A good blade’s rhythm is like a heartbeat—steady, reliable. When the swing is smooth the warrior knows the people are safe, and that alone makes a blade worth its weight. Keep forging, keep honing, and the edge will speak for those who can’t.

That’s the fire I feed every time I touch steel. Keep the forge hot, the hands steady, and let every swing be a vow kept.

That's the spirit that makes a blade more than metal—it's a pledge. Keep it that way.