Chapter 161
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 161
Eisen, who had left his final words to Lucian and Felicia, passed away two days later.
Given his advanced age and the visible decline in his health, it was an event everyone had long anticipated.
Nevertheless, the sense of loss and the shock of a giant who had defined an era vanishing were profound.
The retainers who had known Eisen personally could not hide their grief, and Felicia went as far as to refuse food and drink for three days.
Lucian stepped away from his administrative duties for a day to mourn his former master. Afterward, he summoned the officials of White Castle and issued his orders.
“The great Sword Saint has been embraced by the Eight Gods. As his disciple, I intend to hold a grand funeral befitting his legacy.”
No one objected.
Even the finance officer, who knew the staggering costs such an event would incur, did not utter a word of protest.
If it was for Sword Saint Eisen, he more than deserved such treatment.
Furthermore, the title of Sword Saint was the ultimate object of envy and longing for every knight.
To suggest scaling back the funeral of such a man due to budget concerns?
Even if the Duke forgave him, the man would surely be torn to pieces by the other knights.
“The Sword Saint left behind countless achievements during his life, so the stream of mourners will be endless for some time. Pay the utmost attention to the food and lodging. There must be no deficiency in our hospitality toward the guests.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“If funds are lacking, tell me at any time. I will provide from my private coffers if necessary. Furthermore, rest assured that no one will be blamed for any unexpected additional expenses.”
“We thank you for your mercy, Your Grace!”
The finance officer, who had been breaking out in a cold sweat, brightened and bowed deeply.
Considering the Sword Saint’s reputation, the cost of hosting the mourners alone would be astronomical. In the worst-case scenario, he could have lost his head on the grounds of budget mismanagement.
Lucian had anticipated the officer’s worries and put him at ease. The finance officer couldn't help but be moved by Lucian’s meticulous consideration.
“And I wish to offer a sword made of Fairy Light at Sir Eisen’s tomb. Legend says that fairies can cross the boundary between this world and the next, and that Fairy Light was crafted by them. This offering is a prayer that our reverence for him reaches the afterlife.”
“That... is a truly wonderful sentiment, but...”
“I am aware there is no blacksmith in Asagrim capable of working with Fairy Light. Therefore, I intend to hold a contest to find someone who can. If even one person completes a decent sword, I shall personally commend them and grant a generous reward.”
Naturally, the legend regarding Fairy Light was merely a pretext.
The true objective was to find a blacksmith capable of working with the Ancient Metal—one of the legacies of the Northern Royal Family.
Whether they used a passed-down secret technique or succeeded through their own raw intuition, it didn't matter to Lucian.
The former meant he wouldn't have to struggle to find the smelting method, and the latter meant he had discovered a genius on par with Ian.
Lucian suddenly realized what he was thinking and let out a bitter smile.
‘At this rate, it looks like I’m exploiting Sir Eisen’s death.’
Eisen had helped Lucian so much during his life. To use his funeral as a recruitment ground for the talent Lucian needed felt wrong.
Though he felt a pang of bitterness at his own pragmatism, Lucian steeled his heart.
Eisen had always been a man who valued practicality many times more than empty formalities. Even in the afterlife, he was the type to care more about whether his funeral helped someone rather than how grand it was.
Above all, hadn't his final words been an encouragement of Lucian’s ambitions?
‘I apologize, but since you’ve departed for the heavens, I’ll take advantage of your grace one last time. You supported me so much; surely you won’t scold me for something like this?’
Looking up at the empty air, Lucian muttered the shameless thought to himself.
Naturally, no answer came, but a light breeze blew from afar instead. The sound of the wind was strikingly similar to the boisterous laughter he used to hear so often.
*
The death of Sword Saint Eisen brought immense shock to the world, but it also brought an unexpected positive side effect.
The severely deteriorated public order saw a significant, albeit temporary, stabilization.
This was because the grieving knights had declared they would not tolerate any disturbances during the funeral period.
—The great Sword Saint has been embraced by the Eight Gods. While we mourn him, we will not leave anyone who causes trouble for personal gain alive.
In a way, it was nothing more than the knights venting their frustration, their nerves frayed by the death of their idol.
However, when every knight in the Empire was venting their frustration simultaneously, the story changed.
In every region, any bandit spotted was hacked to pieces by enraged knights. Any bandit with half a brain had no choice but to lay low.
The lords were the same.
When everyone in the Empire was mourning the Sword Saint, who would dare run wild for a bit of profit? Setting aside the total loss of reputation, it was certain that no talented individual would ever want to serve under them again.
—Let’s have a truce until the Sword Saint’s funeral is over!
Naturally, this unspoken agreement spread through all factions, and the Empire briefly regained its old peace.
As things turned out, those who benefited most were the various mourners and craftsmen heading toward Asagrim. The journey had become safe as the bandits who used to pop up everywhere vanished and the wars ground to a halt.
Thanks to this, people who might have been harmed on the road arrived safely in Asagrim.
Malcolm and his son, who had just passed through the gates of Asagrim, were among those beneficiaries.
“We’ve finally arrived.”
Malcolm muttered in a voice thick with exhaustion.
He tried not to show weakness, but a long journey was no easy feat for an old body. Fortunately, his young son had the presence of mind to scan their surroundings while supporting his father.
“Father, let’s find an inn first. Looking at the situation, if we’re not careful, we’ll end up staying in a poorly prepared tent.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
The two recalled the sight they had seen upon entering the gates.
Tents were being pitched to accommodate the overflowing visitors, and roads were being cleared to transport supplies. Since the tents were empty, they were likely preparations for those yet to arrive.
However, considering the Sword Saint’s fame, the number of visitors was likely increasing at a terrifying rate even now. If they dallied just because they arrived early, a few hours' difference could mean sleeping in a tent instead of an inn.
“The problem is money. Our remaining funds are tight.”
“What? Isn't it enough?”
“It would be if prices were normal.”
“Ah...!”
The son realized the truth a moment too late.
In places where people gathered, supplies became scarce and prices rose. Especially during a period of such excessive crowding, inflation was bound to skyrocket.
“At this rate, we might get kicked out halfway through even if we manage to get a room.”
“But we can’t sleep in a tent. You’re about to demonstrate a technique you’ve only read about in books. If your physical condition worsens any further...”
Malcolm fell silent, his expression grim.
As his son said, the smelting method he was about to attempt was something he had only seen in books. To minimize the chance of failure, he needed to be in peak physical condition.
‘If this old, tired body has to deal with an uncomfortable bed on top of everything else, I wonder if I’ll even be able to show my true skill on the day of the forge.’
A sigh escaped him. It was good to have arrived, but now he had to worry about where to sleep.
Just then, a familiar voice reached Malcolm’s ears.
“If you’re worried about money, why don’t you get a room with us?”
“...!?”
Startled, the father and son turned toward the voice.
Standing there was Vincent, the man who had saved them from bandits previously.
Vincent shrugged with a smile.
“Good to see you. Was your journey comfortable?”
*
“Phew, that’s a relief. To be honest, our travel funds were tight too, so a triple room was the best we could do.”
Vincent, who had secured a triple room with Malcolm and his son, spoke with a look of relief.
There were four people in Vincent’s group. Single and double rooms were too expensive, and a triple room was awkward because the numbers didn't match up.
But then Malcolm and his son arrived, allowing them to book an additional triple room and split the lodging costs.
“We almost had four grown men crammed into one triple room. Thanks to you two, we don’t have to go through that misery.”
“I am glad we could be of help, milord.”
Malcolm said the words, but he couldn't shake a sense of discomfort.
Even if he was a wandering knight, sharing a room and meals with a noble was a situation Malcolm, a commoner, found incredibly awkward.
‘But refusing his kindness might invite his wrath, and since we’ve finally found a place to rest comfortably, there’s no other way.’
Malcolm, trying to look on the bright side of his lack of options, eventually came up with a question.
“By the way, Sir Knight, how did you arrive before us? Did you intend to come to Asagrim from the start?”
“No, not at all. We heard the news of Sir Eisen’s passing and rushed here to pay our respects. We just arrived earlier because we have horses.”
“You have warhorses?”
Malcolm’s son looked at Vincent with a surprised expression.
Warhorses were so expensive that it was difficult for an individual knight from an unremarkable family to own one. Yet, this wandering knight, who had claimed to be broke since they first met, owned warhorses.
“You seem to be mistaken. Not every knight with a warhorse is rich. We certainly aren't. We’re actually debating whether we should sell them because we can’t afford the maintenance.”
Vincent answered with total sincerity.
They had simply run off with the warhorses they were issued for their mission; they weren't horses they had originally owned. Furthermore, they had left all their money behind and only brought the horses, so there was no way they could afford the upkeep.
Since they barely had money for their own food but still had to take care of the horses, the Black Lions were suffering.
The only reason they hadn't sold them yet was because of Jordi and the chaotic state of the world. Whether Jordi sent pursuers or they ran into bandits, they needed a means of escape just in case.
‘But this is the limit. If we don’t get commissioned by the Duke, I’ll have to sell them and trade down to ponies or just walk. We’re actually going to starve at this rate.’
They had one warhorse per person, so selling all four would bring in a substantial amount of money. That would keep them going for a while.
Of course, it would only be a temporary windfall, and their future would remain bleak.
“...Anyway, what brings you two here? You look like blacksmiths. Did you come to see the Fairy Light?”
“That is correct. It is a legendary metal. What craftsman wouldn't want to see such a treasure at least once?”
“No matter how great a treasure it is, it’s no different from a rock if it can’t be forged.”
“A craftsman’s pride lies in the challenge of turning a rock into a true treasure. Famous swords are born from countless failures, after all.”
“Ho.”
Vincent’s eyes sparkled.
It wasn't because he was moved by Malcolm’s craftsmanship, but because he saw the son standing behind him flinch at his words.