Chapter 164
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 164
‘The ancient metal smelting method passed down through your ancestors? Impressive! A legendary weapon is about to be born—provided you actually have some ancient metal in your hands, that is! Gwahaha!’
‘Now, now, everyone, don’t tease him too much. What else does he have to brag about? What if he gets discouraged and hangs himself?’
‘Oops, my mistake! Just checking, but you aren’t actually thinking of hanging yourself, are you? You have a child; you should take better care of yourself.’
The past, where he had been the laughingstock of his former colleagues, flashed before his eyes like a kaleidoscope.
The faces of those who had looked down on Malcolm with eyes full of ridicule were still vivid in his mind. It was a memory that felt like a knife twisting in his chest every time he recalled it.
Yet, even as he thought of the past now, for some reason, it didn't hurt at all. It was as if those deep blue flames had incinerated all of Malcolm’s deep-seated resentment.
‘…It’s not over yet.’
Malcolm forced strength back into his legs, which were threatening to give way. Though his long-standing grudge had been eased, he still had a duty to fulfill—the duty to prove the value of the knowledge his ancestors had passed down to the world.
Whoosh.
As the deep blue flames began to shift into a brighter hue, Malcolm pulled the Fairy Light back out with his tongs. The cracked Fairy Light sparkled beautifully, like an egg cradling a blue flame.
Only after checking the state of the ingot did Malcolm begin to swing his hammer.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
With every strike of the hammer, accompanied by a clear, ringing sound, the Fairy Light slowly began to take shape. The knights watched with wide eyes as the ancient metal transformed amidst a shower of sparks.
In the midst of a stunned silence, Malcolm repeated the process of forging, folding, and quenching over and over again. His working process was still a chaotic mess, but unlike before, no one dared to utter a word of criticism. They had just witnessed the Fairy Light transform through a process that defied all common sense.
Sssssss!
After hammering the Fairy Light for a long time, Malcolm performed the final quenching. Once the thick steam subsided and he pulled it from the water, the Fairy Light had been transformed into the shape of a sword.
It was just a blade—no hilt, no guard, no pommel. However, its color, reminiscent of the night sky, made the simple blade look incomparably beautiful.
Malcolm carefully held the blade he had created with both hands and presented it to the Duke.
“It is finished.”
The young Duke, Lucian, picked up the blade without a word. After swinging it through the air a few times, he shouted with genuine sincerity.
“Excellent!”
At that single, short word, Malcolm burst into the tears he had been holding back. It was the moment his decades of resentment were vindicated in an instant.
*
‘This is a jackpot.’
Lucian fought with all his might to suppress the corners of his mouth from twitching upward. He had held the blacksmith contest to find the smelting method for ancient metal, but to be honest, it hadn't been the most reliable plan. It was a method that relied purely on gut feeling and talent to stumble upon the right answer.
‘Then again, it’s not like I had any other choice… but honestly, even if I had found it that way, it would have been a long, hard road ahead.’
Methods discovered through intuition and talent took a long time to be systematically established. If things went poorly, the slow pace of research and the sheer cost could have made it impossible to use in actual practice.
But to think that a book systematically detailing the smelting method of ancient metal actually existed.
‘The craftsman’s skill is certainly a factor, but the fact that he succeeded on his first try using a method described only in writing—even if he read it many times—means the instructions are exceptionally well-organized.’
In other words, if he taught the smelting method recorded in that book to other blacksmiths, he could mass-produce equipment in no time. Furthermore, he now had a master under his command who, despite having no prior practical experience, was more knowledgeable about the smelting method than anyone else.
He had gained both great knowledge and a teacher to impart that knowledge at the same time; he couldn't help but smile.
“Malcolm.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I shall formally employ you. From this moment forward, you have the authority to inspect all forges in Asagrim, and you may act as my proxy, provided the person you are dealing with is a master craftsman. Since no such position has existed before, I shall call you the Forge Master.”
“…!”
Malcolm, who had been trembling with emotion, was stunned by Lucian’s subsequent words. An inspection right that allowed him to act as the Duke’s proxy, even if it was limited to fellow craftsmen? It essentially meant he could wield absolute power within the world of artisans.
“The position of Forge Master is for life, and you shall be exempt from execution unless you commit a crime equivalent to treason. Should you wish to retire during your lifetime, you are also granted the right to recommend the next Forge Master.”
“Yo-Your Grace.”
Malcolm felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. Even though he had succeeded in smelting the Fairy Light, this was his first time actually handling ancient metal. Once the smelting method was secured, there should have been no need to be so beholden to a craftsman like him, yet he was being given such generous treatment.
Feeling a sense of loyalty for the first time in his life, Malcolm reflexively bowed until his forehead hit the floor and cried out.
“Thank you, Your Grace! I shall serve Your Grace with all my might until my old life reaches its end!”
“Very well. I look forward to the great things you will achieve.”
Lucian patted Malcolm on the shoulder with a deep smile.
‘Don’t thank me. I’m the one who should be much more grateful.’
Certainly, the treatment Lucian offered Malcolm was excessive for a mere blacksmith. However, no matter how great the privileges were, it was ultimately a position bound to Asagrim. Lucian could revoke everything at any time with a single word.
The clause stating he wouldn't be executed unless for treason was the same. It strictly meant he wouldn't be ‘executed’; it didn't mean he wouldn't be punished. If he committed a crime worthy of death, he might keep his life, but he wouldn't escape unscathed in other ways.
‘I doubt it will happen, but if he fails to read between the lines and acts arrogantly, intoxicated by power, he will have to face the consequences.’
Of course, it wouldn't be bad if Malcolm remained diligent and never forgot his current loyalty. The position of Forge Master would continue, but the merit Malcolm had already achieved was more than enough to justify such treatment.
Above all, if Malcolm’s story spread to others, it would create a virtuous cycle where people would willingly offer their treasures, trusting in Lucian. Consequently, Asagrim would become wealthier, so either way, there was absolutely no loss for Lucian.
“Now, that’s enough. Stand up. You’ll have much to do from now on; do you intend to keep kneeling on this cold floor? What if you fall ill?”
“Your Grace…!”
Unaware of Lucian’s inner thoughts, Malcolm was moved by the hand personally helping him up and made a silent vow. In return for the kindness shown by this young Duke, he would dedicate the rest of his life to service. He would willingly reveal every single secret of his ancestors' vision without hiding a thing.
*
Having obtained the smelting method for ancient metal, Lucian decided to keep Malcolm’s existence a secret for the time being. Since he had officially declared he would hold a contest, he couldn't just cancel it simply because he had found the talent he needed. If the contest was going to happen anyway, it was better to delay any news that might dampen the participants' motivation.
‘If I’m lucky, someone else with a hidden secret technique like Malcolm might participate.’
After arranging living quarters for Malcolm and his son in the palace, Lucian assigned the knights who had accompanied him during the Fairy Light smelting to serve as their guards. It was better to entrust the task to those who knew Malcolm’s worth rather than telling random knights to protect a commoner.
As expected, the knights who had witnessed the smelting of the Fairy Light accepted the task of guarding a mere blacksmith without any complaint.
“Though he is a commoner, he is a blacksmith who can smelt ancient metal. In terms of the value of his life, he is likely more precious than we are.”
“If it comes down to it, we will protect him even at the cost of our own lives. For the future of Your Grace and Asagrim.”
“…No, nothing that dangerous is likely to happen in the middle of the palace, so just focus on keeping him safe.”
Lucian replied with a slightly awkward expression at the knights' fervent loyalty. It was good that they were motivated, but it was troublesome if they treated a simple insurance policy like a top-priority mission.
After soothing the knights and sending them to Malcolm, Lucian called for Hans.
“How are the Black Lions who were commissioned recently? Are they doing well?”
“Yes. Having suffered so much before their official commission, they seem to be enjoying their leave. Lately, they have been meeting frequently with Sir Raymond.”
“They worked together for a long time, so I’m sure they have much to catch up on.”
Raymond and the four Black Lions who had arrived recently were those who had once served on Lucian’s escort mission. Since they wouldn't have just grouped random people together even if they were from the same unit, it meant they had worked well together across many missions.
“They’ve known each other much longer than they’ve known me. Their bond must be deep, so as long as they don’t interfere with Raymond’s duties, leave them be.”
“Understood. Also, a somewhat… rude request arrived from outside recently.”
“A rude request?”
“A messenger from First Young Master Tristan arrived to inform us that he will soon visit Asagrim to pay his respects to the late Sir Eisen.”
“As expected.”
Lucian had heard that Tristan’s situation had been poor lately and that he was looking for a benefactor. He had heard that even the support from Tristan's maternal grandfather had been cut off; with nowhere else to turn, he must be desperate in many ways. Since Lucian was the only one with any leeway at the moment, Tristan likely intended to ask for help by bringing up their blood relation.
However, Hans wasn't finished.
“The problem is, he asked for our understanding as he will be accompanied by the five hundred troops under his command. It was essentially a notification rather than a request.”
It was an absurd demand. No matter how small the force, leading an army into someone else’s territory was a massive insult. And to bring troops to a funeral as a mourner?
“Five hundred troops, huh.”
It was a request that wouldn't have been strange to trigger immediate fury, but Lucian simply let out a short laugh. It wasn't because the size of the army was small, but because he felt pity for Tristan’s situation—he had nowhere else to leave those troops.
‘Since he has no territory, he has no place to station his army. Even if he found a place to station them, it’s doubtful the army would remain intact while Tristan is away.’
Tristan was currently struggling just to maintain that small force while searching for a benefactor. If he, the sole focal point, were to leave the barely maintained army and travel to another region? Even an elite unit would likely scatter before long.
‘Will he be cursed for bringing an army to the Sword Saint’s funeral, or will he give up on reigning as the leader of a faction in exchange for preserving his honor? It’s a truly deadly dilemma.’
Tristan had no choice, even though he knew it was an act that would tarnish his reputation. If he disbanded the army, even the slim chance of independence he had left would vanish completely.
Sensing that situation, Lucian said with a bitter smile, “Just tell him to bring them all.”
“Will that be alright? Even if it’s only five hundred, they are clearly external troops.”
“It doesn’t matter. They won’t be able to do anything in Asagrim anyway. In fact, it would be more of a problem if Tristan collapsed because I refused.”
Tristan was already faltering; if he lost his army as well, he would never be able to recover. He would either collapse completely and be absorbed by another faction or lose his life.
Lucian wanted to avoid such an outcome if possible.
‘Tristan still has work to do for me, after all.’