Chapter 167
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 167
Even after Tristan’s visit, the stream of mourners continued unabated.
The mark Sword Saint Eisen had left upon the world was immense, and the bonds he had forged were just as diverse—ranging from knights who had shared only a brief conversation to old friends who had known him for decades.
If left to their own devices, the procession of mourners showed no sign of stopping for the rest of the year. However, the affairs of the living could not hold the dead forever. Judging that the influx of visitors had reached its peak, Lucian began the funeral in earnest.
“The great Sword Saint has been taken into the embrace of the Eight Gods. May he find eternal rest. May this Empire remember him forever. And may every knight follow in his footsteps to become a true master of the blade.”
As the presider of the funeral rites, Lucian offered a brief eulogy before placing the body into the coffin. The wooden casket, devoid of even a single gemstone, perfectly reflected the frugal nature Eisen had maintained throughout his life.
Amidst a solemn atmosphere, the procession and burial concluded, and the memorial banquet began.
While the guests reminisced about Eisen’s deeds in the banquet hall, they kept a constant, watchful eye on Lucian. The memorial period was far from over, but the practical time for mourning had ended with the burial. From this moment on, the hall would transform into a political arena centered around the Conqueror of the North.
‘With the Imperial Family remaining silent, the House of Grimaldi is now the most powerful single faction after the House of Roglan. Given that they have no immediate enemies nearby, their potential is even higher.’
‘The future of the Empire depends on how Duke Lucian moves from here. I must discern his intentions today.’
The heads of various families waited with sharp eyes for Lucian to act. Before long, Lucian appeared in the banquet hall and addressed the guests regarding the upcoming schedule.
“I offer my gratitude to all who have come to mourn my master. With this, the formal funeral rites are concluded. Had this been an ordinary funeral, we would continue the banquet for several days before dispersing, but I intend to hold a more special event in his honor.”
“Are you referring to the ‘Blacksmith Contest’ you mentioned previously?”
One of the more impatient heads of a minor house interjected. Normally, the others would have frowned or rebuked such rudeness, but this time, no one said a word. They were all just as curious.
Lucian smiled kindly, as if understanding their urgency, and explained.
“Indeed. I wish to offer a sword forged from Fairy Light upon his grave. However, as the smelting method for Fairy Light has been lost to time, we must first select a master craftsman capable of refining it.”
“Hmm.”
Groans of contemplation rose from all sides.
A blacksmith capable of smelting Fairy Light? It would be impressive if such a person appeared, but to the other nobles, such a craftsman was useless. Even if they found a blacksmith, they had no Fairy Light to give them.
Since the event effectively benefited no one but Lucian, the other lords felt a bitter sting of envy.
‘Damn it. There’s no point in trying to poach them if we don't have the materials. Duke Lucian is going to monopolize all the talent for himself.’
‘Please, let them fail. His power is already overwhelming; if he grows any stronger, how are we supposed to handle him?’
While many secretly prayed for Lucian’s misfortune, one lord stepped forward.
“What do you intend to do if the blacksmiths ultimately fail to smelt the Fairy Light? If no one succeeds, won't the meaning of the event be tarnished?”
It was a remarkably tactless question, yet the questioner stood tall, acting as if his concern stemmed from a desire to see the event succeed rather than from personal spite. Lucian maintained his smile despite the transparent motive behind the query.
“Haha! How could so many masters all fail? Someone is bound to succeed. Besides, no one would even attempt the challenge if they lacked the confidence.”
“There is always the possibility of failure. If those lacking skill but overflowing with ego attempt to smelt Fairy Light, it could lead to an embarrassing situation later.”
“Well, I do not think so. I have no absolute certainty, but I believe they will succeed. And I doubt we will have to wait long for a success story, either.”
“What do you mean by—?”
The lord started to let out a scoffing laugh but suddenly froze as he realized the implication behind Lucian’s words.
To say he had no certainty while being completely unconcerned about success? It was a hint that Lucian had already secured a blacksmith capable of smelting Fairy Light and intended to enter them into the contest.
‘First the legacy of the Northern Royal Family, then the barbarians from beyond the snowfields, and now a blacksmith who can smelt Fairy Light?’
‘Just how much power is he hiding? No matter how deep you dig, there’s always more!’
The lords trembled at the sheer depth of Lucian’s hidden strength. If this was what he was willing to reveal publicly, how massive was the power he kept hidden? Once again, the title ‘Conqueror of the North’ felt like a heavy weight pressing down on their shoulders.
In reality, aside from the royal legacy, these were things Lucian had acquired as opportunities arose, making their assumptions a series of misunderstandings. However, for those unaware of the truth, the psychological pressure Lucian exerted only grew.
“The sword forged from Fairy Light will be offered to the grave by Sir Felicia, the successor of Sir Eisen and the new Sword Saint.”
“...Wait a moment, Your Grace. The ‘new Sword Saint’? What is the meaning of this?”
Someone frowned, unable to let that statement slide. They acknowledged Felicia as Eisen’s successor. However, being the successor to the Sword Saint and actually possessing the capabilities of a Sword Saint were two entirely different matters. To simply take the title of Sword Saint without any proven merit just because she was his disciple?
“The title of Sword Saint is not something passed down from a predecessor. It is a noble title earned only when no one can deny one’s skill and no one dares to raise an objection.”
“Are you suggesting that Sir Felicia is unworthy of being called the Sword Saint?”
“How should I know? She has proven nothing herself, so her qualifications remain unknown.”
“Hoo.”
Lucian chuckled at the expected backlash. These people, who wouldn't have dared to breathe a word while Eisen was alive, were now making a fuss about not being able to accept her.
‘Well, I suppose if they understand the weight of the name Sword Saint, they wouldn't want to see it handed over so easily.’
Though the title carried no practical political power, the prestige alone was enough to bring every knight in the Empire to their knees. Now that an opportunity had arisen, they likely wanted to give themselves, their relatives, or their retainers a chance to claim the title.
“Very well, let us do this then. We shall have the knights compete for the title of Sword Saint. The winner shall announce their name as the new Sword Saint by offering the Fairy Light sword to the grave of the former Sword Saint, Sir Eisen.”
“A swordsmanship contest. That is a fair method, but I doubt this place, Asagrim, can represent the entire Empire.”
No matter how much Asagrim was considered a holy land in the North, it lacked the authority to represent the entire Empire. Even if a winner emerged, they would merely be the champion of a regional tournament, not a proven Sword Saint.
Lucian knew this well, but he simply shrugged as if it didn't matter.
“Whether a swordsman splits a mountain in a backwater village or in the heart of the capital, his skill remains the same. Do you believe a swordsman who splits a mountain in the countryside is inferior to one who splits a pebble in the capital?”
“That is not what I meant... but the reputation and number of challengers are different. Surely someone will scoff and claim they would have won had they been there.”
“The position of Sword Saint is one that is constantly challenged anyway. If one loses to another, they simply surrender the title and step down. What kind of Sword Saint keeps their position in comfort without ever being challenged?”
Indeed, the former Sword Saint, Eisen, had been constantly challenged until his later years. It was only about ten years ago that challengers stopped appearing, and even then, it was more out of respect for the aging master. Now that Eisen had passed, whoever became the Sword Saint would attract challengers like moths to a flame.
“I do not care if you refuse to recognize Felicia as the Sword Saint, nor do I care if you wish to challenge for that position yourselves. But know this one thing.”
Lucian spoke to the lords with a cold smile.
“Even if you manage to be called the Sword Saint after much toil, if you cannot defend it and lose it immediately, you will go down in history as a moron who didn't know his place.”
At Lucian’s piercing remark, the lords were forced into silence.
Lucian immediately began preparations for the swordsmanship contest following the blacksmith contest. Or rather, he made it look like he was preparing. He had already set everything in motion, anticipating this turn of events.
‘This worked out well. Felicia had no justification for calling herself the Sword Saint other than Sir Eisen’s recognition. This contest will provide at least a minimum level of legitimacy.’
Though it was only a minimum, it would look better to have some form of public acknowledgment rather than just claiming the title from the start. At the very least, it would stop any random nobodies who weren't even qualified to challenge the position from mocking her.
‘Well, even if they mock her for a moment, they’ll all shut their mouths once they see Felicia’s true skill.’
In any case, having confirmed that the controversy over the Sword Saint title had subsided, Lucian proceeded with the scheduled contest. Since he couldn't build enough smithies for every craftsman at once, he had five temporary ones constructed for now. The rule was that if a challenger failed to handle the Fairy Light within the allotted time, the turn would pass to the next person.
News that the legendary smelting of Fairy Light could be witnessed drew crowds like clouds even before the contest began. Among them were many immigrants who had recently become blacksmith apprentices.
“So if someone fails, it just passes to the next person? Doesn't that make it an advantage for the people going later?”
“Exactly. If the person before you manages to melt it even a little or change its shape, you can just watch and copy them.”
“Tsk, tsk. You lot know nothing. Do you think blacksmithing can be done through mere imitation? To think boys calling themselves apprentices know so little about smelting.”
A master craftsman clicked his tongue and rebuked the whispering immigrant apprentices. At their master’s scolding, the hulking apprentices scratched the backs of their heads sheepishly.
“But surely it wouldn't be for nothing. We might be just apprentices, but the challengers are all masters, aren't they?”
“It might serve as a reference. But what happens after you copy someone else’s method?”
“After that? ...Ah!”
At the master’s point, the apprentice realized his mistake. If one attempted the smelting based on their own theory from the start, there was a chance of complete success. Even if the odds were one in a billion, the moment the theory clicked, everything would fall into place.
However, if one merely copied someone else’s work, they would only be able to move one step forward from where the previous person failed. Since they had copied it on the spot, they wouldn't have a plan for what came next.
“In the first place, Fairy Light is a metal that no craftsman here has ever handled. Even if you manage to smelt it by copying someone else, do you think you could forge a proper sword? You’d just end up with a metal rod.”
“I-I see.”
“Well, the difficulty might drop if you watched someone smelt it perfectly from start to finish... but as if such a master exists.”
The apprentices nodded vigorously at their master’s seasoned wisdom. The master spoke as if it were nothing, but these casual remarks were often the greatest lessons.
While the onlookers chattered, the first challengers, having finished their preparations, headed toward the smithies. Among them was Malcolm, who had recently been appointed as a Forge Master.