Helmont's Sword
“Antonio—!”
Isaac burst through the always-open door of the forge. Antonio, who had been diligently hammering away, shot to his feet and yelled right back.
“I told you not to call me like that when I’ve got a hammer in my hand!”
“Ah! Then I’m doomed! Because the sword you made me broke, and I can’t block your hammer anymore!”
He lifted the splintered taedo and shook it around, and Antonio’s bluster deflated in an instant. But convincing an old blacksmith to admit fault was no easy task.
“No, you brat!”
“What’s your excuse this time? That I swung it wrong? Picked the wrong opponent? It’s all part of learning? Then say that from the start! Why do you always swear it’ll never break and put me in danger every time?”
“Ahem. That’s a blacksmith’s pride.”
Antonio snatched the sword hilt, slapped his belly, and bellowed.
“Aigoo! You took this one! It’s just a shoddy test piece I whipped up! There’s a proper sword over there.”
“That’s a fresh excuse.”
“Ahem.”
It was ridiculous—he’d handed it over himself and now called it a test piece. Antonio had a new taedo ready, as if he’d known it would snap. He handed it over with an embarrassed grin.
“This one absolutely won’t break.”
“You hold onto it, then.”
Isaac drew it to clash against Pulsun right then and there, but Antonio snatched it back in a panic.
“Hey! No way it’d survive banging against a beast like that!”
“Yeah, right? I’ll go easy on it. Scared it’ll snap again.”
“Ahem.”
Isaac’s sarcasm hung in the air. Finally, Antonio slung an arm around his shoulders and dragged him out of the forge.
“Smoke?”
“……Quit for now.”
Back when he’d been scribbling with the Silent Sword, he’d taken it up out of sheer frustration. But it hadn’t lasted. He’d quietly weaned himself off, worried it might hurt his stamina once he started swinging steel again. Unnecessary concern, in the end.
“Quit this? You’re a tough one.”
Antonio stuck the tobacco in his mouth and touched the hammerhead to the tip. The lingering heat lit it right up, smoke curling into the air.
“Brat, this is trickier than it looks.”
A rare note of weakness from Antonio’s lips.
“Gotta keep it light but with enough strength. You think I’ve forged anything like this before?”
“Never expected perfection on the first go. But drop the bravado.”
“Disciples watching, and I hand you a sword that shatters instantly? How pathetic do I look?”
“…….”
Silence settled between them, then passed. At least they were on the same page.
“First time forging it—technique’s bound to fall short. So compensate elsewhere.”
“Meaning?”
Antonio flicked the tobacco to the ground, ground it underfoot, and bellowed at a disciple to fetch his thick coat.
“Up north, there’s frost silver ore. Rare stuff—makes the Kaldias spears.”
“…….”
“Never leaks out. Aside from what the margrave sends to the royals, it all sits in Kaldias warehouses.”
Silberna had mentioned her spear mid-battle. Something she could never discard.
“Forge it with that, and you get strength and lightness. Course, it’ll take time.”
“Sounds precious just from the name. Think the margrave’ll hand it over?”
Didn’t seem like Kaldias had much to spare.
“Doubt it. But we gotta try.”
The question—why go this far for my sword?—rose to Isaac’s throat. He figured it unnecessary, but Antonio caught on and answered anyway.
“Saw you training.”
“…….”
“Wielded it like the thing wasn’t even finished.”
“Ahem.”
“Opponent’s Helmont, right?”
Isaac’s eyes flew wide. He turned slowly to stare, and Antonio grinned like a kid caught goofing off.
“Fun, isn’t it? Helmont swordsmen, hailed great from birth. Born to swing steel.”
“Yeah.”
“Total opposite. Their greatswords against your taedo. Their mighty bodies against a commoner runt.”
No denying it. Reality’s walls had always been brutal to Isaac.
“Yet there you are, dead serious about beating them—”
Antonio clapped his back—good to see—like a vote of encouragement. Isaac gave a tiny nod.
Lately, Isaac had thrown himself into spars with Sharen.
Kaang!
Sharen’s greatsword brutally shoved aside Isaac’s Pulsun. The overwhelming strength gap hit hard. Problem was, Sharen ranked as the weakest direct Helmont—even excluding the baby brother Edel, she was dead last.
“Crimson Flame Wave!”
Red-and-pink aura erupted from the blade. Isaac’s eyes bulged; he tried blocking with Pulsun but got hurled back, airborne, then slammed into the dirt.
“Urk!”
Falling technique spared him major injury, but Isaac scowled. Not from pain. He’d slammed face-first into the unbreakable wall of Red Aura.
“Isaac, you okay!?”
Sharen rushed over, startled, hauling him up with worry.
“See? Told ya, no Red Aura. Ruins the practice! I ain’t like some scrub like Jonathan!”
“Yeah, different.”
No kidding. Jonathan went down to superior insight into Helmont swordplay. But a direct blood swinging? Whole other league.
“For real, I’m worried. Even warn ya with the name first.”
Sharen shrugged. True—she telegraphed, letting him react.
Feels like she’s just having fun.
Addicted to yelling the names.
“Gotta keep going.”
Isaac brushed dirt off his rear and called for round two.
“……You didn’t go this easy on the other brothers, right?”
“That wasn’t practice.”
“Kh-hmm!”
Sharen fake-coughed awkwardly and shuffled back. Isaac figured they’d dive right in.
“Oops! Hang on! Gotta run somewhere quick!”
“Hm?”
With that, Sharen bolted.
“Sis!”
Behind the lodging. Lianna hushed her visiting sister. She handed over a towel and water bottle. Warm towel, and the faint aroma from the bottle suggested boiled tea.
“Wah, thanks! But I didn’t sweat buckets or anything. Too cold here—sweat don’t come easy.”
Sharen grinned and took them. But Lianna narrowed her eyes, clearing the air.
“For Isaac. Not you.”
“…….”
Sharen, mid-unscrew to sip, quietly recapped the bottle.
“I’m your little sis.”
“Anyway—saw your spar.”
“Ah! How’d it look? My Crimson Flame Wave was pretty slick—”
“Not sure what Isaac’s after. With Pulsun, it looked like—”
For the next ten minutes, Lianna unloaded her take on the bout. Pure sword advice for Isaac. Sharen’s face soured more with each word.
“Sum it up like that and tell him. Got it?”
“Why not just tell him yourself?”
“If I could, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“…….”
Something was seriously off. Sharen figured, and tried lightening the mood.
“But sis, Isaac’s got this weird charm?”
“……What kind?”
Lianna bit—hooked. Sharen beamed, spilling her guts.
“Kinda pitiful and desperate? Red Aura’s unbeatable, right? But him pushing to the end? Kinda thrilling!”
“…….”
“Dunno how to put it. Makes ya wanna look after him? That grit to overcome…… super attractive!”
“…….”
“Sis feel it too, maybe—”
Bonk!
“What’s that lump on your head?”
“Sniff, dunno!”
Isaac pointed at the fresh bump crowning Sharen’s skull, but she pouted, all pissy. She’d dashed off for a “quick errand” and come back sporting that.
“Let’s restart.”
Whatever. Isaac had spent her absence puzzling Red Aura counters. Eager to test his theory, he geared up—
“Isaac acts like he ain’t, but he’s obsessed with Helmont greatswords!”
“Huh?”
Sharen’s out-of-nowhere jab.
“You’re wielding Pulsun. No power for a Helmont greatsword—why fixate?”
“…….”
“Helmont greatswords crush with raw power. No strength, no Helmont.”
“…….”
“Forcing Helmont in makes your sword feel crude.”
“…….”
“Ditch Helmont. Swing your sword. You’ve got the talent!”
Sharen rattled it off like reading from a book. Isaac cocked his head.
“Where’d you pick that up?”
“……Huh?”
“That I’m cribbing Helmont style. You sensed something specific.”
Never pegged Sharen for that depth, so he laid it bare.
“Yeah, spot on. Hate Helmonts, sure. But not their sword.”
On the contrary—he admired it. That’s why the sword obsession. And why he wanted to prove something to them.
“Got parts I envy. Working to make ’em mine…… just curious what clue tipped you off.”
Thought he’d buried it deep. How’d she spot it?
Isaac stared. Sharen’s eyes quivered. She fought her head’s urge to swivel, then yelled.
“Y-you feel it in the swings! This stuff’s heart, not head!”
Then she shoved over the towel and bottle.
“Said watch the cold!”
“Watch the cold?”
“Ah, no! Be careful!”
“…….”
Sharen fled, back turned. Isaac sighed, gaze lingering on her path.
Knew it.
Sharen’s first arrival at the Mallidan Wall. That nagging suspicion. The maid with her face swaddled tight lingered sharp in memory.