Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Duke Awik! Complete!
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The diligent knight introduced himself as Matthew.
Following his guidance, we located the slave trading company.
"I'm sorry. I have patrol duty soon..."
The moment we arrived in front of the slave trading company, Matthew hurried off to his shift.
'No matter which territory I go to, patrols are always the rookie's job.'
The seniors dumped the work on him, claiming it was precious training time for building experience.
Not just patrols—checkpoints and other tasks were the same.
So how was he supposed to level up?
'Gotta make it work somehow.'
It was unreasonable, but that's how the world turned.
Remembering that, I naturally thought of a way to repay this diligent young man.
I texted Rex for permission and made a proposal to Matthew.
"If time allows, I'll teach you the sword someday."
Of course, not for life—just the basics—but it would still be a fateful encounter for this young man.
'I'll get him up to level 29 with this.'
If my methods suited his body well, he might even aim for rank 3.
Of course, if he reached rank 2, his seniors might threaten his life.
But offering to teach him was also a declaration of protecting one's disciple afterward.
Thus, touching Matthew would mean making an enemy of me.
'Even the executioner priests could only twiddle their thumbs until my master tried to kill me.'
I wasn't as petty as my master, so that wouldn't happen.
Seeming to grasp my intent, Matthew bowed his head repeatedly.
"Thank you!"
After sending off the diligent... no, Matthew, I approached Rex.
"Rex."
[...]
"Rex? The young man is gone."
[I'm listening!]
Sigh.
I swallowed a sigh that kept trying to escape and voiced what I'd been thinking.
"Rex. Do we have enough gold?"
[Yeah. The inventory's stuffed with gold coins.]
"Good. Then I'll go get geared up. You search for A inside during that time."
Rumble.
As expected, Rex was already prepping to vibrate in protest.
He seemed scared to head into the slave trading company alone.
But this time, I absolutely couldn't yield.
'Can't ruin his first meeting with the heroine.'
It was called imprinting, right?
Like how animals recognize the first thing they see as their parent.
Not sure if it fit an adult like A, but regardless, Rex had to be the first one she met.
'No NTR on my watch.'
Stealing the heroine after riding the protagonist's coattails to success? No way.
A would probably fall for Rex anyway, but to eliminate even a sliver of possibility, we had to split up this time.
'Your first impression with A is yours, Rex.'
This was the fandom of an original novel fan and the last shred of conscience from a guy named Duke.
"Rex, don't worry about safety. Call me, and I'll protect you no matter where I am."
Unaware of my inner thoughts, Rex vibrated at 200Hz.
But I knew this guy could head to a slave market alone even in the original story.
He'd been more desperate back then, with nowhere to rely on.
Recalling that, I hardened my expression and persuaded him like a vassal offering earnest counsel.
"After rescuing A, I have to protect you both with everything I've got. What if I don't have gear then?"
I steadied Rex's vibrating shoulders and met his eyes.
"Even now, A is waiting for you, Rex."
Your wife is for you to save, right?
Whether my sincere plea reached him, resolve entered Rex's eyes.
Yes, those eyes.
This guy seemed unreliable most days, but at his core, he was the protagonist.
He delivered when it counted.
Steel-ing his will, Rex spoke in his own voice for the first time in a while.
"Sorry. I was acting spoiled."
After that, Rex left me in front of the slave trading company and strode inside alone with confident steps.
'Alright. Now for me...'
[Duke! Help! Can't talk to the clerk—]
I ignored the message for now and started walking.
'Time to look the part after so long.'
Time to transform into the look I'd planned for 200 years.
A shabby smithy.
Duke, having parted from Rex, set foot there.
"Welc..."
The dwarf blacksmith, Albrek, flinched the moment he saw Duke.
The clothes Duke wore were decent picks from the research city's boutiques, but ultimately commoner fare.
His detectable level was rank 1 too.
A normal blacksmith would peg him as an apprentice knight or mercenary with sturdy bones.
But Albrek was different.
He was the smith who crafted weapons for the lord and his inner circle in this territory.
Over decades in that role, the skill he'd honed most wasn't appraisal magic, but intuitively gauging ranks.
And his intuition said...
'At least level 60.'
Duke was at minimum rank 6.
Far stronger than the rank 5 lord.
Albrek switched attitudes on the spot.
From grumpy dwarf blacksmith mode to fawning merchant mode.
'From now on, he's the law.'
That was Albrek's survival tactic in this territory.
"Welcome—sir. Looking for anything in particular?"
Albrek greeted Duke obsequiously.
Duke didn't reply, quietly surveying the smithy.
Soon, he picked up a helmet from the shelf.
"We'll go with this."
He placed the helmet back on the shelf with a stern voice.
Albrek tried to recommend matching armor,
but
"No need for armor. Just the helmet."
Albrek clicked his tongue inwardly.
'Tch, what? Just a brokeass?'
Duke had said it because armor didn't fit his envisioned look, but it was plenty for Albrek to misunderstand.
Albrek revised his impression: skilled but penniless knight.
Still, might makes right, so his attitude stayed polite.
"Need any explanation, sir?"
Duke nodded.
Albrek detailed the helmet's features to inflate its value.
The visor looked seamless but had vision magic for clear sight and no blind spots inside.
"For meals—"
"The lower jaw opens separately."
An option considerate for knights ambushed mid-meal.
It also had minor perception hindrance, shadow effects, and other concealment enchantments—top-grade stuff.
Duke nodded in satisfaction.
"Excellent. How much?"
Albrek's lips dried at the question.
The knights he knew strutted like nobles but were broke thugs.
'Gonna haggle again.'
They'd demand half off, trusting fists and blades.
The helmet's real price: 14 guilders.
Knights bid half; after pleading, Albrek could nudge to 75%.
So he'd quote inflated from there.
'But haggling with this monster? No way.'
Albrek abandoned haggling with Duke and decided on 28 guilders.
Risky if caught.
Quote true 14 and eat 7-guilder loss safely? An option.
But
'7 guilders loss is too much.'
If Duke bid 7, his family starved.
Ironically, risking it boosted survival odds.
'Gotta hold at least 14.'
Albrek squeezed his eyes shut and quoted 28.
"28 guilders."
But the response wasn't as expected.
"28 guilders. 10 nobles and 3 guilders, right?"
"Pardon?"
No haggling?
While Albrek panicked, Duke thought impassively.
'I've got style. Haggling in a smithy? Nah. It's not even my money.'
The gold Duke carried wasn't hard-earned—it was the doctor's loot.
A city's budget in his inventory? Who cared about expense.
'Demon King haggling in starter village smithy? Cringe.'
Cool and sexy transaction fit the image.
Unaware, Albrek floundered.
'Wha? This ain't right.'
He'd pegged Duke as dumb and broke.
But he really just needed the helmet.
And he could even calculate—properly trained knight.
Brain blank, Albrek nodded without checking math.
'If caught, I'm dead.'
Trembling, he extended a hand.
Even then, Duke minded his dignity, stacking 10 large gold coins and 3 smaller ones neatly on the table.
Not the knights' arrogant toss, but respectful to the smith.
That tiny gesture filled Albrek's mind with terror and guilt.
'Confess now...'
But he couldn't spit the truth.
Duke spoke first.
"That sword."
"Pardon?"
"What's the price on that greatsword in the back."
Duke pointed to the greatsword behind Albrek.
The one stabbed into the stone shelf.
Albrek wiped cold sweat.
"Sir, that's for display. No one can wield it in real combat."
It was made for new year's festivals—pull the sword to show off strength.
Balance like a normal greatsword.
But weight unusable in battle.
Compressed metals, plus weight and hardness increase magic.
Even the lord barely lifted it—not for combat.
But Duke's eyes stayed glued.
They gleamed more after the explanation.
"How much do you want."
"Pardon?"
"If not for sale, name your price."
What logic was this.
Albrek panicked again, but Duke was adamant.
'Endure that sword?'
Duke couldn't look away from the stone-pinned greatsword.
And as a display piece, the design was gorgeous.
Had to be that one.
That sword for life.
Normal guy Albrek couldn't fathom Duke's reasoning.
'Just a weirdo?'
Terror and guilt eased; greed reared.
'Greatsword costs 5 guilders to make...'
Double to 10 guilders then...
Suddenly, a scarred ruffian kicked the door open.
Albrek knew him.
The lord's son who'd tormented him for decades.
'Why him now...'
Albrek excused himself to Duke and greeted the son.
Duke was scary, but a potential repeat customer; the son was lifelong trouble—priority.
"Oh, Kubel sir."
Albrek rubbed hands fawningly.
Kubel, classic deadbeat knight (didn't pay).
"Yo, smith. Sword repair. On the house, yeah?"
The lord's son proffered a rusted unusable blade.
Albrek saw at a glance it wasn't his work.
Probably from some ruin or dungeon.
And resharpening it meant...
'Matching the magic on that sword with a new one...'
Outrageous.
But he couldn't refuse aloud.
"Of course, sir. Give me the sword, I'll sharpen right away."
Defy the lord's mood, his family became square food for crows.
'Because of scum like him...'
Blacksmith pride gone, lying with prices—all because of such folk.
Lie or drown in debt and starve.
Swallowing tears, Albrek swapped the rusted sword for new.
Unaware, Kubel smirked receiving it.
"Hm. Good."
No thanks, he turned to leave.
Then spotted Duke.
"Who're you?"
"?"
"?"
Both Duke and Albrek floated question marks at Kubel's query.
Duke eyed him like an idiot, Albrek like a madman.
Never minding others' gazes, Kubel pointed at the floor.
"Why ain't you bowing?"
Finger down like demanding bow.
Classic spoiled lord's son. Albrek panicked as Duke strode toward Kubel.
And.
"High standards."
Crack!
Duke kicked Kubel's shin.
One strike sent him flying to crash prostrate.
Like forced kowtow.
Still clueless, Kubel ground teeth to rise—but Duke sighed before him.
'Sigh. Rex said lower presence to avoid attention...'
Duke lamented a world where bugs crawled if you did.
As Duke's presence hit rank 5, Kubel got it and flattened again.
"Sorry—"
"No apology needed. Get out. Leave the repaired sword."
Duke wanted to resume shopping fast.
Considered half-crippling him but...
'Lord's retaliation would shutter this smithy.'
He'd rely on it more; best avoid.
So punishment for spoiled brat ended here.
'This territory's getting conquered anyway.'
No need to stir trouble.
Duke turned from Kubel back to the smith.
"So, that greatsword—your price?"
Albrek glanced between Duke and limping-out Kubel.
Duke called the dazed smith again.
"Smith?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Price on that sword?"
"Uh... well..."
Albrek's mind spun hottest in his blacksmith life.
Could calculate, knelt a thug like Kubel—skill and rank.
Duke was a real fairy-tale knight, not fake posers.
Would he not know helmet price?
'Impossible.'
Albrek realized Duke was cutting him slack. (Wrong.)
Decision made, he slammed head on counter like it'd break.
"Forgive me, sir!"
Desperate atonement began.
Habitual gouging for survival, too slick to confess naturally.
Admitting every intent to deceive, he begged.
"Sword and helmet together ain't even 28 guilders!"
Helmet 14, sword 5.
"19 total! But as atonement for lying—"
Meant to say take free.
But lips froze.
Loss flashed.
Duke spoke to his crown.
"Then sword and helmet together for 28 guilders."
"Sir!?"
"This sword you made's worth 14."
"No, sir! Take helmet too free!"
"Then that's my apology."
"Pardon?"
"If a knight's name brings fear not comfort to folk like you, another knight should apologize."
Empty words.
Just showboating with others' money.
But effective.
"Sir...!"
Albrek teared up, seeing a true knight first time.
"An honor!"
Duke passed the bowing smith to the stone-pinned sword.
'Now your name Excalib... too traitorous.'
Feels like declaring kingship.
After deliberation,
'Durandal it is.'
Still stone sword, but no traitor vibe.
Duke easily拔ed Durandal from stone.
'Hm. Got weight.'
But swung fine.
Others' swords too light anyway—this felt right.
Confirming greatsword heft, he tried slinging to back naturally.
Then recalled it mismatched planned image—tossed to inventory.
'Only draw when using.'
Mantle wouldn't flap right with back-mounted greatsword. Absurd reason.
Seeing Duke lift lord-barely-lift sword lightly, cast subspace casually, Albrek felt awe anew.
Duke donned purchased helmet, called Albrek.
"Excellent, smith."
"Glad you're satisfied, sir."
"Any place nearby for custom clothes? Special uniform preferred."
Albrek beamed.
"My wife's shop handles special fabric formalwear!"
"Where?"
"Next door! I'll guide you!"
Dwarf smith bounced excitedly out.
Duke followed, minding the weight.
Soon, to the clothier next door.
"Lord's family tailors here often—no quality worries."
Duke entered expectantly per intro.
Albrek's wife greeted—a flashy dwarf lady draped in dazzling gems.
"Oh my, welcome, sir?"
Guessed knight from helmet.
Albrek peeked from Duke's bulk.
"Dear, long story short—to atone, custom outfit for him. Possible?"
Wife started tailoring with neighborhood auntie banter.
While Duke tried on in changing room, she whispered to husband.
"So, who is he?"
Albrek named en route.
"Duke something. Sounds familiar..."
"Eh? Duke Awik?"
"Yeah, that."
Wife freaked, smacking Albrek's back.
"You fool! Shoulda said sooner!"
"Ow! Why? Who?"
"Agh! Get with the world!"
She spilled Duke's exploits.
Noble knight! Wandering justice never tolerating evil!
Quiet last year, but famous among bards.
While she whisper-yelled, Duke emerged fitted.
Checked uniform every angle.
"Color's good. Can alter lapels to notch, buttons double-breasted?"
Pro terms even lord shunned—wife's eyes sparkled.
'Real knights different breed!'
Not vulgar upstarts—class apart. She noted all requests.
Dwarf artisan, thrilled to showcase skill after ages.
Husband awkward seeing her fired up rare.
Wife ignored, consulted Duke on clothes.
"Fabric?"
"Options?"
"Drake leather just in—perfect lining."
Meant for lord offering, warehoused.
Irrelevant now—artisan fire lit.
Burn soul fully, she pitched best materials.
Duke nodded pleased.
"Done by evening."
"Ready-made meantime?"
Duke placed gold on shelf.
"Of course, sir."
She gave change, recommended off-rack closest to custom.
Not perfect, but suited him well.
Duke mirror-checked, satisfied.
"Fine purchase."
Even after Duke left, Albrek's wife couldn't calm her excitement.
Dwarves thrill at three: self-actualization, beer, sausage.
One ignited, she cooed sweetly at husband ages unseen.
"Deeeear~"
"!!!"
To husband Albrek, scarier than demon call from hell.
Hiding dread,
"Y... yeah?"
"Close smithy early today."
"Huh?"
"I'll reserve beer 'n' sausage at Biline's. Send kids to grandparents after work, wash up. I'll head straight."
She bounced out breathless, no reply needed.
Albrek queried her gone back.
"Wait? Dear? Why? What's sausage sudden? Kids why?"
No answer.
Smith hurried to smithy, donned plate armor.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, Duke.
'Hm. Perfect.'
He celebrated completing the charismatic veiled knight.