Chapter 517: Rotten Eyes
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 517: Rotten Eyes
Esther’s previous spell world had been born from her observations of nature.
Originally, Esther had lived in the mountains and roamed the forests. Though she had slain monsters, faced demonic beasts, and fought mages more than a few times, those moments were but brief flashes in the grand span of her life. Most of her existence had been spent in harmony with the natural world.
Now, however, Esther found herself interested in observing people.
Even after parting ways with Encrid, Esther continued to wander the market.
She watched people haggling over prices, porters laden with heavy goods, and a noblewoman wearing a wide-brimmed hat to shield herself from the unpleasant glare of the sun. She saw a child running around, basking in the warmth, a parent scolding that same child, and a man tearing his hair out inside a newly opened eatery that advertised various beverages.
It was a process of observation—of gauging their thoughts and intentions.
This is fun.
Watching them was far more entertaining than she had expected.
The process of getting to this point had been quite interesting in its own right. Even Esther knew that she needed krona to buy anything in the market, so she had chosen the most logical method to obtain it.
She had followed Krais around, staring at him intently—truly, relentlessly staring.
"...Nurat, did I do something wrong?" Krais whispered as he watched Esther.
Beside him, Nurat tried to gauge what the woman could possibly do against a mage—and an exceptionally skilled one at that. Using a woman's unique sixth sense, a warrior's intuition, and the insights gained from knowing Krais so well, Nurat blended these perspectives and chose the best course of action.
"Beg for forgiveness," Nurat said.
"That would be the fastest way, right?"
Krais nodded. Apologizing first was the way to go. Even if he fled to another city, he felt as though this witch's gaze would follow him from the shadows. It was the perfect recipe for a nightmare.
To Krais, Esther was no longer a beauty; she was strictly a witch. Was she trying to settle a score for the time he had targeted her claws back when she was a panther?
"Yes, I was wrong. My apologies," Krais spoke toward the gaze.
Beside him, the architect guild master—who had been making a desperate request to the man known as the shadow ruler of the city and the master of Castellan Graham—blinked in confusion.
"Pardon?"
"I wasn't talking to you."
At Krais's words, Esther glided forward, sliding across the ground like a shadow.
Thud!
"Whoa!" The architect guild master tumbled backward in shock.
Krais's heart hammered against his ribs, but he managed to keep his footing without falling disgracefully. His time spent with the mad independent platoon had forged his courage.
Esther only drew closer, remaining silent. She simply continued to stare.
Esther thought to herself: What would happen if I keep following and staring at a man who is secretly terrified of me—a man who is basically a walking treasure pouch overflowing with krona?
Especially since this man was incredibly quick-witted.
"...Why?" Krais asked, his mind racing. Why is this crazy witch doing this? Did she pick up some bad habits from Encrid?
While there were many good things to learn from their captain, there were also bad ones. Sometimes, Encrid really seemed like a complete lunatic. Of course, such traits might deeply impress some people, but certainly not Krais.
"Do you need something?" Krais asked calmly.
"A ghost!" the architect guild master shrieked, still unable to get up from the ground.
"No, she's not. She's a mad... actually, no. She is Black Flower, a member of the Border Guard General's direct unit."
At Krais's explanation, the guild master blinked. Only then did Esther's beauty register in his mind—her pale skin, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, long legs, and attire that subtly revealed glimpses of her skin.
The flower blooming beside the Demon Slayer.
"Ah."
Leaving the stunned guild master to his own devices, Krais asked again. "Do you need krona?"
At those words, Esther held out her hand. Watching her, Krais wondered what on earth he was supposed to do with these absolute lunatics. If she needed something, she could have just gone to the quartermaster. Why did she have to come to him and act like this?
Then again, he couldn't exactly picture the Black Flower walking up to a quartermaster and demanding a few silver coins.
Krais handed over one of the pouches he was carrying. It contained over a hundred silver coins. This should have been more than enough, but Esther did not pull her hand back.
"Try giving her gold coins," Nurat advised.
Krais followed her advice. Esther walked away with three more pouches that day.
Recalling that moment, the mage thought to herself that it had been a rather delightful experience—both the other party's reaction and her own actions.
Then why Enki?
Thinking of Encrid, whom she had passed by just moments ago, Esther felt a tight squeeze in her chest. It tingled and tightened as her emotions stirred. What was the source of this feeling? Why was there a resonance in her heart? Should she have followed him? Was she worried about his clumsiness, going out to the market without even a single gold coin?
She didn't know. In truth, it probably didn't even matter. There was likely no correct answer anyway.
Did this bother her? No. Even this was simply another element that made up who she was. Therefore, she only needed to face it head-on. As the tingling sensation spread from her heart throughout her entire body, Esther truly felt what it meant to have an aching heart.
Even if this was romantic affection, nothing would change. Even if it was merely friendship, or just a passing whim, nothing would change.
However, if there was one thing that caught her attention...
His eyebrows.
Hadn't the inner corners of Encrid's eyebrows been raised slightly? Because observation had become her daily routine, she noticed that the position of Encrid's eyebrows had shifted. They had taken on a somewhat listless shape. His overall impression seemed slightly different.
The reason for a change in impression? A shift in mindset. That was what Esther believed.
Encrid's mindset had changed. That was the truth she had gleaned through her observation.
Even knowing this, she had nothing in particular to say. In the distance, she could see Encrid's back as he made his way out of the market. Esther would continue to live like this for the time being. And eventually, she would reconstruct her spell world.
When that time came, if that man wished for it, she would become his strength. Not because he had freed her from her curse, but simply because she wanted to. Her heart demanded it, and she would not ignore the voice of her own heart.
Esther focused on her task. Observing and reconstructing her spell world—for now, she deemed that to be enough.
*
"...Have you come?"
The owner and artisan of the blacksmith shop recognized Encrid. He had seen him from afar before, and the man's appearance was incredibly striking.
The blacksmith shop was located on the outskirts of the city. The artisan, who had come from the capital, had previously rented a forge, but now he had set up his own bellows and equipment to open his own shop. Encrid had no way of knowing why the man, who should have returned to the capital, had chosen to remain in the Border Guard.
Well, he must have stayed because there were no issues. It was a mere guess, but it was correct. Even the blacksmith guild master in the royal palace had accepted it, though with a bit of regret. The guild master had secretly found the stubborn, old-fashioned artisan—who possessed decent skills but had no idea how to deal with people—to be rather troublesome.
Thus, the artisan also found it much more comfortable here. He could hammer away in peace, and since the Border Guard was known as a peddler's paradise, all sorts of rare materials flowed in.
The artisan made nothing but weapons and refused to take on any more apprentices. If the guild master in the capital saw this, he would have marveled at such sheer stubbornness. The shop wasn't large, and because of his temperament, he didn't make items to suit the tastes of others.
Normally, while he wouldn't have struggled to make a living, obtaining rare materials would have been extremely difficult. Yet, the artisan was far from destitute; in fact, he was rather wealthy. This was because the Border Guard subsidized any shortage of krona. At Krais's request, he supplied weapons to the barracks. That alone provided more than enough work.
"Occasionally, I will take some time to make what I want to make."
This was only possible because Krais accepted the artisan's stubbornness exactly as it was. He was the artisan who had crafted Rem and Ragna's weapons using Mount Lewis iron and ink gold, and Krais had recognized his extraordinary skill.
"Weapons are a reflection of skill."
Krais had often heard such sayings. The finish and quality of the items the artisan crafted were on an entirely different level. That was why Krais had chosen this place out of the seven blacksmith shops in the Border Guard.
Because the number of artisans had grown, leading to a surge in blacksmith shops and various other stores, the forge on the outskirts was relatively quiet. Or rather, while they seemed busy with work, it appeared quiet because there were no customers visiting. In fact, it was now a blacksmith shop directly affiliated with the Border Guard barracks, where those of a certain rank didn't even need to pay.
Among them were a human, a Frok, and a dwarf. As Encrid stared at the three of them, the artisan asked if he had arrived.
"I need a few things."
While Encrid replied, the artisan's apprentice, wearing a towel wrapped around his head, emerged from the back of the forge.
"Huh? The Demon Slayer!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, nice to meet you."
"Ah, I'm sorry!" The apprentice bowed his head, having blurted out the title in his surprise.
Encrid waved his hand, telling him it was fine.
"So, what do you need?"
At the artisan's question, Encrid unfastened his weapons one by one and presented them.
"The hilt on this one is loose, and I'm wondering if this other one can be repaired. I'd also like you to touch up the blades overall."
"Is this... Aker?"
As the sword vibrated with a low hum, the artisan pulled his hand away from the grip, startled by the trembling of the blade. In the past, he had worked maintaining the royal family's swords, and he had seen Aker back then. Just as a young man in his prime would never forget the face of an exquisite beauty even after ten years, the artisan remembered Aker.
"That's right," Encrid replied.
The artisan's apprentice, reading the room, brought over a short-legged stool. Since there were no chairs for guests, he had brought over a stool used for working. Encrid sat down without minding.
"Why is the royal family's treasured sword here?" the artisan asked in astonishment.
"They gave it to me."
"This?"
Encrid nodded. While those in the know were aware that the treasured sword had been given to him, it was only natural that far more people remained ignorant of this fact. If Marquis Vaisar were to find out, even he would demand an explanation from Krang. Not that he would demand it back, but with so many eyes watching, he would have to raise some form of objection.
In any case, Krang had smoothly handed over the sword by keeping the entire process hidden from the majority. If he got caught later, he could just shrug it off.
"I cannot touch this. The very fact that this sword retains its sharpness is a mystery in itself. I do not know how to temper weapons with magic."
The artisan spoke honestly, casting a brief glance at the dwarf sitting beside him before looking back to grasp the Gladius. As he held the sword, his eyes sparkled with anticipation, as if eager to see how he might work on it. Then, his expression suddenly stiffened, and he lowered the sword.
"Introduce yourself. This is Argan." The artisan pointed a finger at the dwarf.
"Nice to meet you," the dwarf offered a greeting, reeking of alcohol. "The Demon Slayer and a general of the Border Guard? You've struck gold," the dwarf continued, his breath heavy with the smell of stale liquor.
Strangely enough, despite the lively conversation happening right beside him, the Frok sitting to one side didn't even spare them a glance.
Encrid accepted the situation calmly and asked in a flat tone, "What kind of luck?"
"I'm planning to work with fire and iron in this forge to create a true masterpiece."
Encrid took in both the confident dwarf and the human artisan in a single glance. Sensing why the artisan had stepped back, Encrid asked the human, "Is he more skilled than you?"
"He is." The artisan nodded, showing no sign of wounded pride.
"Hic, is that even a question?" the dwarf said with a burp. "Ah, but I have a few conditions. I'd like some alcohol and a decent house provided for me. I came from a place called Martai, and I left a bit of a tab running there. I'll need you to settle that as well."
Hic. He finished speaking with another belch. It smelled like he had been gorging on cured meat.
They said dwarves were the children of iron and fire. That was how naturally gifted they were at the forge. Of course, not every dwarf was like that. Just as there were giants who sold goods, there were bound to be dwarves who had no interest in working iron.
However, the dwarf in front of him was not one of those. This dwarf's actual skill was likely superb—beyond comparison with any ordinary artisan.
"I can vouch for his skill," said the artisan, who had been startled by Aker.
Encrid nodded. Then, he handed his sword, the Gladius, to the human artisan.
"I want you to do it."
The dwarf reached out his hand, only to freeze. He had naturally assumed the sword would be handed to him.
"Dwarf or not, highly skilled or not, I don't entrust my sword to someone with rotten eyes," Encrid said.
Only then did the Frok, seemingly finishing up a task, raise his head and roll his eyes toward them. The artisan stared at the sword, and the dwarf snorted loudly.
What did he just say?