Chapter 749: You Haven't Said Hello, Have You? Say Hello
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 749: You Haven't Said Hello, Have You? Say Hello
While conventional wisdom dictated that crafting a masterwork sword took at least half a year, Eitri had shattered that timeline.
It was no miracle. He had simply prepared meticulously.
There were other factors at play, of course, but the most significant—aside from his own preparation—was the dwarf who had dropped by several times recently.
The dwarf was an old acquaintance, and his motive was transparent.
"Please, put in a good word for me later, eh? I’m not a bad sort. It’s just that we of the Iron Clan have a racial habit of charging into things without looking back."
He had come mostly to beg for favors, but along the way, he had shared his smithing techniques. He had even imparted a bit of dwarven philosophy.
"Must we assume traditional methods are always superior? No! The right way is to extract the finest parts of tradition and innovate them into something entirely new!"
Dwarves always dreamed of progress. They never hesitated to adopt, master, and utilize new technologies. Their craving for craftsmanship was that pure.
And because of that purity, dwarves were the most vulnerable to scams among all the intelligent races.
"Yes, new technology is good, right? Good. Teach me."
Eitri could easily picture the dwarf saying those exact words. If one had to name the race humans had swindled the most, dwarves would undoubtedly rank first. Of course, if a dwarf associated too closely with humans, they might eventually learn to do the swindling themselves.
Regardless, Eitri had absorbed those smithing techniques and found inspiration in that philosophy.
‘Innovation is taking the novel and tempering it with everything I have mastered.’
In addition, he had gained invaluable experience handling several rare metals—a stroke of luck no other blacksmith on the continent could claim. Such was the freedom of being allowed to experiment recklessly with precious materials.
On top of that, Encrid had brought him imprinted weapons from time to time. Every single one served as a lesson. Eitri observed, analyzed, and mastered whatever he could get his hands on. It was a relentless cycle of research and study, a grueling daily routine built brick by brick.
In the midst of it all, a vision began to take shape in his mind.
‘Layering three types of iron.’
It was the technique known as pattern welding.
But which irons would he use? There were three legendary types on the continent: Valerian blue steel, Mount Lewis silver steel, and Mount Uber yellow iron.
They were commonly known as blue steel, silver steel, and gold steel. From the veins where these irons were mined, rare metals would occasionally emerge: True Iron, Truesilver, and Ink Gold.
Eitri had acquired all three of those precious metals, along with a fragment of meteoric iron.
Wasn't the sword made from them none other than Samcheol? Though, that blade had involved other gems and specialized metals as well.
‘Exclude the cursed metal.’
It was unfit for an imprinted weapon. The cursed metal had been salvaged by melting down armor recovered from cultists they had slain a while back.
Even while Encrid was away, Eitri’s hammer never stopped.
He refined and purified the True Iron, Truesilver, and Ink Gold. Then, he received a peculiar iron through a merchant guild. The metal itself was neither particularly hard nor flexible, yet the moment he saw it, he felt its potential. His intuition surged. From then on, he moved as if possessed.
He was adding innovation to the art of layering iron.
‘It is a mystery.’
He didn't understand the underlying principle. If asked to do it again, he had no confidence he could replicate the feat. It felt like crossing a chasm on a tightrope without an ounce of talent. In fact, he felt like he was still on that tightrope even now.
In truth, even as Eitri remained aware of the process, he felt as if he were standing a step back, observing himself.
His focused self simply struck with the hammer, added True Iron, struck again, layered Truesilver, struck again, and added Ink Gold.
‘He’s going to ruin it all like that.’
Normally, that would be the case. The self observing from the outside felt a mounting sense of crisis. The way to make those three metals harmonize was to keep them in their respective places. Samcheol had been the result of that very research, but now, he ignored his own findings. He was mixing them together, forcing them to fuse through sheer, overwhelming heat.
‘It shouldn't work.’
But the worry was fleeting. He soon forgot even that.
He lost track of time. Even the moments he spent meeting Encrid grew hazy. When he received Encrid’s Will to infuse into the metal and listened to his stories, he seemed focused, but once Encrid left, it felt as if those events had happened months ago.
Eitri’s assistant watched with worried eyes, fearing his master might collapse at any moment. The way Eitri was wasting away day by day was harrowing to witness.
‘Will he be alright?’
It was during one of those days spent in quiet anxiety that it happened.
Swoooosh.
A sharp gust of wind rattled the wooden window. Soon after, the door hinges creaked, followed by a dull thud as the door swung open.
‘Did the latch not catch?’
Lately, security in the Border Guard had been exceptionally tight. Moreover, since four soldiers regularly patrolled his master's smithy, there was no chance of a burglar breaking in during the night.
Holding a lantern, the assistant rubbed his sleepy eyes and headed toward the entrance. Even though it was early summer, a strange chill raised goosebumps on his flesh.
The assistant walked over to close the outer door, but suddenly froze. The darkness beyond the threshold was far too deep. Could it really be this dark, even at night?
A shiver ran down his spine, accompanied by an ominous weight. It felt as if something was lurking within that void. It was no illusion. A pale hand emerged from the shadows. The assistant was so startled he couldn't even find the breath to scream.
So, people really do lose their voices when they’re truly shocked.
He realized this truth for the first time in his life.
The pale hand rose, lifting a single index finger to where a person's lips would be. Then, two blue lights gleamed from the darkness, and a voice spoke.
"Shh."
Only then did the assistant realize he had been holding his breath, and he let out a sharp, ragged gasp. A figure stepped out of the darkness and into the house.
"Quiet."
It was a witch. Anyone could see she was a witch. She wore a pointed hat, and her pitch-black robe—whatever magic had been woven into it—seemed to swallow the light spilling from his lantern. Darkness seemed to scatter with her every step.
She was the woman of the leader, known by the moniker Black Flower.
"I have been waiting."
The words came from his master, who had appeared out of nowhere. He was standing right behind the assistant. Startled, having felt no presence, the assistant spun around to see his master's eyes shining brilliantly from within his hollow cheeks.
It was the exact same look he had worn for the past few days.
"I thought you might need my help."
The witch spoke as she walked further inside. The assistant, unable to fully comprehend the situation, greeted the next morning without even remembering how he had fallen asleep.
In his dreams, he had a vague recollection of not just the Black Flower, but also the Gold Witch visiting the smithy. Because of this, he couldn't tell if it had been a dream or reality.
Nor could he ask his master. He had been awakened by the sound of the hammer, so speaking to him was out of the question. Lately, the moment his master gripped the hammer, his pupils would glaze over, and he would pump the bellows and strike the anvil like a ghost.
He was like a man intoxicated by the glow of the forge.
The assistant did as he always did, setting aside water and food before heading outside. Stepping away from the heat of the smithy, the cold air rushed up his nose and swept through his lungs.
‘Was it a dream?’
Yet, it had been far too vivid for that.
That afternoon, the assistant visited the training ground of the Order of Madness to deliver his master's message.
"It is finished."
*
Encrid walked slowly toward the smithy. His pace was more leisurely than usual. If asked whether he was anticipating it, he would certainly nod. Yet, his heart wasn't pounding with excitement.
It simply felt natural.
Eitri had made a promise, and he would keep it. Encrid had never once doubted that. It was a trust as heavy as a knight's vow.
"You've arrived."
Eitri, who looked as though he had lost half his body weight, greeted him. Encrid's eyes fell upon the blacksmith's sunken cheeks and hands where the bones protruded sharply.
The smithy was quiet and peaceful. It was not scorching, but only moderately warm. There was no heat intense enough to dry sweat; the forge merely radiated a faint, lingering warmth. The fire had cooled long ago.
"I heard it's finished?"
Encrid stepped inside with a casual demeanor. Eitri presented the sword in the same quiet manner.
There was no scabbard. The hilt was simple, and its shape was similar to Samcheol, yet different.
‘It looks the same on the surface, but...’
It was subtly different. If asked exactly how, it would be hard to explain—hence the subtlety. Should he feel a thrilling shiver the moment he gripped the sword? No, that wasn't something that could be forced.
With these idle thoughts, he gripped the sword. He swung it through the air a couple of times.
Whoosh. Swish.
Encrid was honest with himself. He felt no grand wave of emotion.
"There's nothing special about it."
"Yes. It is just right."
"It's duller than a Truesilver sword, and not as heavy as Ink Gold. I doubt it's as resilient as Samcheol, either."
He had held more than a few famous swords in his lifetime. Even comparing it to the Samcheol sword right now, there was a clear difference. He didn't even need to go as far as Samcheol; it was duller than Penna.
If he had to pick one advantage...
‘The balance is a work of art.’
He held it vertically, then raised it horizontally. The way it fit perfectly into his hand was undeniable.
"It certainly seems worthy of being called a fine sword, but..."
As for calling it an imprinted weapon... well, he wasn't so sure.
"Please give it a name."
Was the name of Oara's imprinted weapon Laughter? Her smile had been as beautiful as that sword.
"Duskforge."
The name carried the weight of a new dawn, a genesis—a sword meant to break the darkness.
What was the reason he wanted to become a knight? It was because he dreamed of a different world, one not plagued by monsters and demonic beasts. That was the origin of the name.
During the crafting process, Sinar had asked if he liked the name Kirhais. Esther had suggested calling it Night Sky or Star. The others hadn't said much, but Rem had made a remarkably serious suggestion.
"How about Urquiora, the dusk sky?"
It was somewhat tempting, but he didn't change the name.
"Duskforge. A good name. It will take time to break it in."
Eitri spoke, then collapsed with a soft thud. Startled, the assistant rushed over and caught his master.
"Master!"
Does an imprinted weapon have to feel extraordinary the moment one holds it? He didn't know. But he knew one thing. Encrid saw a faint smile playing on Eitri's lips.
‘I entrusted it to Eitri, and Eitri was satisfied.’
Then that was enough. Had he poured his soul into every single strike of the hammer? Perhaps he had. And so, Eitri, having finished everything...
"Is he dead?" Encrid asked.
Had this sword become his final masterpiece? Perhaps. He had poured so much of his strength into it; only such an effort could bring about that kind of smile.
"No! Why would you kill him off like that?" the assistant cried out in shock.
Looking closely, his shallow breathing continued. He had collapsed from overexertion, but he wasn't dead.
Encrid had asked despite knowing this deep down. He had felt that there should be some dramatic flair to the moment. Yet, reality was remarkably mundane. The imprinted weapon didn't speak to him the moment he held it, nor did it emit a blinding light. Eitri the blacksmith hadn't burned away his very soul to complete a final masterpiece, either.
"The scabbard is over there."
The scabbard was ordinary, and there was nothing special about the pommel or the guard. Only the blade possessed a faint blue hue. Yet, it wasn't the same color as Valerian steel; it was closer to the color of the sky.
‘Should I have named it Sky Sword?’
It seemed like it would have suited it quite well. A subtle scent wafted from the sword, and strangely enough, it smelled like a cloudless sky. It was that clear and refreshing.
‘No, to be more precise...’
It was a blend of the night sky, flowers, and trees. Their combination created the scent of a clear sky.
"In any case, I will put it to good use, Eitri."
Eitri, who had briefly lost consciousness, woke up and replied.
"Yes."
After leaving the smithy, Encrid returned and showed the sword to everyone he met.
"That fellow Eitri doesn't look like the type to pocket precious materials behind our backs, does he? But somehow, it feels like he did."
This was the opinion of Krais, who knew nothing of the craft, while the others simply took it in stride.
"Is that yours, Boss?"
"Yeah."
To be precise, that exchange with Rem was the extent of it. Meanwhile, despite the sword having nothing particularly extraordinary about it, Encrid constantly felt how perfectly it fit his hand.
After spending the day like that, Encrid set out immediately. He had already finished all preparations to leave while waiting for the imprinted weapon.
"Have a safe trip," Krais saw him off, and Sinar walked right by his side.
After walking a few paces, Encrid began to mutter to himself.
"Yes, I'm on my way. You hope something interesting happens? Me too."
Rem, seeing Sinar standing silently right next to him, asked, "Who is the boss talking to right now?"
Encrid answered, calm and casual. "With my baby."
Rem blinked a couple of times. He dug his pinky into his ear and checked Sinar's expression. There was no sign of joy on her face. Naturally, it wasn't something he would say to the elf. She was several times older than Encrid, so there was no way he would call her that.
Then to whom?
Ragna listened quietly, his interest piqued, while Sachsen, who had followed them in silence, listened intently as well.
Snort.
Odd-Eye, who had followed as if to see him off, shook his head from side to side. This remarkable wild horse understood human speech.
"No way..." Rem started to ask.
Encrid, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, formally introduced it.
"You haven't said hello, have you? Say hello. This is Duskforge."
Rem didn't swear. This was well within the expected range of Encrid's behavior.
"May peace find a home in your mind, brother," Audin merely muttered a prayer.