Chapter 194: I'm Going to Raise a Dog (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 194: I'm Going to Raise a Dog (1)
Giggs, the owner of the Rotten Forge, had been quite idle lately.
Since the Rotten Forge exclusively crafted swords, it rarely had customers and even less work. If he had made other iron goods like the other forges, or at least crafted horseshoes, he could have sold them to the Polun Trading Company. Giggs’s stubbornness, however, wouldn't allow it.
He had lived his entire life with a simple mindset: Why bother chasing money when you could do what you love and still make a decent living? It was just how he was.
Consequently, in the capital of Kairisis, where there was no war and no barbarians at the gates, a swordsmith had little reason to be busy.
“We have a customer!”
One day, during another lazy afternoon, the boy he’d hired for some pocket money ran in, his voice filled with excitement. When Giggs saw the person following him, his eyes widened.
She was a girl dressed in a black leather vest, a white shirt, and dark brown trousers, and she stood remarkably tall for her apparent age. So far, nothing was particularly noteworthy, but the sword hanging at her waist was another matter entirely.
If there was one thing Giggs knew inside and out, it was swords. Even at a glance, he could tell it was an incredibly heavy, exceptionally high-quality blade.
The girl took a step forward and stood before him.
Though Giggs was an idle man who knew nothing but metalworking, he wasn't a fool. A blonde, curly-haired girl who could carry such a heavy sword so effortlessly—there was only one person like that in Kairisis, no, in the entire Kingdom of Kairis.
“Could you perhaps be… the Young Duchess of Siegfried?” he asked cautiously.
“I am.”
The girl nodded quietly, her slightly low voice a perfect match for her expressionless face and prominent, round eyes. As soon as she confirmed it, Giggs bowed deeply.
He had no idea why such prominent figures kept visiting his little shop tucked away in this metallic-smelling alley, but this was someone he would normally never have the chance to speak to in his lifetime. She was the heir to a duchy, a status second only to royalty.
Moreover, her noble standing aside, there wasn't a single weaponsmith on this street who wouldn't want to meet the Young Duchess.
Being the heir of Siegfried was enough to make her an object of envy, but she had also recently become the protagonist of a grand romance that had shaken Kairisis to its core. To find her fiancé, she had detained the 2nd Prince and pressured the Brissen family—her audacity, decisiveness, and confidence were truly astounding.
And now, a figure who was in many ways Giggs’s idol was standing right in front of him.
“It is an honor to meet you, Young Duchess.”
Giggs offered the greeting with the utmost sincerity.
Truthfully, when he had realized the identity of Calian, who had visited about a month ago, he had been so shocked he couldn’t even remember if he had greeted him properly. This time, at least, he managed a formal bow.
Demirea, replying with a silent nod, looked around the shop before speaking.
“The blade is slightly damaged. I was told to visit this place.”
She spoke politely. Unless they were subordinates from her own household, Demirea never spoke down to anyone. Of course, Yan, who had received the same education from Serie, was no different.
Giggs, who had no way of knowing this, looked even more overwhelmed and stammered his reply. He completely forgot to wonder who could have possibly recommended his humble shop to her.
“Y-yes, of course. I’ll take a look at it.”
At his words, Demirea unfastened her sword and handed it to him.
Giggs caught his breath. The weapon was every bit as heavy as he had anticipated. Even for a Siegfried, it was a staggering weight to be carried at the waist of such a young girl.
Carefully unsheathing the sword to examine it, Giggs tilted his head. He raised and lowered the blade a few times, gripped the hilt to test its feel, and then asked, “Excuse me… Young Duchess. Did you happen to replace the original blade with a new one?”
“That is correct,” Demirea answered with a faint smile.
She was glad she had taken Calian’s advice to stop by if her sword ever needed repairs.
Just as Giggs had said, she had recently increased the weight of the blade significantly. The sword had been reassembled so perfectly that even she could barely feel the difference, yet he had noticed it immediately. His eye for detail was truly extraordinary.
After examining the sword for another moment, Giggs spoke up.
“Um… I don’t know if I should say this, but more than the damaged blade, the center of gravity is off. The balance between the blade and the hilt is misaligned. It must have been a bit awkward to wield.”
This was also accurate.
The various cuts and calluses on her hands were partly due to this imbalance. She’d had to constantly readjust her grip on the sword as it slipped, forcing her to control its slightly erratic movements with sheer strength.
Giggs, speaking as if he had witnessed it all himself, addressed Demirea again as she quietly nodded.
“Would it be alright if I fitted it with a new hilt while I’m repairing the blade?”
He asked because he figured there must have been a reason she had kept the original hilt. After a moment of thought, Demirea nodded.
“Yes. Please do both.”
In truth, she had kept swapping out the blades while keeping the same hilt because she was reluctant to part with one that was already so well broken-in. But at this point, she thought it might be a good idea to try something new.
Hearing her response, Giggs bowed slightly and said, “It will take about a day, Young Duchess. Once it is finished, I will deliver it to the Siegfried Mansion.”
“But you would have to leave your shop unattended. I will return at this time tomorrow.”
Realizing that the Young Duchess—who was cool, capable, held a status rivaling royalty, spoke politely to commoners, and was incredibly considerate—Giggs was utterly flustered and blurted out his honest thoughts.
“I have nothing to do, Young Duchess!”
He was so flustered, yet so delighted, that the words just slipped out.
Seeing Giggs’s face turn bright red, Demirea chuckled softly once more. She glanced around the shop again, picked up a nearby sword to examine it, and asked, “Do you make all the items here yourself?”
For a moment, Giggs almost laughed. Calian had asked the exact same question when he had visited.
“Yes, Young Duchess. I made them all myself.”
Demirea stared at Giggs—a man so skilled yet with nothing to do—for a moment, then nodded silently.
“Tomorrow, I would appreciate it if you could bring the sword to me.”
She had changed her mind about coming back herself. Since he had nothing to do anyway, and it would give him a chance to see the Siegfried Mansion, Giggs happily agreed.
The next day, he was asked if he would be interested in taking charge of crafting and repairing all the swords used by the knights of House Siegfried, who now had an immense amount of work for him. On the spot, Giggs shouted his thanks to the heavens.
It was the moment his life’s goal of doing what he loved and making a decent living shifted just a little.
*
Bets.
He made them not for the thrill of winning or losing, but simply for the fun of it. He won nearly all of them and was paid for almost none—mostly because a certain purple-eyed Crown Prince had a habit of “forgetting” the terms whenever it was time to pay up.
Anyway, a long time ago, he had made bets on things like whether it would rain or what Kyrie’s final height would be. More recently, he had made a similar height-related bet with Yan.
Thanks to that, whether he knew it or not, a certain baby elephant—born of the bloodlines of Kairis’s two greatest knightly families and growing at a terrifying rate—was on the verge of tears every morning as he saw his height increase bit by bit.
“If you can so much as graze me, I’ll teach you one of Duke Siegfried’s techniques. If you can’t, you’re going to the fifth floor, Brother.”
Just like this.
He was proposing a bet that wasn’t quite a bet to Franz.
Franz, after all, had a history of losing one of the continent's finest black horses after bringing up a similar topic with Calian. He frowned slightly at Calian’s words.
No matter how much Calian claimed he wouldn’t use his Aura, as long as he held it within him, his physical capabilities were on a completely different level. Accepting the bet was a clear disadvantage, but declining meant giving up on the technique Calian offered.
Weighing the prospect of facing Randel against one of Suleiman’s techniques, Franz spoke.
“Deal.”
As if he had expected nothing less, Calian grinned. In that same instant, Franz swung his sword.
Whoosh!
It was always Calian who made the first move. He would vanish without a sound and suddenly reappear in front or behind to thrust his sword.
Not forgetting this, Franz attacked first. Calian, his grin still intact, twisted his waist to dodge the blade.
The ink-black sword changed direction without losing its vicious momentum, whipping up a sharp wind as it clawed at Calian’s flank.
Whir!
After dodging two attacks, a dark red sword manifested, created solely from mana without a trace of Aura. Calian smoothly extended his arm, parrying the blade aimed for his waist before kicking off the ground.
He had said he wouldn’t use Aura, but that didn’t mean he would go easy on him. Calian accelerated, his figure blurring into a faint shimmer.
Franz twisted, retracting his sword and using the momentum of his spin to change direction. In an instant, he was facing the opposite way. He lunged forward and thrust his sword.
Clang!
Calian’s sword, which had already moved to attack from behind, was blocked with a sharp, metallic ring.
A dark red sword that seemed to drip with darkness, and an ink-black sword that reflected no light. Between the two crossed blades, red and light green eyes met, their gazes reflecting a strange, fleeting resemblance.
The moment the clashing swords parted, a streak of sharp killing intent and the ink-black blade lunged forward as one. Calian did not dodge. Instead, he raised his sword and deflected them.
Claaang!
He then lunged toward Franz and swung. As Franz hastily twisted his hilt to block, Calian’s voice reached him.
“Don’t show your killing intent in front of the knights.”
There was no benefit in letting the Marquis find out Franz’s true skill level—or his ability to control killing intent.
In place of an answer, Franz’s killing intent thickened. It was his way of expressing his irritation at not being allowed to do as he pleased.
Clang! Clang!
When his downward strike was blocked, Franz immediately reversed his sword to slash horizontally. Feeling the sharp edge of that energy, Calian smiled faintly and kicked off the ground.
Wind whipped from the tip of the sword as it cut through empty air. Calian, who should have been in the path of that wind, had vanished in an instant. Franz, now accustomed to this speed, twisted his reversed blade and thrust it to his right.
Whoosh!
But once again, he missed. Calian, having already changed direction, was now behind him, raising his sword for a downward strike. Sensing the energy, Franz quickly twisted at the waist and raised his ink-black sword horizontally, blocking the blade as it descended over his head.
Retracting his upward-swung sword and taking a step back, Franz slashed down, aiming for Calian’s shoulder.
Claaang! Clang! Clang!
Noting that Franz’s instincts were indeed excellent, Calian thrust his sword upward from below. The impact—lighter than Demirea’s but still sufficiently heavy—forced Franz to tighten his grip and steady his blade.
At the same time, the sword vanished from Calian’s hand.
Just as he had done against the Wolf of the Great Desert, he didn’t bother trying to overpower the force of the spinning sword. He simply made it disappear.
Whir!
The newly manifested sword thrust out from the opposite direction, aiming for Franz’s flank. Moving his feet quickly to dodge, Franz didn't get annoyed by Calian’s novel attack style. Instead, he focused even more intently on the tip of the blade.
Deflecting Calian’s retracting sword as if to push it away, Franz lunged forward. He ducked slightly, passing under the arc of a swinging blade, held his sword horizontally with a firm grip, and tried once more to slash at Calian’s waist.
Clang! Clang!
Stepping back, Calian blocked the attack with his vertically held sword. The corners of his mouth curved upward again at the bold attack that had penetrated so deep into his range.
Just as Franz, who had slipped behind Calian, was about to swing his lowered sword up in a diagonal slash—
Calian, who was clearly standing with his back turned, lightly tapped the ground. And once again, he vanished.
Left.
A light footstep sounded from the left. Then, the rustle of fabric from slightly behind.
Narrowing his eyes, Franz thrust his sword forward. In that same instant, a fleeting regret crossed his mind.
Ah.
I should have blocked, not attacked.
Calian’s sword, extending just a fraction of a second faster than his own, grazed Franz’s neck. He felt a sting, like blood welling from a shallow cut. And—
Snick.
One of the decorative cords fastening Calian’s sleeve fell to the floor, cleanly severed.