The Long Vacation (6)
When I first started working on the commission, there were no major problems. It was a material I'd never seen before, but it processed like ordinary metal, and the requested shape wasn't particularly difficult to begin with. No, to be honest, it would be more accurate to say the work was actually enjoyable. These things happen sometimes. You're doing the exact same tasks as usual, yet everything flows smoothly for some reason. Experimental attempts succeed with surprising cleanliness, and even after finishing a grueling process, your body still feels light. The odd part was that every artisan who participated in processing that stake felt the exact same way. No matter how much we repeated the work, fatigue never set in. Our condition stayed strangely perfect.
It was too coincidental to brush off as mere luck, so we naturally began to suspect the stake... no, by that point it had already lost its original form and become nothing more than a lump of iron. We wondered if "that thing" possessed some kind of power. We halted the work and ran another inspection, but the results remained unchanged. No spells or enchantments could be detected. We checked the workshop itself for anomalies, yet nothing suspicious turned up there either. The conclusion was one of two possibilities: pure coincidence, or the metal itself contained some bizarre energy.
We were curious, of course, but either way it wasn't causing any harm. If anything, it benefited the work. So we continued processing "that thing." At the time we believed it was simply the pride of artisans determined to complete the commission. Looking back now, however, I think we were already bewitched.
Bewitched by what, you ask? By "that thing," obviously! It was giving us strength, urging us to quickly finish reshaping it into its new form!
…I'm sorry. I got a little excited there. I'll continue the story.
At the beginning, the only ones working on it were myself—the one who originally received the commission—along with a swordsmith and a leatherworker. But once the strange rumors started spreading, artisans from all over began showing interest in "that thing." It wasn't really that surprising. If just lending a hand to the project left you feeling great all day and made your heavy body move with ease, who would refuse? Even those who normally wouldn't touch another person's work started butting in, which caused some chaos. Still, the project progressed faster and the quality rose even higher.
No, it wasn't just higher quality. The finished product was so exceptional that even we, its creators, doubted we could ever replicate it. I know it sounds boastful coming from me, but Mars Workshop is home to the finest artisans in the entire Barhart Empire. We have the confidence to say our skills rival even the imperial workshop. And yet we produced something we ourselves wouldn't dare try to make again.
Once the actual crafting was complete, we celebrated what a wonderful experience it had been. The problem came afterward.
During the final inspection, one artisan swung "that thing" and immediately collapsed. The doctor said he was in a state of extreme exhaustion. Up to that point, we simply thought our colleague had overworked himself. He'd been so absorbed that he hadn't noticed his fatigue, and once the tension broke at the very end, it all came crashing down at once. It wasn't an everyday occurrence, but it wasn't unheard of either, so we didn't think much of it.
Then another artisan who grabbed "that thing" while trying to clean up the area where the first man had fallen collapsed in exactly the same way. At that point, even an idiot would realize something was wrong. Since we couldn't touch it directly, we used tools to lift it and immediately called the alchemist who had handled the initial investigation.
The alchemist who touched "that thing" for testing collapsed as well, but we managed to learn two crucial facts. First, "that thing" is harmless while inside its sheath. Second, the moment someone grips "that thing" after it's been drawn, something is instantly stolen from them, plunging them into extreme fatigue and starvation. To say this in front of the client who commissioned it—especially as one of the very people who created "that thing"—is truly mortifying, but…
"…That thing—no, this object is cursed."
I couldn't hide my bewilderment at the artisan's pained expression. Look, I already knew the Fatigue-Stained Stake was no ordinary material. That was precisely why I'd commissioned it to be remade into a weapon—I'd hoped something incredible would come out of it. Still, there were limits. I'd expected maybe a new high-tier magic tool at most. What was I supposed to do with a cursed item suddenly popping out?
I'd been worried the artisan might get angry, thinking I'd handed over strange materials that caused his people to collapse, but fortunately that didn't happen.
"First, please accept my deepest apologies for failing to complete the commission properly. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but if you would entrust us with a new request, I promise we will create our very finest work this time. We will cover all costs as well, so please, forgive us."
In short, they wanted to nullify this job and make something new for free. It wasn't a bad offer. It was a shame to lose the original materials, but getting a replacement at no cost was hard to complain about. It wouldn't be ready in time for the martial tournament, but with Ligret's skill level, it should be fine.
"No, that's really not—"
At that moment, a brown shadow brushed past my side. Huh? Hey, wait.
"It's fine, so just give it here."
"W-wait! It's dangerous!"
The burly man holding the dagger panicked and tried to back away as Ligret approached, but she snatched it away in the blink of an eye and immediately drew it from its sheath. The artisan's face turned deathly pale. The bespectacled clerk looked utterly horrified. Only Ligret examined the dagger with an intrigued expression.
The original stake had been a dark reddish-black. After reworking, the blade was closer to deep black. Yet crimson lines ran through it like blood vessels, filling the darkness. The sight inspired vague unease while simultaneously possessing a strange beauty that captivated the viewer.
At first, the dagger drawn from its sheath behaved quietly, as if there were no problem. That only lasted a moment. The blade, the guard, the pommel—even the grip that might have been hidden beneath leather wrapping. The dagger itself began to throb like a living creature. The next instant, Ligret staggered.
…She staggered, but she didn't fall.
A dense crimson light surged around Ligret's body like a cloak. Wrapped in the mana of Red Light, whose effects on physical enhancement were unrivaled, she swung the dagger several times. Still not satisfied, she tossed it into the air like a juggler and caught it again. She repeated this several times.
Wearing an extremely satisfied smile, Ligret suddenly declared:
"Good. I'll take this one. It's perfect."
"Pardon?"
The stout artisan, who had been stunned, quickly came to his senses and tried to stop her. "P-please wait! That is far too dangerous an object! It causes everyone who uses it to collapse… er, it should cause collapse…? Huh?"
He seemed to sense something strange in his own words and kept glancing back and forth between the dagger and Ligret. Ligret, however, happily slid the dagger back into its sheath and hooked it onto the belt at her waist.
After years of dealing with this girl, I instinctively understood. Ah, if I try to stop her now, she'll take it by force if she has to.
"…Well, um, if the person who will actually use it says she's fine, then I suppose it's okay."
"But still…"
The artisan continued to hesitate, but the clerk was different.
"If that is what the customer wishes, we are truly grateful. It's a relief that we won't be sending you away empty-handed."
If things continued as they were, the shop would have to make a new item while bearing the material costs as compensation for their failure. Instead, the customer was willing to take the defective product off their hands. From the store's perspective, it was an incredibly fortunate turn of events. The craftsman might feel uneasy, but the clerk—who clearly handled accounting and reception—had no reason to refuse the current situation.
"Hahaha, exactly. We were in quite a bind with the tournament right around the corner and no weapon ready."
"…We will serve you with even greater care on your next visit."
It was fortunate the other party was quick-witted. In the end, even though Ligret had taken a liking to it, the shop had been prepared to invest money to make up for their mistake. A small service in return for smoothing that over seemed perfectly reasonable.
As we left the shop, I glanced at the dagger now hanging at Ligret's waist.
…….
"…Ligret, are you really okay?"
"I'm fine. As long as I can maintain the reinforcement, I should last about five minutes."
And what if it went beyond that? No, what about when she wasn't reinforced at all? Plenty of questions rose to mind, but instead of voicing them I simply let out a short sigh.
Yeah. This was just like her.