Chapter 23
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Master Craftsman - 3
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Sylvia's footsteps as she headed to the canteen were bouncier than even a springy slime.
In the sight of the child singing with candy, a rare purity shone through.
In the tower, a child's innocence was the most precious sentiment of all.
"I want this one, and this too, and that one. I want a lollipop too."
"Alright. Take as much as you want."
The rewards piled up from residents' errands and slime extermination requests were overflowing in abundance.
If not even sharing at a time like this, what would be the point? Seeing Sylvia happy was reward enough.
Harman would surely blame me for too much sugar for a six-year-old, but what could a blacksmith busy teaching Rien do about it?
He'd just have to quietly watch his cute granddaughter devour sweets.
"Orange?"
Sylvia shook her head.
She pointed to the one next to it with her tiny finger.
"Green?"
"Yes!"
They looked identical except for the color, and the flavor inside was the same anyway.
I peeled the wrapper off the green candy and placed it in Sylvia's hand.
Unfortunately, the rejected orange one went straight into my mouth.
I bought it, after all. Gotta get my sugar fix too.
We rolled candies in our mouths while watching adventurers pass by.
The streets, once bustling with new adventurers, had clearly thinned out at a glance.
Most had moved on to the second floor.
The few still around would leave in a day, or two at most.
Returning to their usual peaceful routine, as always.
"Who's that big sister?"
"She's an adventurer named Rien."
The phrase "question mark murderer" didn't come about for nothing.
Sylvia peppered me with endless questions.
"Why is Rien with Grandpa?"
"She's learning how to make swords from him. They're in the middle of a lesson, so we can't disturb them."
Children's questions sometimes hit right on target or poke at unexpected spots.
Curiosity without malice knew no end.
"Why aren't you taking lessons from Grandpa, big brother?"
"I've learned plenty already."
"How much is plenty?"
"Enough to make a sword on my own?"
I finished it with Harman's advice, but since the result didn't resemble what he wanted at all, it was fine to call it solo work.
"What do you think?"
"It's meh."
"……."
No one appreciates my artistry.
For a first sword, I thought it wasn't bad.
Performance-wise, it far surpassed the junk swords littering the first floor, but compared to the tower overall, it was just so-so. Still, the fact that I made it myself bred some attachment.
"Grandpa's always busy."
"Even lately...?"
"Yeah. Yesterday he made ten swords all exactly the same."
He called my efforts a waste, but he was the one who couldn't quit.
Harman was still battling the tower.
The long duel between the tower, determined to leave only tutorial weapons on the first floor, and the blacksmith striving to reclaim his past skill, was far from over.
"I wish he wouldn't do that stuff so he wouldn't get sick."
"……."
"We could live happily without making swords..."
"Sorry. I got greedy for no reason."
They say kids grow up in the blink of an eye.
Even in the timeless tower, maturity couldn't be stopped.
Even an eternal six-year-old had learned to pretend not to know.
Sylvia could tell candy from medicine.
The moment I decided to settle on the first floor.
Right after giving up the climb... just before losing my mind, when Ellie's help finally brought me back to sanity.
Back then, I was building a new routine by taking slime extermination requests daily at the request office.
I started befriending the townsfolk one by one, blending into their lives as a neighbor.
The first floor, once just a tutorial pass-through, had become my home.
With a changed perspective, questions arose from things I'd glossed over before.
"So many swords breaking. Where do you keep getting them?"
"Swords? All made by Harman."
"Harman? That name rings a bell...?"
Sparring with Tiana often snapped wooden swords—not even real ones—due to low durability.
I handled them roughly while focusing, but the swords themselves were flimsy too.
I hadn't expected much from first-floor drops anyway.
What puzzled me was how the dwindling swords in Tiana's training grounds always refilled completely.
"I visit Harman about once a month. He sells them dirt cheap, so no worries about breakage mid-spar."
I thought I'd memorized all the residents' faces, yet a new name slipped from Tiana's lips.
"No wonder you don't know. He swings the hammer all day and hates showing his face outside."
"There's a blacksmith here too."
"What a thing to say. What village lacks a blacksmith?"
Villages with just one were rare too.
Harman supplied Tiana with bulk training swords and basic metal gear to shops.
I learned many tools came from his hands as well.
Back then, seeing the low-quality gear on shelves, I figured the blacksmith skimped on effort.
I never imagined it was his best.
Compared to countless tower gears, his couldn't be called good.
I met Harman face-to-face thanks to Tiana's request.
Even then, peak seasons hit irregularly. Her packed schedule and sudden gear shortages sent me in her stead.
Knocking at the forge, the door opened.
He was the type to hear business without greetings.
"Take what you need."
I didn't expect hospitality, but he offered no chance for talk.
First time meeting, yet he seemed annoyed by my visit.
"A ton of swords..."
They littered the floor.
Storage screamed "not for sale."
Like trash shoved in a corner.
Adventurers had subspatial storage, so ferrying to the grounds was easy, but how did Tiana haul this many?
Did she bring carts or baskets each time?
"Where should I put the money?"
"On the desk."
- Thud!
He shut the workshop door without eye contact, uninterested.
No check if I paid right.
Not that it mattered—Tiana said material costs only.
'This is replication level, right?'
Harman's swords were uniformly crude.
Not subjective—the item names literally said "Crude."
Tower-certified shoddiness.
Amazingly uniform too.
All identically crude.
A novice smith's output should vary, yet these perfectly nailed "Crude Sword."
"This isn't it. This isn't it..."
Harman's voice leaked through the door.
The shabby door offered zero soundproofing.
'Doesn't he know I'm still here?'
His muttering dragged on.
"Please, why can't I remember... I made it so many times..."
Uncomfortable, I moved to leave when he screamed like a madman.
"Gaaahhh!"
Pain-wracked agony.
At his age, maybe hammer mishap.
I reached for the workshop doorknob to check.
"Mr. Harman? You okay—?"
As my right hand touched, warmth gripped my left.
Someone held it.
Harman's granddaughter Sylvia.
She shook her head as if no big deal, stopping me before opening.
"Grandpa gets mad."
"No, I just heard a scream from inside..."
"Can't enter the workshop. Can't disturb. Grandpa hates it."
I couldn't overpower her tight grip.
Her teary eyes made shaking her off impossible.
Nothing to do but wait outside till Harman emerged.
The blacksmith screamed in torment.
Minutes of self-loathing, then begging uncertain gods for help.
Screams resumed, laced with curses.
"Must make it. Must make it. Must make it. Must make it."
Endless repetition.
Only thing I could do: cover Sylvia's ears.
She seemed used to it, but I wished she didn't have to hear.
Hearing the tower's horrific acts to "complete" the first floor was burden enough for my ears.