Chapter 25
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Master Craftsman - 5
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Immediately, he heated the iron ingot in the furnace.
The fire hadn't died out yet, so adding a bit more charcoal was enough.
Thanks to that, he didn't have to go through the hassle of relighting it.
"What, did you come up with a good idea? I doubt the second try will be much different."
"That was just practice. This one's the real deal."
The shoddy sword I'd just made wasn't my work.
It was merely the result of practice.
...Not that I was dissatisfied with it or anything.
"This will be my first creation."
"You're already treating it like trash? I hope I get to see that masterpiece you mentioned today."
"It'll also be my first replica."
"...What?"
The sword that Harman sought to complete.
I planned to recreate something I'd never even seen.
"I'll make the sword you couldn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't you want to make it?"
No matter how much the first-floor blacksmith hammered away, he could only produce crude swords.
But Harman remembered one particular sword.
The pile of crude swords stacking up in the room proved it.
"That's why you keep making pointless swords even though you know it's impossible."
Each and every one was the result of challenging the tower.
"...You're misunderstanding something. Do you think your skills are better than mine? That you can even make something proper?"
"Why do you think it's impossible?"
"You see this mess and still say that?"
Harman grabbed the hilt of the 'shoddy sword' I'd made and shook it mockingly.
"Then, when you look at these swords you made yourself, do you believe you can do it and challenge it every time?"
In response, I picked up one of Harman's 'crude swords' rolling around on the floor and held it up in front of his eyes.
They were all the same shape, the same performance.
Every day, he suffered trying to vaguely recall that one sword from memory, yet what came out was always a crude sword fit for the first floor.
"I'd say I have more potential."
"In what way, exactly?"
"I made a different sword from yours."
I had no argument that he was superior to me in the blacksmith's domain.
But he was restricted in making weapons.
I had no such restrictions.
It didn't make sense for the tutorial village shop to sell unique-grade high-performance weapons, but it was fine for me to create excellent ones.
"The swords I make will have performance all over the place. Sometimes better ones, sometimes utter garbage not worth using."
In a way, it was close to luck.
Since I wasn't used to blacksmithing, it would be hard to craft intricate shapes with my clumsy hands.
"So what? Are you saying this sword is better than mine?"
"Even if the attack power is slightly higher, considering durability, it should sell for less at the shop."
I wasn't saying this to claim I could make better swords.
Unlike Harman, who could only make identical ones, my hands could produce 'different' swords.
"Harman, can you make a sword with better performance than your usual ones?"
"... ."
"Or even a crappier one?"
"... ."
"You can't. You can't make a sword with different performance, or even a different shape."
Harman spoke as if resigned.
"...Yeah, you're right. I don't even know how to make different swords. I've definitely made hundreds of types in the past, but now my head just hurts."
He knew it best because he'd tried countless times himself.
"You think I haven't tried? Even when I try to recall, this damn head of mine interferes, and my muscles stiffen like they're being controlled."
"That's why you just yap from the sidelines. It's what you're best at."
There was precedent for this, which gave me confidence it could work.
Instructor Tiana and the Sword Saint were those precedents.
The swordsmanship instructor couldn't produce real objects, so she hadn't suffered the misfortune of losing something.
Instead, she was restricted in the results of her swordsmanship instruction.
The class she passed on was like that, and she couldn't teach any high-grade skills.
No matter how excellent and detailed her explanations or how precise her posture corrections, the skills one could obtain were limited to those fitting the first floor.
But the Sword Saint, based on what he'd learned from Tiana, swung his sword wildly at a straw dummy by himself and suddenly acquired a skill.
It must have been thanks to his traits and talents, but the fact remained that there were no tower restrictions on acquiring things through one's own efforts on the first floor.
So, I could achieve what Harman couldn't.
"...Even if you do, so what? I still won't remember it anyway."
"For that part, we'll figure it out as we go."
"It's pointless. Definitely."
"Sounds good."
Wasting time on pointless things was my specialty.
Harman remembered not a single clue.
A sense that he'd forgotten something, but a gut feeling that he had to recall it.
That was all.
"How long was it?"
"I don't know."
"Shorter than this? Or longer?"
"I said I don't know... Now I'm not even sure if I ever made a sword like that. Maybe I'm just mistaken in my old age..."
"Then let's try both."
It was a relief that it was already after finishing the slime extermination request that day.
I could pour in a whole day's time without issue.
"No... I think it was longer than this."
We shaped the sword, then melted it down again, repeating the process.
We had to rely entirely on Harman's feelings.
And those feelings were as fickle as reeds.
"That's not it. The length from earlier feels right."
"... ."
Harman's words didn't match up.
Sometimes he wanted it longer, sometimes shorter.
His worsening headaches were a bonus.
"For now, let's settle on this length and move on to other things."
Long. Short.
At least those were attributes that could be intuitively distinguished.
There were countless sword types, and it surely differed from the one-handed swords scattered around.
We had to draw out those features from Harman's confused mind.
"Double-edged... no, that's not it. Doesn't feel right."
"Then let's try single-edged again."
First, complete it blindly, and let Harman observe the sword.
Based on that abstract feeling, judge if we were closer or farther from the answer.
"This one's even worse."
"Whew, back to double-edged."
The time spent was double that of normal work, but there was no better way.
The positive side was that the extra work taught me the right force for hammering.
It was much more stable and precise than before.
⋮
The first hurdle was the curvature.
"This is... much more beautiful than that."
"I know my skills suck, but could you give some meaningful feedback?"
"Sorry, that's all I can say."
We had to establish a standard for beauty first.
He remembered no numerical values for how much the blade curved, only abstract features.
The next hurdle was the ricasso, also called the heel or guard—the boundary between blade and hilt.
Depending on length, it protected the hand from the blade or pushed away the opponent's sword.
"How about this shape?"
"Not at all."
Straight, slanted, even rapier-like forms that cupped the hand came to mind immediately.
"Then let's try one that angles upward."
"No... that's not it."
And that was just one type; shapes varied even within categories.
Smooth curves or sharp angles.
Innumerable possibilities.
"So, that sword... it had a warm feel."
"... ."
When he should have described the shape, Harman talked about the sword's temperature.
Of course, a metal sword should feel cold, not warm.
I knew he meant the image of the sword, but in a situation overflowing with options, his abstract expressions drove me mad.
"Fine. Warm. No, let's go scorching."
In my artistic judgment, curves felt warmer than angles.
Functionally, protecting the swordsman's hand felt warmer than deflecting attacks.
So, instead of upward slants, I went for a downward wraparound shape.
I had no idea what I was thinking anymore.
Deflecting the opponent's attack protects you, doesn't it?
Protecting yourself creates opportunities to attack, right?
Both are for victory.
Harman was mad.
He longed for what he couldn't recall and grasped for what he couldn't have.
To understand him, I had to go mad too.
"Not this feel."
"...Even different from before?"
"Probably."
When Harman used 'probably,' it meant he could change his mind three more times.
Fine, let's see who wins.
I lost count of how many times my hand got burned in the furnace or how much I wiped sweat.
There was nothing here to build burn resistance, and naturally, I had no similar skills.
Progress came from this foolish endeavor.
For the first time, I got specific, clear instructions.
"Gem."
"Pardon?"
"In the middle, there was definitely a gem embedded."
"Why mention that now...? No, keep recalling."
Blaming him was pointless.
I had to seize this chance.
Before he forgot again.
"What color? Definitely... No, was there none? No way I'd put a gem in a sword..."
I stopped hammering and stayed still to let him focus.
"Green. Yes, green. Her favorite color..."
"Her?"
For the first time, someone else emerged from Harman's mouth.
"No, not necessarily because of that... Who was it? I mustn't forget, mustn't forget."
Harman's expression unchanged, he couldn't stop the tears flowing from his eyes.
"Urk, kuaaagh—!"
"Harman!"
Overwhelmed by agony, he couldn't support himself on his legs.
He clutched his head and collapsed onto the hard floor.
Beside the scattered crude swords.
One thing was certain: that sword needed a green gem.