Hurry Up and Come Bow Your Head, Obsidian
Hurry up and come bow your head, Obsidian. This blade, which had risen to become one of the empire’s four great demonic swords through the Great War, fed on its wielder’s rage and life force to strengthen itself. That trait had made it terrifyingly effective amid the hordes of madmen spawned by that conflict, and it was precisely why the Sigmund family had climbed to their current heights of power.
“Though it’s a shameless request… I beg you to please handle it!”
And that same sword had shattered because of me. Now it had returned, entrusted to me for repairs by a servant dispatched from the Sigmund household.
“Hmm… Your attitude is rather impertinent.”
The princess, lounging in the seat of honor and basking in the cool breeze of the air conditioner, finally spoke. The Sigmund family’s servant froze solid at her words.
“Because of what the count’s son did, I nearly lost a patron I hold dear. Yet the count sends you—a man with no connection to the incident—to tidy up the mess. If I sent your head back to him, I suspect he would finally understand this lady’s will. What are your thoughts on that?”
The princess. Thanks to Max’s rampage, she was currently staying at the academy. After all, the imperial family held the largest stake in its founding. She had come to verify the facts of the incident, announce the imperial family’s official stance, and declare measures to reinforce student safety.
That was the public justification, at least. To my eyes, it looked more like she had dropped by to see Elena and enjoy herself.
“I-I’m sorry! This lowly one failed to grasp Your Highness’s intentions and committed a grave rudeness! I will do everything in my power to convey Your Highness’s will clearly to the count!”
In response to the princess’s casual question about whether she should simply send his head back, the servant pressed his forehead to the floor and babbled a long plea for his life. The princess answered in a voice still heavy with imperial dignity.
“Bring Count Sigmund. I wish to see him bow his head in person.”
“I-I will deliver the message to my master at once!”
“Begone.”
The servant scrambled to his feet, offered an awkward bow, and backed out of the room. To me, the entire performance looked like nothing more than a staged play.
These nobles, honestly.
The Obsidian symbolized the Sigmund family. Repairing it was no trivial matter. Yet for something so important, Count Sigmund had sent only a servant—even though he knew the princess had come to the academy to clean up the aftermath.
He needed an excuse.
The reason for this cumbersome charade was simple: the count could not be the first to bow his head to me. With his family’s prestige now lying in the dirt, a count lowering himself before a commoner was intolerable. So he borrowed the princess’s authority to manufacture a justification—one that would force him to bow without losing face.
The princess seemed well aware of this.
She maintained a stern expression befitting imperial dignity, but every so often I caught a flicker of pure annoyance on her face. In other words, she was pretending to be angry on his behalf, generously handing the count the excuse he needed.
“Huuung~ Is the annoying business mostly finished now?”
The moment the Sigmund servant left, the princess’s entire demeanor flipped. She flashed a mischievous grin and glanced sideways at me.
“Pffft. There’s that look again.”
“That look?”
I stared at her, puzzled, and she continued.
“That expression that says you already know everything. You saw through the count’s little scheme too, didn’t you?”
“......”
She really is like a ghost. Had she read my thoughts just from my face? As expected, one should never judge by appearances alone. Though she looked adorable and lovable on the outside, there was no telling what lay beneath.
“It’s truly fascinating. Most commoners wouldn’t think this way at all. So how do you manage it?”
The princess rose from her seat as she spoke. She walked over, plopped down beside me, and gazed at me with sparkling eyes.
“Could it be that this is your second life? Maybe you were a great noble in your previous existence?”
Second life, she said. If we were talking second chances, I had reset this game dozens of times. But I could hardly tell her the truth, so I offered a suitable excuse.
“...I simply admired noble society from a young age. I’ve always been interested in noble etiquette.”
“...Hmm~ Even so, you feel far too refined. Your soul itself seems different from other commoners.”
“......”
“How should I put it… in a way, you’re similar to my sister. I can’t read your desires at all. Count Sigmund is easy—he wants his family’s reputation and advancement. But you? I have no idea what you’re after.”
Her words struck strangely close to the bone. Just as she said, my desires and Elena’s were quite similar: protecting the empire from a catastrophe that would one day arrive. The only difference was that Elena only vaguely sensed it would happen, while I knew it with absolute certainty.
“Hehe… That’s why you keep intriguing me. The way you saw through my prank at the entrance ceremony and paid me back. The way you sold Graham’s Northern Wind by borrowing the imperial family’s name. It’s a little impertinent, but far more charming than the usual sycophants whose motives are obvious.”
As she spoke, the princess rested her hand on my thigh. The sudden move sent an electric jolt through me; every hair on my body stood on end. Was this another prank?
“I’m curious. Just what are you aiming for that makes you bold enough to act this way toward the imperial family? If it’s what I suspect, it’s far too grand a dream for a commoner—completely unrealistic. Yet you have the ability, so I find myself secretly looking forward to it. If I were to—”
She suddenly flinched mid-sentence. The sound of approaching heels had reached her. From the rhythm alone, she seemed to know exactly who it was.
“Sister!”
She sprang up and dashed toward the reception room door. At the same moment, the door opened and Elena appeared.
“Siiiiiiis~~~!”
The princess called out in a sugary, spoiled voice and threw herself into Elena’s arms. Elena caught her, then stroked her fluffy white hair with a chuckle.
“Heh heh. Sephilia, how long has it been since we last met that you’re already clinging like this?”
“But being in Sister’s arms is always the best! Your chest is so big and soft and fluffy~”
“A-ah! What are you saying! Those kinds of words!”
Conscious of my presence, Elena’s face flushed scarlet as she gave Sephilia’s back a few light smacks. The princess, completely unbothered, simply kept rubbing her face against Elena’s chest like a spoiled child. Eventually Elena pried her off and sat down.
The way Elena naturally took the seat of honor reminded me once again that the two of them were practically sisters.
“Whew. Sephi, is the work mostly wrapped up?”
“Yup! That Max guy—or whatever his name is—he’s expelled. His father’s coming to bow his head to Ed here, and I told him to handle the safety reinforcements himself~”
“And the imperial family’s official statement?”
“Umm… I dunno? The aides will take care of it~ That’s their specialty anyway.”
Sephilia answered with a bright smile. Elena scolded her—“You still should have guided them properly”—but eventually patted her head and praised her for a job well done.
“...Ed, you’ve done something absolutely tremendous again.”
Elena finally brought up the matter of the shattered Obsidian. Yet the affection in her eyes as she looked at me was stronger than anything I had seen before. My reputation had risen once more, triggering her unique condition—the one that made her strongly favor the most talented individual.
“Ahem. Anyway, I came to deliver good news.”
The trigger hadn’t overwhelmed her reason, however. Elena cleared her throat and moved on to the actual reason for her visit: a letter had arrived for me. Since she was my official guardian, external correspondence came to her first.
“This is……”
To the distinguished artisan, Edgar Fix of the Empire,
You are hereby formally invited to the Iron Hammer Exhibition, the greatest stage for master craftsmen, to be held in the Dwarf Allied Kingdom.
May your skills bring glory to the anvil and hammer.
— Office of the Royal Forgemasters
“Yes. The dwarves have begun to take an interest in you.”
The letter from the Dwarf Allied Kingdom was, of course, an invitation to the Iron Hammer Exhibition—the so-called dream stage among blacksmiths.
“As a blacksmith yourself, you know how significant this is, don’t you?”
The Iron Hammer Exhibition bore the title of Gretun Dagrian, the founding king of the dwarves and the god of blacksmiths. In other words, it was the most prestigious event in the entire dwarven world.
“Yes, I’m well aware.”
“Hehe… Indeed. It’s the first invitation in sixteen years. And during a cold war, no less.”
Cold war. Relations between the empire and the Dwarf Allied Kingdom were far from friendly. Thirty years ago, during the empire’s territorial expansion, a monster horde driven from imperial lands had flooded into dwarven territory. The empire had expressed regret and offered appropriate compensation. The dwarves had accepted the apology, and the matter seemed settled.
But one must never forget that dwarves hold grudges for a very, very long time. Though they had been forced to accept the apology during the empire’s golden age, they secretly began selling weapons—originally supplied only to the empire—to the empire’s enemies. That betrayal had caused the empire massive losses in the Great War seven years ago.
When the empire demanded an explanation, the dwarves simply feigned ignorance. And so the chilly diplomatic freeze had continued to this day.
“The situation is a bit tricky, however. Submitting your gauntlet or suit for the exhibition would…”
“Risk technology leaking. I understand.”
“Right. Submitting Graham’s Northern Wind would be difficult too. You know why, don’t you?”
“Yes. Their climate is already cold, so it wouldn’t impress them.”
Elena nodded with a bitter smile and continued.
“The exhibition is in one month. That’s rather tight for creating a proper exhibition piece… Will you be all right? There’s a chance you could suffer the same humiliation as sixteen years ago.”
Ever since the cold war began, the dwarves had openly scorned human blacksmiths at the exhibition. They had not even sent invitations since. In other words, if I attended, they might very well try to embarrass me.
“One month is plenty. I’ll participate.”
But that didn’t apply to me. One month was more than enough time to create something new, and I had every confidence it would not end in humiliation. Especially now that Max’s incident had canceled all classes for the week. If I devoted myself solely to making a new piece, I could certainly finish it.
Elena smiled brightly.
“As reliable as ever. Then would you like to think about who will accompany you? A blacksmith who receives an invitation may bring seven companions.”
Seven people. The first name that came to mind was James. I could think about the rest slowly.
“Then I’ll go report this upstairs. Sephilia, you come too. This could expand into a diplomatic matter.”
“Aaaaaah~~~ I came to play, but there’s more work?”
“You play every day. Help your sister for once. You’re good at this sort of thing.”
“Huuuuiiiing… It’s so bothersome.”
“Tsk!”
“...Fine.”
And so Elena took the princess and headed back toward the imperial palace. Left alone, I sat on the sofa for a long while, pondering what to create. Nothing immediately came to mind.
“Hmm… I need to decide quickly.”
One month remained. Considering I also had to attend various classes and continue my personal research, the deadline was quite tight. If I wanted to produce an exhibition piece in time, I needed to start drawing blueprints immediately.
“What to do…”
My biggest dilemma wasn’t how to make the item, but deciding what to make. No matter how outstanding a creation, it was useless if people had no need for it.
Elena had probably taken Sephilia along to get guidance on dwarven tendencies and history—so they could advise me on what kind of item would be well-received.
“...Wait a moment.”
Suddenly a light bulb flashed in my mind. Why had I forgotten about this?
“...Obsidian.”
Obsidian. An artifact crafted by a dwarf who had earned the title of “master.” What if I used the story woven into this blade? If I could resurrect the legendary artifact once praised by dwarves—now reduced to a cursed demonic sword?
“Hurry up… and come bow your head.”
The moment the idea struck, excitement surged through me so strongly I could barely contain it. I wished Count Sigmund would hurry up, bow his head, and hand over the Obsidian. Only then could I dismantle and remake this sword to achieve my goal.