Chapter 26
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: Song of Iron (3)
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"...Numerite on top of Harmeno sap, no less."
Vilmois finally reacted after a long pause. He fiddled with the vial containing the sap, then let out a hollow laugh.
"Pfft, you sure know how to joke. The last wild specimen surfaced thirty years ago. I could buy Numerite, but this is pushing it."
"One turned up two months back. Got seized by the imperial family right away, though."
"Bran, sir. I'm a blind man stuck in solitary, but my ears work fine. If there'd been news like that, even I'd have heard it."
Click. Vilmois uncorked the vial and brought it to his nose.
"You might not want to sniff that."
"My homeland's the Glenmoril Great Forest, appearances to the contrary. If you think I wouldn't know Three Dragon Tree sap and are pulling my leg—ghaaah!"
Vilmois recoiled in shock.
A perfectly reasonable reaction. The scent of aged Harmeno sap was so intense it burned into your memory forever.
And it actually contained toxins.
"Believe me now?"
"Hah... huff... nearly passed out... Definitely Harmeno."
Vilmois staggered, barely steadying himself.
Harmeno's poison must pack a punch. Who'd think a whiff from something thriving in harsher conditions than a cactus would floor him like this?
"Whew... Won't ask where you got it. Couldn't be genuine anyway."
"Genuine would've been way better quality. Kinda disappointing."
Bran smacked his lips.
Unlike the sap from the Underground Farm's sapling, imperial Harmeno sap came solely from mature trees. Far more potent, but this was the best Bran could manage.
Genuine stuff cost an astronomical fortune.
"Harmeno alone is plenty. Been ages since I got curious about someone's face. What kind of person are you... Nah, never mind. Better not pry."
Vilmois shook his head.
His instincts must have warned him that digging deeper could be dangerous.
"Anyway, it'll make a fine catalyst. Any preferred weapon type?"
"Up to you entirely. I trust the expert."
"Haha, the ideal client attitude. Got it."
Vilmois laughed, genuinely delighted.
He caressed the Numerite lovingly like a pervert, then whipped around to Kael.
"Your companion here. Kael, was it?"
"Uh. Yeah. What's up?"
"Mind drawing your weapon and attacking me? Full intent to kill. If you're not up for it, I'll come at you."
"Eek! Out of nowhere?!"
Kael freaked out.
Bran whistled at the unexpected bonus.
Vilmois only did these tests when forging weapons.
"I, uh... not sure what to say... I'm really no good at this stuff. For now—"
"Hyah!"
The moment Kael hesitantly drew his dagger.
Vilmois snatched up his longsword and charged with a bizarre shout.
"Gyaah! Help!"
Kael reflexively assumed a guard stance.
Vilmois's slash struck the dagger.
Clang! Sparks flew like blinding fireworks.
"My god."
Vilmois gasped.
Kael panted raggedly, forcing his eyes open.
A radiant glow shimmered over the dagger, locked against the longsword.
"Wh-what's this...?"
Kael panicked.
He'd never seen anything like it.
Whatever the light was, it dulled the shock traveling up his wrist far more than expected.
Vilmois lowered his sword, murmuring in awe.
"Incredible. Divine power this pure. Still surprises left, huh."
"Huff. Something wrong?"
"Not at all. Just shocked—it's so unique. Young as you are, your divine power rivals a papal knight's. Virtually no mana affinity, but I can craft gear that suits your nature."
"N-no mana affinity... haha..."
A hollow laugh escaped Kael.
He sounded resigned, but he'd secretly hoped.
Cheer up, Kael. You're not built for damage dealing anyway.
'Getting buddy-buddy with Raweina, huh.'
The enhanced blessing's effects bore watching.
Morning's light, ever guarding Kael, now auto-applied to his weapons too.
Wonder what it'll amplify his talents into.
"Perfect. Getting a feel for your weapons. But it'll take time."
"How long?"
"Not sure. Melting Numerite alone takes over four days. Aim to finish within a fortnight."
A fortnight. Overlapped with old man Leodorn's escort period.
Long, but manageable.
Stay cautious of wild cards.
Bran paid with spoils from Spera's vault.
"This cover the fee?"
"Ooh, more than enough! Grateful for prime materials, and now this sum... Starting work now!"
"One thing before you go?"
"Hm? What?"
"Need weapons to use meantime. Any scraps left...?"
Bran nodded toward the forge depths.
Hundreds of discarded arms littered the area, deemed imperfect.
Vilmois nodded readily.
"Haha, take your pick. Want recommendations?"
"I'll browse. And if cash left, craft this? No Numerite needed."
This was a precise commission, not vague request.
Bran detailed his desired weapon to Vilmois.
"Hmm... Possible, but not suited for you, Bran."
"For a friend, not me."
"Ah. Built sturdy, with insane... insane strength, huh. Understood."
Vilmois nodded solemnly.
Reassuring expression.
Bran grinned, rummaging through Song of Iron prototypes.
Prototypes, sure—but any would shame most smiths' masterpieces.
"Ah, this'll do."
Bran grabbed a one-handed sword and shield.
Slandered by big-weapon fetishists, sword-and-board was historically elite.
"Bran. You know shields?"
"What's hard? Just block well."
"True, you'd ace anything. Unlike mana-less me..."
Kael muttered, ignored.
Swordplay built feel over time, like the longsword.
Versatility never hurt.
Polearms, war hammers, one-hand flails.
Bran took all decent gear, then bid Vilmois farewell.
"We're off. Staying at Golden Anvil Inn—contact when done."
"Hahaha, of course. Will notify somehow, so relax. Starting Numerite melt now!"
"Wait—that means..."
Before Bran could voice his dread.
Vilmois tossed Numerite into the furnace and yanked a massive lever at his feet.
Clank. Whirr. Hiss!
Gears ground; flames erupted from the central forge.
The city's second-hottest blaze, fresh from dragonheart furnace.
Whoooosh!!!
Artificial dragonfire engulfed the forge.
Hellish gusts battered Bran and Kael.
"Grahhh!"
"Eeeeek!"
Roaring convection drowned their screams.
Everything warped like a mirage.
Translucent messages flashed relentlessly.
Enduring extreme heat nearing physical limits!
Tenacity of the Weed activates!
Flame damage resistance growth rate slightly increases.
Heart of Harmeno activates! Recovery greatly increases while rooted to the ground!
"That crazy elf bastard!"
Now he knew why the guy was blind.
Amid the blaze-born glare, Vilmois's laughter echoed.
"Ah ha, uhahaha! Uahaha!"
"He's lost it. Let's bail, Kael."
Bran hoisted Kael and kicked open the forge door, bolting out.
The crater felt like a fridge compared to that hellhole.
After sprinting far, he glanced back: the forge spewing crimson beams from windows, pulsing to dragonheart rhythm.
"...He'll be fine."
Bran muttered.
One revelation since entering this world: game characters' depictions were mere slivers of truth.
The fortnight hung empty, but Bran had no intention of slacking.
Sitting cross-legged on the inn bed facing Kael, he discussed plans.
"Kael. We need clearance into the Steel Tower."
"Steel Tower? Where the lord lives?"
"Yeah. Must enter to avert doom. First, rack up merits for the city."
The Steel Tower served as the domain's keep, security airtight.
Barring jobs inside or breaching elite guards like Steel Sentinels, hero status was quickest.
"Merits... uh, how?"
"Don't sweat it. Got one picked. You just need guts."
Luckily, Valkeros's lord was decent.
He often summoned city saviors to the Tower for praise—far from impossible.
Merits meant training, cash: win-win-win.
Bran flopped back.
"Up at dawn for Adventurer's Guild. Man, sleepy."
"H-hey, this is my bed!"
"Tough. Crash here or whatever."
"Ugh... fine..."
Kael pondered, then hopped to the next bed.
Wagon life meant constant closeness, but beds felt different.
Thus began the 15-day wait.
Day 1.
Exterminated kobold tribe harassing Redridge miners.
Dog-faced bipeds: buffed, furry goblins.
"Kiyek?!"
Clang! Axe flew from kobold warrior's grip, blocked by Bran's shield.
It recovered, but Bran exploited the rebound gap.
Squelch!
One-hander pierced shaggy throat like a stinger.
"Kwek..."
"Guess dog heads think short-term."
Splatter! Blood flicked from blade after confirming all kobolds dead.
Kael, praying behind rocks, sighed in relief.
"Wooow! You did it!"
"Heh heh, thought you kids too young, but unfounded worry."
Miners cheered as duo emerged safely.
Furry dwarf foreman grinned, handing Bran a pouch of silver.
"Thanks. Now back to pickaxing."
"No trouble."
Bran smiled too. Good session.
Stats grew; proved sword-and-board no girly setup.
.
Day 7.
Spotted Ilrak from afar en route from a job.
Booom!
Night stroll with Kael shattered by thunderous roar.
Whirling, they saw Ilrak leap skyward, full moon at her back.
"Kahaha! You punks think you can catch this Ilrak?!"
Boisterous voice boomed.
So high she nearly flew.
Right hand gripped a wolf-kin assassin's neck; left, screaming Leodorn.
"Gyaah! Help!"
"Time you got used to it, gramps!"
They'd bonded.
Screams and laughs trailing like tails, they vanished beyond city edge.
Context unclear, but both hale—worry off.
.
Day 11.
Purified evil god via prayer.
Like Igra village chapel, secret worship in derelict Wrought Iron District basement.
"Goddess of Morning, banish this foul aura."
Morning's light burst from Kael's altar-touching palm.
Boom!
Altar exploded; evil god's roar filled the domain.
Cleaved raised undead too.
"Stay dead if you're gonna rot—quit bitching!"
"Groop."
Bran smashed overhead war hammer down.
Kaboom!
Golden radiance erupted. Limbs flew.
Lifting hammer slowly revealed pulped zombie.
"Didn't expect this much."
Bran chuckled dryly.
No zombie or cultist lasted two hits.
Enhanced blessing in cult turf exceeded expectations.
Chef of Corruption Munkanto's wrath engulfs you!
Morning's Blessing nullifies evil energy.
High mental strength and dark resistance repel evil god's wrath.
Merchant of Gold Delpha takes slight interest in you.
Goddess of Morning Raweina is pleased with your service.
Evil god raged to no avail.
Weak god helped, but dark resistance boost was key.
Omn shrine reacted too.
No sought-after god yet, but Bran wasn't rushed.
He firmly believed it'd notice eventually.
Time flowed.
Bran and Kael cleared quests daily, no rest.
Not always optimal, but they'd striven for best.
Then, evening of day 14.
Bran and Kael headed to Steel District's Adventurer's Guild.
Daily haunt past 14 days.
Hub for mercenaries and adventurers, not factory workers.
"Urk... five more beers!"
"Town's rowdy. White Silverpine mass-recruiting mercs—what's up?"
"Wanna hit Steel Tower already..."
Inn and tavern combo kept it lively year-round.
Some mercs greeted the pair.
"Bran, Kael. Here again. Drink?"
"Pass today. Can't risk bad luck."
Bran declined.
Not famous, but networked lately.
They took a small central table, ordered beers.
"Tough fortnight. Cheers."
"Ehehe, cheers."
Glasses clinked; both upbeat.
Vilmois sent word: weapons ready tomorrow, visit forge.
Corny note, but hearts raced like kids pre-picnic.
"Can't wait. Wonder what he'll make."
"Something awesome. Unlike mana-less me, you're overflowing."
"Still on that? Girls hate whiners, dude."
"...Not my problem."
Kael averted eyes, sipped.
They bantered over dinner, packed with three months' tales.
"Leodorn still safe?"
"Ilrak's got him. Saw 'em days back—her arm candy mid-leap."
"Hope it wraps well..."
"Relax. Lady Ilrak's Valkeros's top merc, bar none."
Bran waved it off. Truly unworried.
Assassins couldn't pierce her without insanity.
Sunset to dusk to night.
"Found you. Bran and Kael, right?"
"...!!!"
Sudden silky feminine voice from behind.
Chills raced Bran's nape. No approach sensed.
Turning slowly: silver-haired woman, hands clasped behind.
"Mind if I buy a round?"
She smiled with eyes.
Stunner. Waist-length waves.
Sleek black robe hugged elegant curves.
"Eek, wh-who?"
Kael froze, mug to lips.
Bran stayed silent—nothing to say.
No clue why Steel Tower's resident was here.
She tilted head.
"Hel-lo~?"
"...Ah."
Bran finally met her gaze.
Beautiful eyes. Pupils ringed by irises like molten silver candelabras.
Flash! Messages cascaded.
Keen senses pierce opponent's identity.
Otherworldly presence crushes your shoulders!
Warning! Current mental strength too low to shake presence.
Limbs numbed. Like Dementia Serpent in Underground Farm—but incomparable pressure.
Bran's mouth parted slowly.
"Silien."
"Ooh, you know me?"
She clapped delightedly.
Knowing her name wasn't odd.
Steel Tower mage advising the lord; empire's chief magitechnician.
But her role in Valkeros's doom? Known only to Bran.
Opponent's control dissipates otherworldly presence.
Physical debuffs and abnormalities canceled.
Nor her 'Abyss' ties—Outer God cultists he'd tangle with till endgame.