I Fired the Village Chief, the Heroine's Father
A genius possessing unprecedented talent as a blacksmith—yet, practically speaking, rotting away in the countryside.
My plan was simple: treat her lavishly, then cast her out. Naturally, by my definition, it was an eviction, but to Jasmine and everyone watching, it wouldn't look like that in the slightest.
Does leaving her here make any sense? It’s an outright loss to the Empire! A prodigy like Jasmine belongs in the capital. Absolutely. Without a shadow of a doubt.
To the outside world, it would look like an act of profound magnanimity—a noble patron recognizing raw genius and selflessly sending her to swim in deeper waters. Realistically speaking, Jasmine wasn't some retired veteran yearning for the quiet earth; for a prodigy in her prime to waste away in Salvatore like a stationary domain totem was an absurd waste of potential.
And who was I? A young master from one of the continent's top five noble houses, the son of a duke wielding the third-greatest authority in the realm. If I set my mind to it, I could parachute her into virtually any prestigious post.
I could butter up Father and get her a letter of recommendation for the Academy’s Department of Blacksmithing, or arrange an apprenticeship under a legendary master. Heck, I could even shove her into the Imperial Forge. The possibilities are endless.
My father, Duke Van Basten, was a surprisingly pragmatic man—an enlightened aristocrat who wouldn't hesitate to sponsor genuine, verified talent. Granted, until now he had maintained an ironclad defense against any requests from his son, purely because the leeches hovering around the old Kyle had been bottom-tier trash. But things would be different from here on out. My circle was about to overflow with true luminaries.
Head to the capital, make a name for yourself, hit it off with Eugene Caesar, and boom—everybody wins, Jasmine.
This "coax and exile" strategy for Jasmine Barbara was, even in my own humble opinion, brilliant and impeccably clean.
Though I know full well a stubborn mule like her won’t just pack her bags on a whim.
Showering Jasmine with enough patronage to make banishment look like an honor was easier than breathing. But the crux of this project didn't lie in my ability to fund her.
Her seventy-year-old father lives right here, and to Jasmine, this place is her true home. With that ox-like physique and matching stubbornness, she’ll dig her heels in until the bitter end.
As a character, Jasmine harbored zero ambition for worldly glory. Her desires began and ended with taking care of her adoptive father and protecting the backwater village of Salvatore. If she possessed any professional vanity as a blacksmith, it was merely the artisan's simple urge to forge exceptional masterpieces. Yet even with my lethal silver tongue, relying on that alone wouldn’t be enough to manipulate her into packing off to the capital.
Which is why I must build absolute trust. She needs to view me as her mentor—someone she looks up to, believes in, and follows without question.
Up until now, her father had likely been her only guiding light. In the original storyline, Eugene Caesar stepped into that mentor role. But I was going to snatch that seat out from under him. I would earn her loyalty until she would play dead if I commanded it. And the difference between Eugene and me? That romantic fool kept her by his side, coddling her forever, whereas I would kick her out the door the moment she was ready.
I'll frame it under the airtight logic that heading to the capital is the ultimate service to her hometown and her father. Ha! Perfect. Absolutely flawless.
And so, I resolved to treat her well. With genuine, heartfelt sincerity—not merely tossing material luxuries at her, but engaging her as a compassionate human being. I could already picture the future: Jasmine Barbara bawling her eyes out in gratitude as she tearfully accepted the solemn decree of her beloved mentor.
“My intention is to expand our arable farmland and overhaul the road network,” I explained smoothly. “We need to secure our own food supply and make Salvatore accessible enough for outside merchants to use as a trade route. True development requires an influx of external wealth and traffic.”
“A magnificent vision, Young Master,” Marcus replied warmly.
As the welcome banquet reached its peak, I laid out the broad strokes of my administrative plans to the village chief, Jasmine beside him, and Veronica lounging nearby.
“However, if we are to achieve any of this,” I continued, “our primary prerequisite is drastically increasing the output of the Salvatore Blacksmith.”
We needed sturdy plows, hoes, and industrial tools. To be blunt, fertile land was scarce around here, and even the plots we had weren't properly cleared or tilled. There were multiple logistical bottlenecks, but the biggest issue was ultimately an acute shortage of durable equipment.
“……”
The moment the forge was mentioned, Jasmine, who had spent the entire evening glaring holes into her lap to avoid looking at me, finally lifted her head and stared directly into my eyes.
Right on cue.
So, what was the secret to multiplying a forge's production volume? Naturally, yours truly already possessed the answer.
You supply them with high-grade refined iron.
Amateurs would immediately assume the solution was expanding the physical workshop, but that was dead wrong. Once a blacksmith achieved a baseline of skill, the efficiency of their hammer strokes was determined entirely by the purity of their raw material. Even seasoned administrators struggled to grasp this nuance, but I knew it like the back of my hand.
Why? Because I had dumped thousands of hours into the damn game, The Swordsman Whom Noble Ladies Obsess Over.
Yet, knowing the correct answer full well, I opened my mouth and deliberately offered the most bird-brained alternative imaginable.
“To that end, I am considering expanding the forge’s physical grounds and installing additional workstations.”
“Ooh…!”
Since facility expansion was something Marcus had long dreamed of, the old chief beamed with immediate delight.
However—
“Expanding the forge is utterly pointless right now.”
As expected of our Jasmine, her rebel blood surged, and she tackled my proposal head-on without missing a beat.
“J-Jasmine, child!”
Marcus’s joyous expression instantly shattered into sheer mortification. And why wouldn’t it? Sure, in a healthy council, dissenting opinions were welcome—that was the whole point of a discussion. But Jasmine’s tone carried unvarnished, hostile venom toward the lord sitting before her. Her face practically screamed: Here goes this perverted young master, trying to throw his weight around and manage operations when he doesn't know a single damn thing about working a forge.
And that rebellious instinct was precisely what I wanted to bait out.
“Would you explain your reasoning to me, Miss Jasmine? I genuinely wish to hear it.”
I would embrace her dissent. I would deliver a masterclass performance of a wise, benevolent leader gently indulging an unruly young foal. That was the attitude of a true mentor, was it not?
I adjusted my posture, adopting an open, attentive expression that radiated patient humility, and fixed my gaze upon her.
“……”
Jasmine visibly froze. She had snapped out of sheer reflex, immediately regretting it the moment her adoptive father panicked, but now that I had responded with such serene grace, she was completely disoriented. Her brain struggled to process the sudden lack of friction.
“B-Blowing up the size of the forge won’t magically increase our output,” she stammered, before quickly steeling her expression to keep from losing ground. “If the facility becomes too large for our current hands to manage, it only breeds inefficiency.”
“Hmm…”
I knew that inside out. Yet, like a reformed Kyle soaking in priceless pearls of wisdom for the first time, I nodded slowly with profound gravity.
“Then what is the true path to increasing efficiency? I am determined to see this through, so please, enlighten me, Miss Jasmine.”
Respect for my subjects, deep consideration, and an unshakeable will to improve the land—do you feel it radiating from me, you stubborn little barbarian?
“……”
She hesitated once, twice, three times. Caught off-balance by my bizarrely gracious reactions, Jasmine Barbara’s lips parted and closed like a landed fish.
“What Salvatore needs right now isn’t a bigger workshop,” she finally muttered after a tense pause. “It’s iron.”
“Iron?”
Feigning complete ignorance, I tilted my head as if hearing something entirely outside my realm of comprehension. “What kind of iron?”
“Good iron.”
Behold this magnificent conversational volley. An arrogant, tyrannical noble would have barked, Are you insolent enough to lecture me on rocks?! But not me. I was an apostle of inclusive leadership. I would shower her with understanding now—and kick her out later.
“If we have high-purity iron,” Jasmine pressed on, stepping into her professional element, “we can produce superior goods in half the time. But with the low-grade, impurity-riddled ore we currently use, refining takes twice as long, and half the metal is lost to slag.”
She laid out the technical mechanics with crisp authority. Truly magnificent. A talent like this had no business rotting in a frontier ditch like Salvatore.
“She’s right, you know,” Veronica chimed in from the side, resting her chin on her palm with an amused smirk. “Weapons forged from garbage iron snap in half on the first strike. Same goes for swords, right, Young Master?”
It seemed Veronica found this twenty-one-year-old bundle of barbarian muscle utterly adorable.
“High-quality iron…”
I stroked my chin thoughtfully, dragging out the silence just long enough to heighten the suspense.
“……”
Jasmine eyed me sideways, her gaze thick with suspicion. He doesn’t believe a word. She’s probably thinking: ‘I knew it, why did I even bother opening my mouth? He’s never going to agree to something so bothersome.’
Watching her squirm was deeply amusing to me, too. A prickly young barbarian dancing right in the palm of my hand. And she wasn't wrong to doubt me—sourcing high-grade iron was an enormous pain in the neck. Expanding a building was a one-time expense, but securing a reliable supply chain of premium ore was a logistical nightmare for any lord.
Yet for the man destined to become Jasmine’s revered mentor?
“Understood,” I said firmly. “I will procure the high-grade iron you require.”
No matter how troublesome, I would deliver. That was the hallmark of a true leader of our era.
“Y-Young Master…!” Marcus gasped, his eyes widening in sheer shock.
“Ho-oh…” Veronica murmured, her eyebrows arching with genuine intrigue.
Veterans of the world like them understood exactly how arduous and costly such a promise truly was.
“……”
Even Jasmine, the formidable barbarian maiden, looked entirely flabbergasted.
“I-It can’t just be ordinary good iron,” she pressed, stubbornly pushing her luck to test my boundaries. “It has to meet the exact specifications I need.”
Of course, her point was technically valid.
What’s the matter, feeling a creeping sense of defeat? Confused because I’m completely different from the scumbag you remember? Heh.
Her pushback was half technical requirement and half psychological warfare. She simply couldn't accept that I had changed; accepting my benevolence meant invalidating the burning humiliation and hatred she had nursed against me for the past six months.
“Naturally,” I replied smoothly. “The blacksmith wielding the hammer must be the one to dictate the metal. It shall be done.”
Too bad, Jasmine. You’ve already lost. You've been thoroughly, magnificently defeated. Because the pathetic, bumbling Kyle you used to know no longer exists.
“Draft a comprehensive list of your specifications tomorrow morning,” I commanded with an easy smile. “I will dispatch inquiries immediately. Place your trust in me.”
Having accepted every single one of her demands, I raised my goblet and drained the wine with leisurely grace.
“Come, everyone! A toast! To the future of Salvatore, led by our esteemed Young Master, Kyle de Rosen!”
“To the Young Master!!”
“Hooray!!!”
The banquet erupted into an uproar of cheers as Marcus leapt to his feet, overwhelmed with jubilation. And right beside him sat Jasmine Barbara, her eyes swirling with profound, chaotic confusion—a sight I quietly, and quite openly, savored to the fullest.
Clang! Clang!
One week later, the robust ring of striking steel echoed rhythmically through the Salvatore Blacksmith. Sparks danced through the smoky air as a cherry-red ingot flattened under the crushing blows of Chief Blacksmith Jasmine’s hammer.
“Incredible! Just listen to that! The resonance is completely clear!”
The apprentice blacksmiths watched in awe, transfixed by the crisp timbre of her hammer striking the anvil.
Boom!
Delivering one final, decisive blow, Jasmine paused, raised the forged piece with iron tongs, and plunged it into the quenching trough.
Hiss-s-s-s!
A thick plume of pure white steam billowed into the rafters.
“Look at that, the profile is already taking shape!”
“I know! It’s the exact same tool, but the working speed is on a different level entirely!”
“With so few impurities, every strike of the hammer bites right into the core!”
The interior of the workshop was a scene of unbridled euphoria. True to his word, Kyle had delivered the exact grade of iron Jasmine had requested within a single week. Compared to the brittle, slag-filled ore Salvatore had scraped by on for decades, this newly supplied stock was a revelation. The smiths, who had been hammering non-stop since yesterday evening, forgot their exhaustion entirely, their blood pumping as if their meridians had been blasted wide open.
“Now this is what forging is supposed to feel like! Before this, I wanted to weep every time I saw more metal ground into slag than kept in the finished tool!”
Granted, to an outside observer, it might not have looked like an earth-shattering miracle. A standard hoe hadn't magically transformed into a legendary artifact. But to the artisans whose flesh and bone wrestled with the metal every waking hour, the difference was nothing short of a cosmic upheaval.
The processing time was halved.
Material waste was reduced to a fraction.
The durability of the finished pieces skyrocketed.
An entirely new horizon had opened before them.
“To think… a change of iron could accomplish this much…” Marcus murmured, his jaw hanging slack in sheer wonder.
Jasmine said nothing to her adoptive father’s marveling. Instead, she retrieved the quenched metal from the water and ran her calloused thumb across its surface.
It was smooth. The rebound she had felt against her wrists during each strike was vastly different from before. The metal yielded and flowed precisely as her mind commanded, like an instrument she had waited her entire life to play.
“…Good.”
The word slipped from her lips unbidden—a raw, unfiltered murmur of profound professional satisfaction.
“Shouldn't you all take a break for lunch? Work is important, but a smith cannot swing a hammer on an empty stomach.”
And right at that perfect, theatrical moment, as if he had been waiting behind the curtain for his cue, Kyle de Rosen stepped into the forge.
“Ah, Young Master! You’ve come!”
“What are you all doing standing around? The Young Master is here!”
Marcus and the apprentices rushed forward to greet their lord as if welcoming a savior descending from the heavens.
“We don’t even need food to feel full, my Lord! Every time we strike the iron you provided, it feels as satisfying as a warm meal!”
“I am merely glad to hear it meets your standards,” Kyle replied with a warm, gentle smile.
“It’s magnificent! We will work ourselves to the bone to repay your grace!”
The apprentices bowed nearly in half, chattering excitedly like devotees testifying at an altar as they recounted their overnight triumphs. Kyle listened with serene patience, nodding attentively to every word.
“……”
From the shadow of her anvil, Jasmine watched him with guarded eyes.
You’re feeling it too, aren’t you? Kyle mused, reading her expression with effortless clarity. You were so lost in the joy of the craft that you forgot the passage of time. But your untamed barbarian pride won’t let you admit that in front of me just yet.
He inwardly relished her inner turmoil.
And right now, you’re wondering: ‘Why did that lecherous young master come down here? Is he here to fish for praise and brag about his generosity?’
Normally, when a superior made an appearance at a time like this, it was solely to claim credit.
‘Is he faking it? Was all that benevolence just an act to sweep his past misconduct under the rug?’
Kyle had displayed immense goodwill. But if that goodwill lacked sincerity, it would vanish the moment he felt the situation had been smoothed over. That cynical suspicion was the true meaning behind Jasmine’s sharp, conflicted glare.
“I have heard your thoughts, and I am pleased,” Kyle addressed the room, maintaining an aura of composed dignity.
So, what was a lord to do next?
“However, production must be managed through data. I want you to record precisely how much the fabrication time has been reduced per unit. Furthermore, track the defect rate and compare it against our historical averages with the old ore.”
You hit them with crisp, unassailable professionalism.
Ah…!
Jasmine’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. It was a standard she had long believed was desperately needed. Up until now, everything in Salvatore had been run purely on gut feeling and tradition.
“Ah…! I understand completely, Young Master!” Marcus nodded eagerly.
“Gather data over the next week,” Kyle instructed calmly. “Once we have quantifiable metrics, we will evaluate the exact economic efficiency. If the results prove favorable, I will expand our procurement quotas even further.”
“Oh-h-h!”
Kyle didn't miss the subtle flicker in Jasmine’s gaze. His sharp senses scanned the room, absorbing her micro-expressions, yet he maintained his professional gaze strictly upon the village chief and the apprentices.
“Now, go eat. You are the most precious assets of our territory.”
Turning on his heel, Kyle walked away with brisk, steady strides, leaving behind nothing but crisp encouragement and zero lingering demands for praise.
“We shall obey! Safe travels, Young Master!”
Standing frozen by her anvil, the rebellious Jasmine stared at his retreating back, her stubborn heart trembling in quiet bewilderment.
Could he… could he actually be sincere?
The foundation of her hostility was beginning to crack.
No, Jasmine. You can’t let your guard down just yet. This is only the beginning.
Kyle, of course, had no intention of stopping here. To forge her into a weapon he could wield at will, she needed to be tempered in far hotter flames.
And so, one week later, Kyle de Rosen dropped the hammer.
He fired Jasmine’s adoptive father on the spot.