The Dwarf and the Sword (2)
"No do-overs, Master."
No matter how finely a blade was forged, hacking away at random would never produce a clean cut.
But as I quietly studied the surface of the ore, for some reason a single 'grain' near the very center — the faintest one of all — drifted into my sight.
If I strike there, it'll split clean. No doubt about it.
The instant that instinct, handed down from my past life, delivered its verdict, my body responded on its own. All that remained was to land the blow on the exact point.
"Whew."
I exhaled a short breath and reset my stance — gripping the sword firmly, yet taking care not to lose the flexibility that was this body's greatest asset.
Shwaaaak!
To anyone without a grounding in swordsmanship, it would have looked like an ordinary downward strike.
THOOM!
A heartbeat after my blade passed through... the stubbornly solid lump of ore had, unbelievably, split into two flawless halves and lay rolling across the floor.
"..."
"..."
Faced with the unbelievable sight, both the girl who had been watching with bated breath and the old dwarf seemed struck speechless.
A moment later.
"...Whoa."
A hushed gasp of awe burst first from the girl's lips.
The old dwarf who had set the task in the first place, meanwhile, simply stood frozen, blinking over and over as if he couldn't trust his own eyes.
"Impossible..."
"You gave it to me to cut, Master. Why so astonished?"
At my thoroughly unbothered response, the dwarf stroked his beard once and shot back, flabbergasted.
"B-Because I never thought you'd actually cut it!"
"Pardon?"
First he tells me to cut it, then he claims he never believed I could — what kind of joke was this?
"That thing was never meant to be cut in the first place! My own tools can barely manage a scratch on it."
Then, running his fingers over the smoothly severed face, he murmured in a trembling voice.
"It's been... a long, long time since I've seen talent like this."
And in those words lay not simple admiration, but a heavy tinge of shock.
Before long, the dwarf lifted his head, met my eyes, and spoke.
"Since the great age of magic dawned, you are only the second sword-swinger to reach this level of mastery."
The second?
Deep suspicion stirred in me at his words. It meant another swordsman existed besides me. Had there ever been such a person? However far I dug through my past-life memories, not a single soul who had ever come close to my swordsmanship came to mind.
"You flatter me. So who's the other one?"
"A man who came this close to becoming the true owner of this very sword. The Sword Demon."
Huh?
My brow creased without my meaning it to at the familiar name that popped from the dwarf's mouth. Of all the names in the world, why that one? The insufferable epithet mages had pinned on me back when I was butchering monsters by the 'lowly' means of a sword. Hearing it now left a strange sourness in my gut — but that was beside the point.
Owner of the sword? I'd never once held a blade like that in my life.
The only swords I'd wielded 300 years ago were battered iron blades with their edges worn away, picked up and used without ceremony — that was the full extent of it.
My thoughts had tangled into a confused jumble when—
Hold on...
I stared hard at the old dwarf standing across the counter. That shaggy beard, those stubborn eyes that looked like they'd never heed a word anyone said. As I picked the features apart, a shard of memory buried in the deepest recesses of my mind rose to the surface.
...Don't tell me. Is this old geezer...?
Three hundred years ago, in a certain backwater village under assault from the Demon King's army — a dwarf runt whose beard had already grown thick, bawling his eyes out over the parents he'd lost, so much so that at first I'd nearly cut his throat, mistaking him for some goblin subspecies.
When I swept away the Demon King's remnants and saved the little guy's life, he wiped his tears and shouted at me.
"Big bro! Someday I'll forge you the greatest sword there is — one that could beat anyone! So you have to come back for it!"
Of course, barely any time had passed before I went and got myself killed by those founding bastards, so I never did keep that promise.
But now that the memory had firmly resurfaced, the image of the crybaby runt overlapped perfectly with the dwarf before my eyes.
And then there was the sign that had hung over the door —
[ Torso's Kitchen ]
Back then I'd had no leeway to be asking after names, so I'd glossed right over it — but only now did the name on that crude little sign click perfectly into place.
"...Ha."
I couldn't help letting out a small laugh at the sheer absurdity of the connection.
"What's so funny all of a sudden?"
The dwarf asked gruffly, plainly unable to follow, and I picked the sword up and replied offhandedly.
"Nothing. It's just... feels like a tab I ran up 300 years ago is finally being paid in full."
"...What? What the hell kind of nonsense is that about a tab?"
"For a blade supposedly made for your benefactor, the ornamentation's a touch rustic, though."
At my words, the dwarf's shaggy eyebrows wriggled. His pupils blew wide, and his gaze darted back and forth between my face and the sword in my hand.
"Y-You... what did you just...?"
"I was saying thank you — for keeping your promise and giving me this fine sword free of charge."
Cutting him off, I slyly slid the sword into its sheath.
"Your name was Torso, yes? Your craftsmanship certainly holds up. I'll put it to good use."
I had no intention of groveling through an explanation that I was that very Sword Demon. It was enough — more than enough — to know that a promise made to a dwarf runt 300 years ago had come full circle at last.
"H-Hold on...! Hey, what in the world are you...!"
Ding-a-ling!
With the clear chime of a bell, I pushed open the worn shop door and stepped out into the street, leaving Torso's cry hanging behind me.
Free of the shop, the evening air — gone pleasantly cool at some point — brushed against my cheek.
The little crybaby's grown up so much.
I gently stroked the sword at my hip. Forged with painstaking care from ore after ore of high magic resistance, with not a single thing wasted from hilt to edge — a true masterwork, no less.
Then an idle fancy drifted into my head. If, in the final battle against the Demon King 300 years ago, this blade had been in my hand instead of that unremarkable iron one — how differently would my ending have played out?
"...Well, a pointless question at this point."
Perhaps tipsy on the evening air, I let a faint smile cross my face at my own flight of fancy, and walked the imperial capital's evening streets, where the gaudy glow of magic tools shimmered.
Even with darkness creeping in, the crowds still overflowed the streets — and just as I was slipping into the flow of them—
"E-Excuse me! Wait, please!"
An urgent voice rang out at my back. Something about it felt strangely familiar, and the moment I stopped and turned, there she was: the purple-haired girl from the shop, clutching the hem of her robe as she hurried toward me.
"Hah... hah... How do you walk so fast?"
"I thought our conversation was finished."
"It wasn't! You can't just up and leave like that."
The girl pouted for a moment, then melted back into a soft, easy smile.
"I'm Emilia. No family name, I'm afraid. I was curious about you, and it felt like I never gave you a proper greeting back there."
"I'm Irie. Irie Argensia."
At my flat introduction, the girl's green eyes went perfectly round. Emilia drew a breath and asked, cautiously.
"Argensia...? Th-Then, could you be the Count family's third son? The one I've only ever heard rumors about?"
"You know of me?"
"Of course! The story's already spread all over the Academy. They say you're a good-for-nothing with no mana who snagged an Academy post on his family's coattails."
Unbelievable.
Forget showing up for work — I hadn't even set foot anywhere near the Academy yet, and my image was already at rock bottom. Just what the hell had that old coot Dalton done with my paperwork? My work life was bleak enough already, and my head was starting to throb at the thought.
"Well, it's not exactly wrong. So that makes you an Academy student, then."
"Yes. It's only been a month since I enrolled, so I'm still finding my feet."
Emilia added, fidgeting with her fingers, a touch sheepish.
"If Mr. Torso was rude to you earlier, I'll apologize in his place. But he really is warm deep down, and... he's like a father to me."
"A father?"
"Yes. He took me in when I was a child, orphaned and drifting the streets. The only reason he stays in the capital running a shop, hating people as he does, is because of me."
At her words, offered with a slightly apologetic look, my gaze wandered through empty air for a moment. The girl's face as she looked at me now — and layered over it, the smiling face of that bearded dwarf runt.
"He'd always meant to raise me as a blacksmith, but as it turned out, I had a talent for magic, of all things... He was terribly sorry to see me off to the Academy."
"Well, with a stubborn streak like his, I'd wager it gnawed at him plenty."
At my half-joking reply, Emilia burst out laughing.
The air between us had grown comfortable now. We walked on as the streets slowly emptied, trading light small talk about the Academy.
We'd been nattering away for a good while when Emilia glanced at a clock standing along the street and stopped dead, startled.
"Oh! Look how late it's gotten! We got so wrapped up in talking... He worries if I stay out too late."
"Well, it was a fairly rewarding evening for me, too."
Seemingly reassured by my answer, the girl smiled and offered her parting words.
"Well then, I suppose next time we meet will be at the Academy."
"If I'm lucky, we'll see each other as soon as tomorrow."
"Hehe. If we do meet again, I'll be calling you Instructor then — Instructor Irie!"
With that, Emilia waved and drew away, her robe — a size too big for her slight frame — fluttering as she scurried off in quick little steps.
I stood quietly in place, watching her retreating back until the girl had vanished from view entirely.
Well. Not a bad feeling at all.
Past life or present, this world has more than its share of shit. But seeing how a life I'd once saved had grown into a nest that sheltered others — it seemed that even I ran across a sight worth savoring now and then.
Right on cue, a cool night breeze gently ruffled my bangs. Running a hand through the mildly mussed hair, I at last set off at a leisurely pace toward the lodging I'd reserved.