Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Sword Meets Sword (3)
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One day, he awoke to a profound sense of regret washing over him.
The pride of a master craftsman was gone, replaced only by disgust at himself for churning out swords like they were nothing, intoxicated by empty fame.
This was an emotion he'd never felt in his entire life, and the old man had no idea how to rein in his heart. So, as always, he stood before the furnace. He placed the heated lump of iron on the anvil and hammered away without rest.
The refining and forging he'd repeated countless times before.
But this time, what the old man was working wasn't iron—it was his own heart, his entire lifetime.
And so, the blade took shape.
His heart was full of impurities, yet the iron had already formed its shape.
Those around him made a fuss, proclaiming another masterpiece had been born. But to the old man's eyes, the sword was a failure riddled with flaws. Without hesitation, he thrust it back into the furnace.
The workshop foreman, Saxony, threw a fit, but the old man paid him no mind.
He picked up the hammer again and repeated the refining and forging.
Another sword was made.
His heart was still in turmoil, while the impatient iron seemed to nag at him.
The old man shoved the sword back into the furnace. In this way, countless swords melted back into molten iron within the flames.
With each sword discarded, the regret and self-loathing lingering in his heart faded a little more. The old man threw himself even deeper into the work.
How much iron did he pound, how much of his own heart did he beat upon?
When he came to his senses, the regret that had filled his heart was already gone. In its place burned a purely craftsman's longing.
He wanted to forge just one proper sword before he died.
The old man gauged his time left. It wasn't enough. His frail body would soon be unable to even lift the hammer.
Before that happened, he selected his iron. There was a lump of scrap from the desert that no one had touched.
"Heat it like the sun rising on the horizon, cool it to the color of the king's royal purple robes. Then a sword like the sun, like the king, shall be born."
He chanted the song passed down among craftsmen countless times as he stoked the furnace flames.
When the scrap within the roaring inferno turned sun-like, he drew out the iron.
Clang. Clang.
He hammered it, then quenched it in precious whale oil.
When the iron turned royal purple, he drew it out and returned it to the furnace. He repeated the process endlessly.
A day, two days, a week, a fortnight, twenty days passed.
Normally, the sword's form would have emerged by now. But this time, strangely, the edge refused to take shape.
He pounded and pounded. Yet the changes remained minimal.
At this rate, he'd run out of strength before seeing it through. The thought that his final sword might remain unfinished drove the old man harder.
Then one day, the workshop grew rowdy. It seemed some high noble had arrived.
At that moment, the change occurred.
The lump of iron, which had stubbornly refused to reveal its form, transformed as if by magic. It began slowly taking on the shape of a true sword, as though shaping itself.
His impatience vanished, and calm returned to his heart.
Only then did the old man realize who the exalted visitor to the workshop was.
The prince. The kingdom's firstborn prince had graced them with his presence.
Saxony went around threatening everyone to behave if they didn't want the workshop shut down.
The old man didn't stop working amid the commotion. With the end now in sight, he burned with even greater fervor.
Once the iron began to take form, it shaped itself with astonishing speed.
A few days passed like that.
"I was hoping to see it completed before leaving."
The prince's mutter pierced his ears. Right after, Saxony started humming, saying the prince would be leaving soon.
That day, the old man didn't leave the anvil until night had nearly passed. Without a single break, he hammered the iron and quenched it over and over.
As a result, by the time dawn broke, he finally completed the sword.
Torrens, the eldest son of the Elun Earl family, appeared alongside the prince at just that moment.
"We offer this sword to Your Highness."
He couldn't tell if the words had come from his own mouth or if the sword had spoken through him. When he snapped out of it, he was already kneeling before the prince, holding the sword aloft in both hands.
"Does it have a name?"
the prince asked.
"What if we call it Dämmerung?"
"The twilight of dawn, or the twilight of dusk?"
"Twilight to me, but dawn to Your Highness."
The prince burst into hearty laughter.
"Hard to believe you're just a blacksmith with a tongue like that."
The old man's hands felt light. The sword he'd held in both hands had somehow passed to the prince's. In that instant, he felt utterly empty, as if his whole body had been hollowed out.
No regret, no longing—nothing remained.
The old man staggered and collapsed backward.
Had the prince not reached out to catch him, the weakened elder would have breathed his last right there.
As his vision whitened, the prince's voice reached the old man's ear.
"Tell my uncle."
"Your Highness?"
"It seems I'll have to spend the night here."
* * *
Count Bail Ballerhard arrived after the prince had moved the old man to a quiet corner of the workshop away from the heat.
"What's this about? Why delay our departure all of a sudden?"
"I've received an unexpected gift, but I have no way to repay it, so I thought I'd keep vigil like this."
There was a brief argument, but the prince ultimately had his way.
The people were surprised by the prince's graciousness, and even more so to see the famously stubborn count yield to his nephew.
Night fell. Torches were lit. Royal knights and well-armed royal soldiers surrounded the prince. The Elun Earl family's retainers encircled them in turn.
"I guarantee you, even if you gathered every sword that master smith ever made, they wouldn't match the value of that one blade."
"I have eyes, so I can see that. But what can we do? It's already been offered to His Highness the Prince. Why go and do something so unnecessary!"
Earl Elun scolded Torrens. Torrens looked wronged, claiming he hadn't expected things to turn out this way.
"How about this? His Highness is still young, so we give him a suitable sword in exchange and take that one back."
Earl Elun frowned at Torrens's words and glanced toward the prince.
There stood the master smith's creation, upright beside the prince. It was an ordinary longsword in form, but intricate wave patterns adorned the entire blade, marking it as something extraordinary at a glance.
"Unless he's a fool, he won't let go of a sword like that..."
"A plain sword won't do. We need to offer something tempting enough to catch his fancy, right?"
A conspiracy brewed between them, and a few soldiers headed to the castle. When they returned, they carried a large chest.
Torrens opened the chest and drew out a sword. It was an ornate blade embedded with a large red gem.
"Your Highness, how can we measure the value of a sword forged with one's soul? Still, I believe another sword would suit Your Highness better. By chance, we have a 'Magic Sword' prepared as a gift..."
Before he could suggest the trade, the prince waved him off with a disinterested face.
"Later."
The curt word carried such firm resolve that Torrens had no choice but to turn away, embarrassed.
After Torrens slunk off with his scheme foiled, the old man soon opened his eyes.
The prince and the old man talked for a long time. They laughed and chatted as if they'd known each other forever, completely at ease with one another.
It was truly a bizarre sight.
A noble young prince mingling so freely with a shabby old blacksmith. Everyone guarding the perimeter felt a strange sensation watching it.
The brightness, like a dying candle flaring one last time, faded, and the old man's eyes dimmed rapidly.
Everyone sensed it instinctively. Death was near for the old man.
The conversation between the old man and the prince cut off abruptly. The old man merely breathed lightly. To him, the prince whispered in his ear.
A whisper unheard by all but the old man alone.
"My God! It's you!"
When the prince pulled away from his ear, the old man wore a face like he'd seen a ghost.
"Don't you know this brat's heart?"
"Heh heh heh."
The old man laughed. At first, it held disbelief, then wonder, and finally, anticipation.
"May this sword become as great as you..."
"It will, without fail."
The prince, who had been smiling as he spoke, fell silent.
The old man had already closed his eyes. The smile lingering on his lips was more serene than any he'd worn in life.
* * *
Originally, he'd planned to watch over the old man's passing and leave, but upon learning the man had no family to handle the funeral, he stayed an extra day to attend it himself.
"We must hurry."
Seeing his uncle's impatience, it seemed he had business at the Iron Lion Fortress, just as he'd had a mission from the king in Elun Earldom.
But I had my own unfinished business in Elun Earldom.
"Again?"
"This time it'll be quick, so don't worry."
With that, he beckoned Torrens, who had come to see us off.
"Hand it over."
"Your Highness? What do you mean?"
"The magic sword."
Torrens's eyes widened at my words, but only for a moment before he grinned slyly.
"You'll love it once you see it."
Torrens, full of confidence, signaled a soldier. As if prepared in advance, the man held an ornate sword.
"Excellent."
True to his word, the magic sword Torrens had prepared looked quite usable even to my eyes.
The sword's own spirit wasn't bad, and the energy emanating from the gem embedded in the center of the guard was no ordinary thing.
At minimum, a mid-grade artifact, far from low-tier trash.
"Your Highness, then that..."
"A gift from a renowned master smith, pouring his soul into it—something I might never receive again in my lifetime. And on top of that, a magic sword? It shows the Elun family's loyalty to the royal house is truly unmatched."
Torrens's mouth opened and closed several times. His flickering eyes probed whether I truly grasped Dämmerung's value.
Of course, I knew its worth better than anyone.
"If Your Highness puts it to good use, that would be the true glory of our house."
Realizing I'd seen through him, Torrens slumped his shoulders.
"Since you say that, I'll take it without burden."
As I turned from the eldest son of the Elun family, my uncle clicked his tongue. He seemed to have grasped the situation already.
* * *
Our arrival at the Elun Earl family had been delayed by a day, and it took two more days there beyond schedule.
So we rode as if we were heralds announcing war. We left the carriages and infantry behind, taking only knights and cavalry to maximize speed.
As a result, we reached the Iron Lion Fortress—a journey that should have taken two days—in just half a day.
"Whoa!"
For the first time since awakening, the imposing grandeur of a true fortress drew an exclamation from me unwittingly. The gates opened, and a group poured out from within.
Knights clad head to toe in iron armor.
They charged threateningly before slowing at a distance, then dismounted in unison to pay their respects to me.
"Let's go in."
Barely acknowledging their greetings, I headed straight inside.
"York of the Willoden family greets His Noble Highness the First Prince!"
"The Iron Lions greet the noble blood of Leonberger!"
York Willoden, Count of the Iron Lion Fortress and leader of the Iron Lion Knight Order, led the call, followed by over two hundred knights roaring in unison.
An overly spirited welcome.
Had I been the real wastrel, their overwhelming presence would have cowed me into silence for the entire visit.
But I wasn't him, and I had no intention of staying quiet and slipping away.
"Uncle, if you have business, handle it."
He turned to look at me at my words.
"I have some business too."
Doubt flickered in my uncle's eyes, as if asking what business I could possibly have here.
I just smiled, and unease crept onto his face.
Ignoring his piercing gaze, I surveyed my surroundings.
Hundreds of knights stared at me. Among them, one stood out especially.
Arwen Kirguyen.
My first knight was gazing at me from amid the Iron Lions.
She gave a small nod.
At the same moment, the Iron Lions' momentum surged. The blatant jealousy and anger within thrilled me.
"Perfect day to add one more to the tally."