The Master Blacksmith's Lingering Grudge
"Necromancer? Me?"
Why? Why did it have to be me? Why am I the one who can see ghosts? I never asked for this!
A piercing scream echoed from somewhere far away, so loud it made her ears ring. Julia clutched her head and groaned. Aslan, Charlotte, and Silvia all looked perfectly fine. Only she could hear those voices. Everyone was staring at her like she'd lost her mind.
I don't want to hear them! I don't want to see them! I want to go back to when I couldn't hear or see anything at all!
Why me, of all people? Out of countless others, why did it have to be me? Isn't this the kind of power that awakens in kids who actually want to talk to ghosts? I've never wished for anything like this, not even once!
Ah. Was it because I begged to understand those muttering voices...?
It wasn't as if they'd never existed. Those ceaseless whispers that kept her awake night after night. At first she'd prayed for them to disappear. Later, when that didn't work, she'd begged to at least understand what they were saying. Maybe that had been the trigger.
Now the indistinct muttering was gone, replaced by the clear sight and sound of vengeful spirits. This wasn't what she'd wanted at all!
I hate this. I really hate it. But... they seem so pitiful...
She hated it, yet the more she listened, the sadder she felt. It was infuriating. The dwarf king had been killed out of jealousy, he'd never finished the last holy sword... It was still terrifying, but sympathy welled up inside her anyway.
If I want to get rid of them, I have to help them pass on, right?
It was frightening, but she had no choice. If she wanted them gone from her sight, she had to perform the rites. Just as she was wondering whether releasing their grudges would work, Aslan spoke with an incredulous expression.
"Do you think a necromancer is some kind of grief counselor? Just capture them and use them as a source of power."
"How could I do that?! They're crying out in injustice—"
"Do they still look like people to you? The moment they failed to move on, they became evil spirits. Who knows what harm they'll cause if left alone."
"That's exactly why we should help them pass on as soon as possible!"
"Hah..."
Aslan burst into laughter. Julia couldn't understand what was so funny. Did this man have no sense of how serious the situation was? He'd looked genuinely frightened earlier, even shed tears... How embarrassing.
"If that's what you think, then do as you please. I'll help a little."
"Really!?"
"Only help. You're the only one who can communicate with the spirits, after all. That means you'll have to handle the important parts yourself."
"Ugh..."
Me? Alone? With that armless dwarf ghost? A chill ran down Julia's spine, her hair standing on end. But at that moment—
"It's okay! I'm right here with you!"
"Charlotte...?"
"I can't see or hear anything, but I'll stay by your side the whole time!"
Charlotte squeezed her small hand tightly. Julia felt her tension ease just a little and smiled faintly.
"Sorry, but I don't think you're helping at all."
"Uwaaah!"
She might not be helpful, but that was fine. Thanks to Charlotte, her nerves had settled. That was enough.
"Hoo. Haa. Alright. I'll try talking to it. Let's find out what lingering regret this dwarf has that's making him so noisy...!"
Julia finally steeled herself. She'd overcome fear plenty of times before. She'd walked down creaky dark hallways alone at night to use the bathroom. She'd listened to Yuri's scary stories all the way through without covering her ears. So there was nothing to be afraid of! As much as she hated to admit it... she was a necromancer, just like Aslan said. A necromancer couldn't be scared of ghosts!
[Can you... see me...?]
"H-He talked! He talked to me! Uwaaaah!"
"Weren't you the one who said you'd try talking?"
Whoosh. In an instant, Julia dashed forward and threw herself into Aslan's arms. Damn it. How humiliating. Why did she always run to this man whenever she was scared...?
...
"Well, that's how it is. To summarize: your grandfather was making such a racket in the streets that my slave was trembling in fear, so help him pass on quickly. His final regret was completing the last holy sword, so you'll have to finish it for him."
"..."
Whoosh! Jacob stared at the long-unused furnace as it finally roared to life again and let out a deep sigh. He swallowed the words It would've been nice if you'd said that from the beginning back down his throat.
"My slave bravely overcame her fear and managed to speak with your grandfather. Quite impressive, really. She even learned the location of the unfinished holy sword from him. She also learned that a mana cultivation method could fix your murky mana, and she obtained the method itself from your grandfather. All of it was information my slave worked hard to acquire."
"..."
How many times was he going to say "quite impressive"? Jacob could tell just how much this man adored his slave. Shaking his head, Jacob sat down on the floor as Aslan instructed.
The foundation of mana cultivation was meditation—emptying the mind and focusing on the flow of mana to refine it into purity. Of course, simply knowing the basics didn't mean anyone could practice it.
"Block the flow of mana on the inhale, then release it on the exhale. Murky mana and pure mana have different properties, so they flow at different speeds. By repeatedly blocking the flow, the two will gradually separate and form layers. That makes them easier to divide."
Such detailed know-how... This was advice only someone who had truly mastered mana cultivation could give. Aslan Belmont supposedly couldn't handle mana at all, so he couldn't have learned cultivation himself.
Really... is this really Grandfather...?
The legendary blacksmith Jain. To Jacob, the name felt like that of a stranger. He'd passed away when Jacob was just a baby, so he had no memories of him. The only trace of his grandfather Jacob possessed was this small forge. Yet Jacob had never even considered carrying on the family legacy. Both his grandfather and father had been killed because of their talent, and even now, people looked at him with suspicion because of his connection to the Belmonts. So he'd decided to abandon blacksmithing entirely. Thanks to his grandfather's inheritance, he had more than enough money to live comfortably without working for the rest of his life. He had no talent anyway, so he'd live quietly, like a mouse, without making a fuss.
That's what I'd decided... but in the end, it comes to this.
Every time he passed the dusty furnace, he'd felt an inexplicable pull. Whenever he saw the forging hammer, his hands would move on their own, so he'd hidden it away where he couldn't see it. He'd tried so hard to stay away from blacksmithing, yet here he was, about to learn it after all.
Jacob gave a hollow laugh and felt the pure mana flowing through his body.
It comes so naturally. As if this cultivation method was made for me from the very beginning...
Was mana cultivation always this easy? He'd been told his mana was so murky that he'd never be able to use it, yet here he was, refining it with such ease? It would have been impossible without a cultivation method and techniques perfectly tailored to him. It felt as though someone who knew Jacob well had watched over him for a long time and created this method just for him.
Jacob began compressing the refined mana together. It was his first time attempting mana compression, yet it felt strangely familiar. Maybe blood really was thicker than water.
"Mana Fire...!"
Fwoosh! A spark flashed at Jacob's fingertip, followed by a green flame rising up. Mana Fire. The technique of burning mana along with oxygen to generate extreme heat and infuse metal with mana. A skill only a chosen few could use was now burning at Jacob's fingertips.
Jacob's mouth fell open in exhilaration.
"What are you dawdling for? Start quenching already."
"Yes!"
It was his first time doing this, yet Jacob knew exactly what he needed to do. He poured Mana Fire into the furnace without hesitation and began heating the unfinished holy sword. He hammered the glowing blade, reheated it, and hammered again. Each time, the remnants of burned mana seeped into the metal's particles, making it even harder. Depending on the arrangement of those remnants, the holy sword's type would change. Until now, this sword had been nothing more than an ordinary lump of iron. But right here, in this moment, the seventh holy sword was being completed.
Jacob was smiling with a satisfaction he'd never felt in his life when—
"H-Huaaah! I understand! I get it now!"
"Julia?"
Bang! The forge door flew open and Julia burst inside, looking tormented. Aslan flared with killing intent.
"Has this damn ghost gone mad—"
"Ah! It's not that! The spirit grandfather didn't torment me, so calm down! ...Please!"
"Then what is it?"
"He said the forging was completely wrong and he was going crazy with frustration, so he told me to come in and say something... Huh? What? He wants me to let him possess his grandson's body? There's no way I can do something like that!"
Julia rambled at the empty air. Aslan prepared to scatter his skill, Touch of Death, at any moment. Silvia approached and tapped Julia's shoulder.
"Why not give it a try?"
"A try? How am I supposed to attempt magic that's not even in the textbooks?"
"Was my Boom magic in the textbooks?"
"No..."
"There are far more spells that aren't in textbooks than ones that are. What's important when using magic is listening to the voice of your heart. Try doing what it tells you."
Good. Well done. Aslan applauded silently in his mind. Encouraged by Silvia, Julia gathered her courage and extended her hand. It wasn't the form she'd seen in textbooks, but there was a spell she felt strongly drawn to.
"I don't know if it'll work, but here I go!"
Mana began condensing at Julia's fingertips in massive amounts. This time, she wasn't separating just a portion—she was using every last drop of her mana. Her hair stood on end. Silvia flinched, her eyes widening like a startled rabbit.
This amount of mana...?
"D-Did it work?"
The condensed mana aura vanished, and Julia's body went limp from mana exhaustion. At first glance, nothing seemed to have happened. The surroundings were quiet. But something had definitely changed. The clumsy, irregular hammering sounds had become steady and rhythmic: Thud! Thud! Thud!
"You worthless brat. You inherited my blood and this is all you can do? The arrangement is completely ruined. At this rate, it'd become a lump of mana dung instead of a holy sword."
"Ah! Spirit grandfather!"
"...Don't call me that."
Julia's face lit up with something almost like joy. Her speech pattern had changed too, now carrying the weight of experience. It was unmistakable possession magic. The spirit of the master blacksmith Jain had temporarily taken over his grandson's body.
"Master blacksmith Jain. It is you, isn't it?"
"Why ask when you already know, noble sir? I'm just a pitiful soul fated to disappear once the holy sword is complete, so pay me no mind. As the little miss wishes, I'll finish this quickly and be gone."
Jain did nothing but hammer the sword, over and over. He showed no interest in anything else. He worked tirelessly, solely to complete the seventh and final holy sword.
Was that really all there was to it? Had he truly felt nothing for the grandson he'd left behind? As Aslan fell into brief silence, the now-red-hot longsword was quenched in oil and emerged, gleaming with a brilliant radiance.
"Th-This is...!"
Silvia's mouth fell open. Even Aslan, who knew nothing about swords, was stunned. Charlotte, who had followed them into the forge, stared at the sword in awe, unable to look away.
"This is the seventh holy sword. Since you helped me complete it, I'll give it to you as a gift. Or perhaps a bribe, in a sense. A request to take good care of my grandson... I've released all my regrets now, so I'll soon disappear. As for the sword's name... hmm."
"A gift? Then can I have it!? I'll name it Super Strong Sword!"
"Wh-Whoa!?"
The moment Charlotte rushed over and grabbed the sword, its light began to be swallowed by pitch-black darkness. In an instant, the blade was engulfed in a wave of black. The mysterious, mystical glow of the holy sword vanished without a trace. All that remained was a sinister, jet-black longsword.
Jain clutched the back of his neck and collapsed.
"No, my holy sword!!! It fell into the hands of some demon child and turned into a demonic sword! Aigoo! Aigoo! Uwaaaah!!!"
"Spirit grandfather... You're disappearing..."
At last, the master blacksmith Jain released his grudge and passed on.