Merchants' Street (2)
Old Man Hughes.
That was the name by which the aging blacksmith was known — master of the largest forge in Cambria, and a figure who stood as something like the head of the Artisans' Quarter. A smith whose authority ran so deep that even his stubbornness was regarded as a craftsman's virtue.
His gravelly tongue and prickly manner had earned him no shortage of complaints among adventurers, but his skill was beyond question. Decades spent hammering iron. A craftsman good enough to claim a seat in the Imperial capital if he wished, and one who could have taken the title of Master Artisan had he ever set his mind to it. Hughes, however, had never cared to be bound by anything. He had simply settled in this city and lived.
I couldn't have been wrong.
A man like Hughes knew. The sword in his hands was the work of someone worthy of being called a Master. He examined the blade the young man before him had brought once more.
The finishing of the edge. The channels carved into the blade for mana to flow. The perfectly struck balance, and a grip that felt as though it had been made to measure. A longsword utterly without ornament — plain to the point of austerity. And precisely because of that, it carried the weight of a blacksmith's long years. Studying it closely, Hughes could only shake his head in wonder.
Austerity that had cast off all show. A beauty born of simplicity. Compared to the work of today's smiths, it would almost be an insult to draw a parallel — a piece utterly faithful to a blacksmith's true calling.
But…
The problem lay elsewhere. Had it merely been a well-made sword, Hughes would have stopped at a murmur of admiration. Instead, the old man had found something. Traces of Atanga, held within the steel.
It was from a time when he was still young — his apprentice days. He had worked at a forge contracted to the Atanga Knights, hoping to learn the craft under a renowned Master. In those years, Hughes had watched the senior smiths at the closest possible range.
Knights who kept their honor and pride. Guardians of the old vows — the Knights of Atanga. The iron a Master hammered for such men seemed almost alive, and the weapons that emerged from that furious forging were beautiful beyond measure.
…I know, because I saw it.
A sight that decades had not erased. Recalling it, Hughes drew his index and middle fingers slowly down the face of the longsword. This distinctive finishing technique was the one used on the blades of Atanga's knights. Yet something felt off, and the old man narrowed his eyes.
This was the exact same finishing method Hughes had seen decades ago. As he understood it, the present-day Atanga Knights finished their swords somewhat differently.
A longsword finished with the techniques of a bygone generation. And yet the blade in his hands did not look as though many years had passed since its forging.
"Ah, Master Hughes."
While he was lost in thought, the smith standing beside him leaned in and whispered into his ear.
"That adventurer — he's the one. You know, the fellow from recently. The one who jumped three ranks in a single—"
"…The one who took down a Blood Troll alone?"
"Yes. I believe that's him."
The adventurer who had lately set all of Cambria buzzing. Hughes's eyes narrowed as he looked at Najin, who stood blankly before him. He had taken the boy for a pure greenhorn — but looking closer, the stance was set.
Calluses.
The hardened skin built up along the young man's finger joints. The weight shifted slightly to one side. From him came the air of a seasoned swordsman, always ready to draw.
"You there."
The old man handed Najin's sword back.
"Take hold of it."
"Just like that?"
Without a word, Najin closed his hand around the grip.
The other smiths wouldn't have noticed — but Hughes did. The young man's build, the length of the hilt, the balance when the blade was held… every piece of it locked into place. A sword that seemed forged to fit this youth alone. A blade made for him and no one else.
"Enough. You can put it away."
"Look, from the start—"
Najin let out a long breath. Settling the hilt back at his hip, he looked Hughes straight in the eye.
"I came to get a sword repaired. What's with all the questions?"
"Because it matters. Will you tell me who made it?"
Najin said nothing. His silence made plain he had no intention of answering. Hughes shrugged. The boy must have stumbled into some kind of fateful encounter. The sword did seem rather more than the youth before him deserved, and yet…
A smith who could forge a blade like that wouldn't have such rotten eyes.
Whatever it was, there had to be something special about him. Why forge him a sword of the old Atanga style? Why craft him a blade of this caliber at all? Mysteries piled on mysteries — but Hughes did not dig deeper. His old senior had always said the same thing.
A blacksmith only needs to hammer iron well.
Whether the man holding the sword is a once-in-a-generation genius or some fallen noble who crawled out of a ditch — what's it to us?
We're blacksmiths. Be true to your craft.
Hughes clicked his tongue.
"So can it be repaired or not?"
"No need. You could use it another ten-odd years without so much as a scratch."
"…What?"
"That's the kind of sword it is. Whoever forged it — they put a hell of a lot of work into the durability. Hammered so it won't break under anything short of the extraordinary."
It was a touch heavier than a blade of the same size, after all. Sighing, Hughes shot Najin a sidelong look.
"Your name's Ivan, right?"
"It is."
"So you're the one the merchant guildmaster said she'd introduce. I'd planned to just hand you a sword and send you on your way, but…"
The old man's gaze flicked to the longsword at Najin's hip.
"Looks like you don't need one. Come inside."
He'd show him something else.
"We'll have everything delivered to this address, then."
Having arranged for the goods purchased at the forge to be sent to his lodgings, Najin continued down the street. He had been able to buy a surprising variety of things at the forge — at prices close to half off. All thanks to the letter of introduction from the Dieta Merchant Group, patrons of the forge.
He had stocked up thoroughly: simple armor, and side arms that might prove useful in a pinch. Old Man Hughes, prickly at first, had by the midpoint begun helping Najin choose his gear with a look of genuine interest.
You've got a good eye.
Recalling Hughes's satisfied smile, Najin walked on. He stopped by an alchemists' stall to pick up a few basic potions and was browsing for anything else useful when his steps came to a halt.
Clink.
A stall lined with blood-red vials. Doping agents were piled high across the table, and the distinctive stench of those drugs was one Najin knew well.
— The Blood School.
Merlin muttered in his ear.
— Don't touch that stuff. Buy the wrong one and you'll end up addicted. The effects are short, and the backlash afterward is no joke.
I wasn't planning to buy any in the first place.
Muttering as much to himself, Najin turned the name over in his mind. The Blood School. Had Hakan — the alchemist who had driven him to draw Excalibur in the underground city — been of the Blood School as well?
Come to think of it, more than a month had already passed since he escaped the subterranean city. Time felt as though it had flown by, and dragged, all at once.
"……"
On impulse, Najin looked up at the sky without a word.
A blue expanse and sharp sunlight. Things that had felt strange and unfamiliar when he first came above ground — things that had since become ordinary. It had been a long while since he last sought out some shadowed, damp corner under the pretense of resting.
Things he was growing used to, little by little. Things he now took for granted.
Feeling a quiet, unexpected swell of emotion, Najin walked on. In the Artisans' Quarter, people recognized him now and then, glancing his way with the look reserved for a celebrity before brushing past.
One alchemist approached and asked whether he might care to try his latest work.
A blacksmith offered gear stamped with his own maker's mark.
Cambria, the City of Opportunity. Plenty of people here coveted the rising fame of a young man climbing so quickly. Equipment worn by the city's most talked-about adventurer of late would, of course, draw the eyes of countless others.
"……"
They were good offers. Najin accepted none of them. There was no need. He cut straight through the Artisans' Quarter toward its heart.
Where artisans and merchants mingled. The street where Cambria's merchant houses clustered thickest. Najin walked toward the largest trading company on that street. The guards who recognized him made no move to bar his path this time.
His boots struck the steps of the trading house.
The reason he had turned down every offer from those smiths and alchemists was simple enough. Someone had already made him a far more attractive proposal. As Najin stepped onto the top floor of the Dieta Merchant Group, someone was waiting to greet him.
"Welcome."
The guildmaster of the Dieta Merchant Group. The Gold-Swallowing Snake, Dieta Arvenia, smiled at him.
The top floor of the merchant house — Dieta's office.
"I told you I have an eye for people. I never expected you'd leap three ranks in one go, though."
Beaming from ear to ear, Dieta was deep in conversation with Najin. Her mood was excellent, and for good reason — the young man seated across from her.
Ivan, the adventurer under the Dieta Merchant Group's guarantee. News of his triple rank promotion had even made the papers, and the group's reputation had been soaring of late. Dieta had no intention of letting that momentum slip.
"This is what we discussed last time."
She crooked a finger. The secretary standing nearby handed Najin a wooden case.
"Go on, open it."
Inside the opened case lay a neatly folded set of leather armor. Black leather shot through with a faint wash of red. Guessing what it had been made from was not difficult.
Armor crafted from the hide of a Blood Troll.
About a week earlier, Najin had sold Dieta the Blood Troll's hide. He could have taken the payment in coin, but he had asked her to have armor made from it instead — and she had accepted. The arrangement favored Najin more, but Dieta had judged it no loss to herself either.
"We used about sixty percent for the armor. The remaining forty will go to other uses. It was made by some of the best craftsmen our group sponsors, so you can trust the quality."
Try it on, she murmured, pointing toward a side room off the office. A short while later, Najin reappeared in the new gear.
Armor tailored to his frame. More elegant than a suit of plate — closer in design to a knightly uniform. Being leather, it moved freely; being Blood Troll hide, it would not yield easily to an ordinary blade.
Najin brushed at his sleeves, looking faintly awkward. He had never worn anything of this sort. Still, the fit was not bad.
"It's good. Thank you."
No answer came. Najin tilted his head and glanced at Dieta. She was staring at him with her eyes wide.
Until now, Najin had gone about in loose, lightweight clothes. His features were handsome enough, but he had never properly dressed the part. Seeing him outfitted like this, though…
He cut quite a figure.
The old saying was true — clothes really did make the man.
Dieta, who had briefly lost herself, slowly nodded. Her gaze settled on the emblem stitched into his armor. The mark of the Dieta Merchant Group. That was why she had accepted his proposal.
"It suits you."
This adventurer is sponsored by the Dieta Merchant Group. In other words — don't even think about touching him. Nothing conveyed that quite so effectively as a proper set of gear. With this, even that damned red-eyed bastard might think twice about making a move.
Sponsoring equipment of this caliber isn't something just anyone can do.
It took a house like the Dieta Merchant Group — one that had swept up craftsmen by the dozen — to pull it off. Dieta rose from her seat with a bright smile and stepped in front of Najin. The slight difference in height meant he was naturally looking down at her.
She brushed her hair back and spoke.
"Shall we take a little walk, then?"
This, too, had been part of the contract. In exchange for having the armor made at a steep discount, he would keep her company for a day. Dieta had her reasons for writing that condition in.
She needed to be seen.
Walking the streets with Najin, making a show of how closely this adventurer was tied to her. Demonstrating that the Dieta Merchant Group maintained a long-term relationship with the city's fastest-rising adventurer.
And they do make rather a fine picture together.
Dieta held out her hand, as though asking him to escort her. Najin, who had never received so much as a scrap of etiquette training, took it the way one might shake hands.
"Haa…"
At the sight, Pasion — her guardian knight, standing nearby — let out a sigh and proceeded to teach Najin how an escort was properly done. As he walked Najin through the various points he would need for a day of guarding Dieta, a chill ran down Pasion's spine.
A greenhorn who knew nothing of the world. And a mistress who acted purely on whim. Their stroll was not going to go smoothly.
And Pasion's instinct proved correct exactly thirty minutes after Najin and Dieta stepped outside.
"You insolent little—!"
A noble's guard knight, hand already on his sword.
"Why's your tongue so long?"
Najin tapped the hilt of his blade, his face expressionless.
"If you're that confident, come at me."
Insults are washed clean in a duel. Wasn't that a knight's code? At Najin's muttered words, the guard knight's reason snapped. He stripped off his leather glove and flung it at Najin's face.
A challenge to a duel.
Naturally, the glove never struck him. Najin plucked it from the air and tossed it to the ground.
"If you're throwing it on the floor, why aim for my face?"
"How dare you, in front of—!"
"You wanted a duel."
Najin drew his sword with a clean ring of steel.
"What are you waiting for? Draw."
A knight struck speechless. His noble master's face flushed a deep, furious red. Dieta, barely containing the laughter leaking through her composure. And Najin, lowering his blade with a look of pure indifference.
It was more than enough to draw the attention of every adventurer in the city.