Omens of Civil War (1)
Early that morning, Najin headed for the forge.
His usual sword had become unusable. He had first noticed something off while cleaning out Trixie's tavern not long ago—the edge was completely notched and ruined.
But it is a little strange.
Right up until his swordsmanship drills with Oppen before that tavern job, the blade had seemed fine. If anything had been wrong with it, Oppen would have said so.
Hard to claim it broke in a fight, either.
It was not the sort of cheap scrap that would dull after he put down a handful of waiting thugs. He had taken the best piece the forge had offered at the time. Unable to settle on a proper explanation, Najin scratched the back of his neck.
"Tsk…"
If he simply walked in like this, Old Man Hogel would have something to say about it again.
He had only had the sword for less than a month. Showing up again so soon pricked his conscience a little.
"…"
Najin stopped walking.
He had reached his destination while lost in thought. The edge of Ivan's territory—the forge that sat right on the boundary line abutting Trap-spider Horce's domain. Old Man Hogel's forge.
Clang. Claaang!
The ring of hammer on steel.
Whoosh.
A wave of scorching heat rolled out to meet him.
Najin let out a short breath and stepped inside. An elderly man stood with his back turned, driving his hammer down in steady strokes.
"What is it, brat."
The forge's master, Hogel, glanced over his shoulder at Najin.
"What's the trouble this time? Doesn't seem long since you took that sword. Did that Ivan say he needed one?"
"Uh… that's not it."
Najin managed an awkward smile.
"Well, old man."
"What. Stop stalling and spit it out."
"About the sword you gave me last time."
Hogel eyed the scabbard at Najin's hip.
Confirming his own work bound there, the old man set down his hammer and curled his mouth into a broad, self-satisfied grin.
"That one I put real care into. Best piece I've hammered out these past few years. What, is the edge so fine it's become a problem?"
"It seems like a defective product."
"What?"
Hogel's eyes bulged.
Najin drew the sword and held it out. The moment Hogel took it, his eyes went wider still. The keen, smoothly gleaming edge was gone; what remained was a blade worn and chipped like the old man's own teeth.
"You… you…"
The hands holding the sword began to tremble.
"Just how the hell do you use a sword to end up looking like this? You hammer nails with it or what?"
"Come on, no way."
He had cracked a few skulls with the flat, sure—but he had never used it as a hammer. Najin shrugged while Hogel turned the blade this way and that.
"This sword—you only took it a month ago."
"A month's plenty of use."
"Crazy bastard."
"Why're you cursing at me."
"The men who buy from me use a blade for years at the least. Proper care and they last longer still. You chew through them by the month—how is that normal—"
Hogel cut himself off mid-sentence.
His hands, which had been turning the sword through every angle, went still. He had found something on the ruined blade.
"Najin."
"Yes, old man."
"You ever lend this to Ivan or Oppen?"
"No? Never. Why?"
Leaving the tilting-headed youth behind, Hogel ran a finger slowly down the length of the blade. The sensation under his fingertip made him frown.
The steel had swollen. Fine cracks webbed the surface.
He knew exactly what that shape meant.
Up on the surface he had seen it often enough; down here he had nearly forgotten it for lack of opportunity. It was the mark left when a sword forged the ordinary way was placed in the hands of a swordsman who could wield aura.
"…"
Hogel eyed Najin in silence.
In this city only two men could draw aura: Oppen and Ivan. If the boy had not lent the sword to either of them, then the brat himself had drawn aura.
Aura—at that age? And in this underground city, without a proper master?
Hogel glared a moment longer, brow furrowed, then looked away. Whether the boy was some once-in-a-generation genius or not was none of his business. A blacksmith only needed to hammer steel well.
Swoosh.
He rolled up his sleeves.
At the thought of forging a real sword for the first time in ages, a smile touched the old man's lips. Hogel shoved the sharpening tools he had already laid out into a corner, then tossed the ruined blade Najin had handed him after them.
"Huh? What—you're not going to sharpen it?"
"It's got to be only moderately wrecked before I bother putting an edge back on. I'll make you a new one. Wait."
"Can't I just take one of the ones you've already got?"
Najin pointed at the swords hanging along the wall.
At the boy's casual question, Hogel made a face as though he had bitten into something foul. Was the brat doing this on purpose, or did he genuinely not know?
"You think I'm handing one of those to a kid who draws aura just so he can trash it? Rather than have you ruin another in less than a month, I'll forge a new one."
"What? Aura?"
Najin blinked.
"How would I draw aura, old man? I don't even know how to handle mana yet."
"Then why's the sword like this?"
"How should I know?"
If you don't know, who does.
They traded identical looks. Hogel was the first to turn away. The brat did not seem to be mocking him, so he was probably simply unaware.
"Anyway."
Hogel muttered as he stoked the forge's fire higher.
"This one's going to cost you."
This was the underground city of Atman.
A place where even a proper sword found no one worthy to wield it, so he had hammered only ordinary blades for years. But when the customer was a swordsman who could draw aura, the story changed.
"I plan to make it properly."
"Wow—so you've only been giving me defective products all this time?"
So that was why they kept breaking so easily.
At Najin's grumbling, Hogel leveled the red-hot hammer at him.
"Shut your mouth and sit there before I start hammering your head instead of the iron."
"Yessir."
Najin promptly closed his mouth and sat demurely in place.
"Come to think of it."
Clang. Claaang.
Hammering iron, Hogel spoke again.
"I had something to tell Ivan. Since you're here, you can pass it along."
"To Ivan? What is it?"
"Lately Horce's boys keep crossing the line. Not just loitering at the boundary—they've been barging right into the shop."
…Right into the shop?
Najin frowned.
"As customers, or—?"
"If they'd come as customers I wouldn't have brought it up."
The old man shook his head as though the very memory disgusted him.
"They demanded protection money. Said since the place sits half on their side of the line, of course I ought to pay them too, and started throwing their weight around… Ridiculous."
Ivan, Horce, Hakan.
Long before those bastards started drawing lines and playing land-grab across the underground city, the old man had set up shop and done business here. Coming now to pick a fight over the location being wrong was simply absurd.
"Did they threaten you?"
"They took a few swords. And added that if I didn't pay up, things would get ugly."
"Hoo."
Najin rubbed his chin.
"They've got some nerve. No—what's giving them that confidence?"
This was firmly Ivan's territory.
Naturally the forge fell under Ivan's protection as well. That had been the agreement after the civil war, and it had held for nearly ten years.
And now they were picking this kind of fight?
It only looked like deliberate provocation. Najin could not quite make sense of it. Hadn't Horce been thoroughly beaten and driven back by Ivan in the civil war a decade ago? There was nothing to gain by poking the man now.
And the power gap's huge, isn't it?
Trap-spider Horce might be a fighter who could stand against Ivan, but Ivan's side also had Oppen. Two swordsmen who had reached the realm of Sword Expert. That was not a gap anyone could casually overturn.
"It is strange. I'll tell Ivan."
"Right. That aside."
Clang. Claaang.
Still hammering, Hogel glanced at the clock.
"They said they'd come again today, so rough them up a bit before you go. That's what I pay you lot protection money for."
"You sure you can afford it? My rate's pretty steep."
"What?"
Najin grinned.
"I'm Ivan's personal hunting dog, you know. Once you use me once, the protection fee's going to skyrocket—you okay with that?"
"Hah. Shameless bastards. You remember how many free swords you've taken off me so far?"
"Just kidding, kidding."
Najin shrugged.
It had been a joke from the start, and this was work that needed doing without pay. Mediating a clash between organizations rather than individuals was naturally something their side had to step up and handle.
"Old man, can you lend me anything to swing for now? Beating them up barehanded's a bit much."
"Not claiming you can't do it, huh."
"If I'm told to, there's nothing I can't."
Hogel laughed as though he could not believe the boy.
"Use this for now. The one I'm making will take a while yet."
He tossed Najin a sword—an old, rusted blade that looked as though it had sat forgotten in a warehouse corner for years.
"A bit heavy?"
"It's one Ivan used back in the day. Different ore ratio, so of course it's heavy. Still, it'll serve for a while."
It was sturdy, at least.
Having said that much, Hogel returned his full attention to the hammer. Clang and claaang filled the forge once more. Leaving the old man immersed in his work, Najin perched on a chair in one corner.
Then, rummaging in his coat, he pulled out a crumpled hat. A postman's cap—the disguise he favored whenever he needed to hide his face.
An hour or two had passed when the street outside the forge grew noisy.
Najin kept his head down and only rolled his eyes to look. Six burly men were swaggering toward the forge with loose, insolent steps.
Men who flaunted every scar as though getting beaten and stabbed were badges of pride.
Coming from Horce's side of the line, they were clearly the organization men Old Man Hogel had mentioned. Najin lowered his head further and pressed the hat a little deeper over his brow.
"Old Man Hogel!"
A gravelly voice. The man at the front barged in, raising his volume. Three entered the shop; three more remained outside.
"The protection money we talked about last time? You've got it ready nice and thick, right?"
Clang. Claaang! No matter what the man said, Hogel only kept hammering iron. Treated as though he did not exist, the visitor twisted his face and kicked everything within reach of his boots.
"This old fart's been hammering so long he's gone deaf. Can't you hear me? I'm asking if you've prepared the protection money. Didn't you hear me say if you don't have the cash we'll take every sword in the place?"
He gestured to the underling behind him.
The man set a box down on the floor with a heavy thud.
"Hey, old man. If you don't hand over the money, we're taking every sword here—so keep that in mind."
Men making a scene and throwing their weight around.
They eventually drifted over to where Najin sat. Glancing at the boy with his head bowed, they snickered among themselves.
A youth in a postman's cap, chin tucked, unable even to meet their eyes—anyone could see he looked terrified. One of them tapped the chair Najin occupied with the toe of his boot.
"Hey, kid. Can't you see the big brothers are talking? Get lost already. Tch. No sense."
The man raised his arm and rapped Najin's head.
Once. Twice. A third time. There was no fourth—because Najin had clamped down hard on the man's wrist.
"Huh. Look at this brat. Lost all fear…?"
The words never finished.
Even when the man put strength into his arm, the boy did not budge. While his companions, still failing to grasp the situation, snickered that he was losing a contest of strength to a little kid—
"Hey, wait. This is weird…"
The man whose wrist Najin held broke out in cold sweat. The grip hurt. His hand was turning white from lack of blood. Gritting his teeth, he was about to draw a blade empty-handed when—
Crunch-crunch-crack!
The sound of bone twisting rang out.
"G-gyaaaaaaaaah!"
The man's wrist bent in a grotesque direction.
His companions could not react at once to the sudden turn. A few blinks. A few breaths. Then belatedly drawn blades and shouts.
In the chaos that erupted in an instant, Najin flicked a glance sideways.
His eyes went not to the men in front of him, but to the forge's owner. Receiving the look, Old Man Hogel glanced back and said shortly,
"Take it outside. Don't trash my shop."
With that, Hogel returned to his hammering.
Najin turned back and twisted the captured wrist a little further. With another long, ragged scream, spit drooled from the man's mouth.
"You heard him."
Slowly twisting the wrist of the man now on his knees and howling, Najin tilted his head.
"Shall we take this outside?"
"You crazy bastard!"
As the others charged, Najin reached behind his back. His hand closed on the hilt he had hidden there; at the same moment he kicked the chair away and rose.
Crack.
He drove his knee into the face of the man whose wrist he still held, toppling him, and drew in the same motion. Shiiing—and swish. The sound of steel leaving the scabbard and the cutting sound rang out together.
Slash.
The arm of the man swinging an axe at him was severed along with the axe handle. In a single stroke, without the slightest hitch.
"H-hyaaaaaah! M-my arm!"
A belated scream. Gushing blood.
As the underling who had charged beside him faltered in shock, Najin's hand clamped hard over the man's face.
Then—crunch.
The underling's head smashed into a shelf. Along with the caved-in wood, the man's eyes rolled back. Casually tossing the limp body to the floor, Najin eyed the one still screaming with a missing arm.
Blood spattered everywhere.
A shelf smashed in the shape of a human head.
A man howling loud enough to shake the forge.
"Sheesh."
Surveying the near-total mess, Najin scratched the back of his neck and muttered. Well, damn.
"I said let's fight outside."
Why didn't they listen.
Clang!
He brought the flat of the blade down on the screaming man's crown.
"Guh…"
The eyes rolled white.
Only then quieting him, Najin seized a fistful of hair and began dragging the man as he stepped out of the forge.
Three remained outside.
Among them was one who looked like the man in charge.