One More...?
One more...?
KWAAANG!
"That's absurd!"
No sooner had my bombshell of a declaration landed than an old man who had been glowering openly from atop his seat since the Duke's outburst earlier now shouted out his displeasure for the whole hall to hear.
He looked like a man in his sixties, but with mana swirling around him and any number of specialized magic artifacts strapped to his body, his presence was positively vibrant. His true age was probably far greater than that.
"Not content with failing to show proper respect in His Majesty's audience chamber, now you have the audacity to demand... another Masterpiece?"
"I don't believe I've failed to show respect at any point."
"Ha! And that attitude of yours is precisely what I call disrespect, you outsider!"
As the man bared his eyes and roared his outrage, the King's expression darkened with discomfort.
"What is the meaning of this behavior, Duke Anto?"
"Your Majesty! Even if we must accept this outsider's aid, she has already taken what was owed to her—and now she demands more on top of it? This is beyond all reason!"
"We are in a position where we need her help."
"Even so, that doesn't make it right!"
His words drew displeasure from some in the hall—and murmurs of agreement from others.
And the chat window was very clearly displeased.
Dria's brow furrowed.
"The Empire is closing in. Once again we will be drenched in blood, and our peaceful territories will be swept into the flames of war. So tell me—what could possibly be worth ruining this gathering over?"
"We are partners, not a vassal state to be stripped bare. Why should we hand over everything as though we were the ones who lost the war?"
"Duke Anto."
"Everyone knows this outsider Lily is exceptional. I have no intention of denying that! However."
He turned his head.
Far more furious than he'd been a moment ago.
What a brat.
"If we surrender even the last remaining Masterpiece, Talikal will be left with not a single one. Every last artifact will have passed into the hands of an outsider!"
"And so you would rather set the kingdom ablaze over a handful of trinkets?"
"...But still!"
"I will permit no further outbursts. Duke Anto. Consider this a warning—to you, and to your duchy."
"......"
Duke Anto fell silent.
Even so, his glaring eyes did not stop burning.
Dria offered me an apologetic look before turning my way once more.
"We have shown a guest discourtesy. Allow me to apologize."
"How strange."
At my words, every gaze in the hall converged on me.
"I came here at the invitation of Talikal's own diplomat, Vir. I walked into this audience chamber of my own accord to help Talikal, and I am speaking with you now."
All while bearing the weight of countless eyes upon me.
At my words, the nobles flinched and scrambled to keep their expressions in check.
"A few of them were somewhat rude to me, and I let it pass. I'm used to looks like theirs—but more importantly, I came here to build a good relationship with Talikal."
That much, I could forgive.
My psyche wasn't so fragile that a little greed or hostility could wound it, and honestly, things on that level were nothing at all.
But when it's expressed directly, that's another story.
Step.
Each time I extended my foot, sharp-edged mana rippled through the air around me.
It wasn't quite killing intent—but it was sharp enough to get under anyone's skin.
Had I scattered mana like this the moment I walked in, the royal guards would have already drawn their blades.
But right now, there was neither a justification to stop me nor anyone willing to try.
Above all else.
Gulp.
This was the mana that had been trained on me since I first adopted my cold, unyielding posture.
All of which I had likewise ignored until now.
"I came here intending to pay a fair price for what I would receive, but the difficulty of the request exceeds the compensation—so I requested additional payment."
"......"
"So tell me. Have I done anything wrong at any point here?"
The audience chamber went ice-cold.
No one could find their voice; eyes darted every which way in silence.
Everyone seems to be mistaken about something: I came to help Talikal as an equal.
The kingdom's nobles see me as a mercenary at best, or perhaps something slightly above one—a hired reinforcement—which is why they believe I must grovel before their king with the utmost courtesy.
'Absurd.'
I am not a subject of this kingdom.
The kingdom and I are equals.
Which means the King and I stand on level ground.
And yet the only reason I have quietly endured the rudeness that came before and the King's wishy-washy honorifics is that I understand the peculiar weight of the word "kingdom" and the burden of a king's seat.
I know all too well what that position entails, and how one must live within it.
But if they refuse to understand me in turn...
'Then I see no reason to understand them either.'
My gaze and Dria's collided head-on.
Hoo... Dria let out a long, deep breath.
Then, carefully, he descended from his high throne until his eyes met mine at the same level.
He slowly removed his crown, and his head bowed.
"I am sorry."
"Y-Your Majesty?!"
"What is the meaning of..."
The King of an entire nation had stepped down from his throne, removed his crown, and bowed his head.
An absolutely impossible sight.
But Lily, who had witnessed scenes like this countless times before, simply regarded the King with perfect equanimity.
"Talikal's situation is dire. The Empire is strong, and the Masterpieces have been the driving force behind our ability to hold the line. That force existed because of the great blacksmith Drak."
However—
"Drak will not lift his hammer even at my command. He is something like a guardian god to Talikal. He raises his hammer only when the kingdom itself stands on the brink."
And so Drak forged the seven Masterpieces.
Protecting Talikal through seven crises, one after another.
And now, on this occasion, the 'eighth' Masterpiece would almost certainly be forged.
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Once everything is finished, I will deliver the Green Hermit to you without fail."
But—
"There is a condition. No... perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a request."
"?"
The great Masterpieces of Drak.
Seven armaments crafted over centuries, boasting overwhelming power and performance beyond anything else in the world.
Because they are armaments, one might assume them all to be weapons—but among the Masterpieces there exist non-weapon forms as well, like rings or gauntlets, bearing mysterious abilities of their own.
Each of these magnificent Masterpieces took a different form, entrusted to a master worthy of it.
Which raises a question.
'Why is every single Masterpiece a different shape?'
One could simply assume Drak wanted to try something new each time he forged one. But the non-weapon Masterpieces were, frankly, poorly suited to the kind of wielder who would need to handle and use them.
Weapons of such particular specialization could only unleash their true effects in the hands of someone with considerable fundamental skill.
And a Masterpiece had to empower someone capable of actually protecting the kingdom.
"Hmm..."
The Red Guide reaches out its hand.
The Green Hermit wants to hide.
The reason was simple.
Every Masterpiece is forged tailored to its destined user.
When calamity looms over the kingdom, Drak 'appears' from somewhere, seeks out a 'suitable one' capable of averting the kingdom's destruction, and approaches them.
That is why the Masterpieces were different every time.
Because each suitable one's temperament and abilities were completely different.
Just as Vlack received the crescent-shaped black greatsword, the Black Destroyer, to hold back the world boss known as the Black Eye.
A Masterpiece's appearance, its personality, its abilities—all of it is shaped by the one it is destined for.
I tilted the jade-green dagger, the Green Hermit, this way and that as I gazed ahead.
I could see the Finance Minister, who looked remarkably young for his station, and beside him Vir, his head bowed as though he'd been thoroughly fluffed up and shaken down.
The people I'd met with separately after the audience concluded.
My own face was reflected in the green blade.
"...So. You're telling me to go meet Lord Drak and request the forging of a new Masterpiece. Is that what this is?"
"That is correct. If the Empire truly goes to war, Drak will surely reveal himself before the first battle even begins."
He will appear. Without fail.
No one but Drak himself, who forges the Masterpieces, knows who the 'suitable one' will be—but he always, certainly, shows up.
The trouble is, everyone hopes that suitable one will be the capable warrior Lily, who came to save the kingdom...
...but there's every chance it could be some honest farmer (48) named James Somebody, tilling the soil of some fertile field.
And that's not a hyperbolic example. It's a case that actually happened.
The fourth Masterpiece: the round scythe glowing yellow, the Yellow Marauder.
Going by its name and appearance alone, you'd expect a weapon made to harvest souls—but if its bearer was a farmer, anyone would do a double take.
A farmer who harvested the necks of men instead of stalks of grain.
Had it been anyone but Drak, such a thing would have been utterly impossible—but the great blacksmith made even that possible.
'If someone else becomes the suitable one, they'll become a new axis of power. No one can disrespect the hero who saved the kingdom from destruction.'
Which is why, if someone simply must have it, it was far preferable that it go to Lily—who already possessed Masterpieces to begin with.
...That was His Majesty's royal decree, but honestly speaking, as Finance Minister, the whole affair gave him quite the headache.
One more, on top of the two she already had.
And she was even being handed the one yet to be forged.
Frankly, his honest feeling was indignation—but he simply could not fathom His Majesty's true intentions.
With roughly ninety percent of his greatest authority as Finance Minister—the finances—stripped away, he wanted to fly into a rage and storm out on the spot, just like Duke Anto. But an order was an order. There was nothing to be done.
'I have no choice but to comply.'
The jade-green blade settled into Lily's slender white hand.
She smiled, beautifully.
"Very well. Let's do exactly that."