The Spear and the Hammer

The mansion in Talikal was in the middle of its usual uproar.

Even today, with nobles and players clamoring at the gates over what was to be done about Sre, I pushed every last one of them aside, sat with the little dragon at my side, and waited for someone in particular.

One month since the world boss had appeared. One week since it had strengthened to the point where fighting it was flatly impossible.

It was about time he showed up.

"So you are the chosen wielder... I take it."

Deep-colored hair and dull, hazy eyes that glimmered navy-blue. The man dressed in blacksmith's clothes had punched straight through the mansion's security and arrived before me.

Unlike what Vlack had described, his presence was vividly perceptible to me.

Not mana, nor any other ordinary energy — a sensation only I, with the blood of a Celestial flowing in my veins, could feel.

So he's not a Celestial himself.

A remnant of the Celestials. Or someone who'd received something from a being connected to them, at most.

Whatever the case, the fact that he wasn't a Celestial meant conversation was suddenly a real possibility.

"Welcome."

"You knew I was coming?"

"A little? Things are in a rather precarious state right now, you see."

Beyond the fall of Talikal, the entire continent now stood at the brink of destruction. And to overcome a crisis like that, we needed a Mythic-grade weapon — in other words, a Masterpiece.

Drak's hand, still not quite certain of itself, closed firmly around his hammer.

"...Tell me. Are you truly giving this your all?"

"?"

"No. Never mind. Forget I asked."

Drak hastily backpedaled, gathering up his words. I didn't argue the point; I simply smiled.

"I've heard quite a lot about you, Drak. Guardian of Talikal, great hero, great master smith. You carry so many titles that my expectations ran a little high."

"Is that so?"

"It is. Which is why I have a question."

A man with power like this — someone who could topple even Vlack with a flick of one hand.

"Why don't you take the field yourself?"

"My mission is the protection of Talikal. And protection is not limited to standing guard with my own two hands. If Talikal can be defended by the arms I forge, then that suffices, does it not?"

"It's not fear, then?"

"...What did you say?"

I stroked Sre's back and met Drak's gaze head-on. Navy eyes, yes — but eyes I knew all too well.

"A power that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠does nothing but watch. A power that is strong, yet can never step forward. If that's your limitation, then so be it. But it isn't, is it?"

When I'd first heard the rumors about Drak, I'd assumed he labored under exactly such a restriction. The authority of those two accursed races always demanded a terrible price, after all.

But having faced him directly, I knew better now.

"You clearly can step forward. You simply content yourself with forging for others instead. And the reason for that is almost certainly the being who first planted your mission in you."

"......"

"But nowhere in that mission does it say you're to exclude yourself."

Am I wrong?

"...You know, you're not at all what I expected from an otherworlder."

"I hear that a lot."

I hadn't been an otherworlder for a very long time. To be precise — perhaps I once had been, but I no longer was.

After long deliberation, Drak raised a small crafting hammer into the air.

"It seems a touch too early to tell you everything."

"Is that so?"

"It is. This is a trial."

Ding!

The quest popped up right on cue. And at exactly that moment, I turned my stream on.

Got to farm that new content, after all.

Lately all my viewers had seen was failure after failure, and the new-content energy had been running dry. And new content was serious business.

"A trial, hm. From the sound of it, I'm expecting quite an extended ordeal."

"An ordeal it is. A Masterpiece is a weapon infused with its wielder's will. If it could be made easily, the weapon itself would amount to nothing more than an easy one."

In the end, whatever way you sliced it, what he meant was: this called for a complicated quest.

"Fine. In exchange, though—"

Whoosh.

"Let's have a match."

"...Huh? As long as you're already the chosen wielder, there's hardly any need for—"

"Scared?"

"...Very well. I'll indulge you. I'll make you weep tears and snot, I promise you that."

Deal secured.

■

In the middle of all the swirling controversy, everyone's attention had converged on a single point: the appearance of Drak.

At long last, Drak — the man whose hands held Talikal's fate — had chosen Lily as his chosen wielder, and Lily was to have a Masterpiece forged. People were saying that this impossible raid finally had a glimmer of hope.

But separately from all that, public interest had drifted somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere on the plains of Talikal, under the eyes of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠countless onlookers, a cold wind — unusual for this place — swept over the spot where Drak and I stood facing each other.

Gripping his small hammer, Drak gave a casual flick of his hand.

"You're an Immortal, so even dying is of little consequence to you. If you'd rather not die, dodge on your own or surrender."

"And I'll take care not to kill you. No need to worry on my account."

Holding back from killing is old hat to me, after all.

"......Here I come."

Whumm.

The hammer moved. An impossibly small hammer.

"...!"

And yet, radiating overwhelming force as it closed the distance in a heartbeat, that little hammer struck the barrier woven of divine power. The barrier cracked in an instant and caved in with a single groaning collapse.

As I swiftly retreated, Drak swung the hammer once more.

Nothing about his movement suggested a man trained in blunt-weapon arts or seasoned in battle. Riddled with openings, his transitions breaking off one after another in jagged pieces.

But.

"Hah!"

THWANG!

Parrying my spear aside at the precise instant, his hammer spun in a whirling arc and came around for the barrier once more. KWA-CRASH! The barrier shattered into fragments, and Drak brought his hammer straight up to intercept the arc of my descending spear, holding it fast.

The impact launched him clean off his feet into empty air.

I spun the spear.

Spear's Roar.

The instant the roar that tore battlefields apart reached the tip of Drak's nose, his eyes flashed. For a moment, that navy gaze had reclaimed its blue light — and then the roar simply vanished, leaving behind nothing but Drak, hammer swinging.

GRAKAKAKAK!

I laid my spear shaft low to catch the hammer. As expected, the weight behind it was considerable.

"...How about you start fighting in earnest?"

"You don't seem to be fighting in earnest yourself, Drak?"

"Ho! Would you have this old man dig up everything he has?"

"Hmmm..."

Perhaps because I'd already seen a far more outrageous old man, none of this moved me in the slightest.

"Then shall we make a little wager?"

"...A wager?"

"If I lose, I'll clear every one of those troublesome trials of yours. And I'll keep protecting Talikal afterward, too."

"And if you win?"

"If I win..."

Heh heh.

"You forge the Masterpiece without any trial. That's my condition."

"...?! A Masterpiece cannot be born without trial! That is what a Masterpiece is!"

"The trials so far have been plenty."

I had intended to protect Talikal one way or another long before any Masterpiece entered the picture. Above all, I had spent decades wandering the world, forced to endure trials beyond counting — an endless procession of choices and battles straddling life and death.

Trial enough. Far more than enough.

"...I see I'll have to knock some sense into you."

"Shall I take that as a yes?"

"Do it. Don't come crying to me later."

No more going easy.

With Drak's final word, the little hammer erupted with a thunderous roar and flooded with navy-blue energy. The spear shaft braced against it crumpled like so much paper.

Power suddenly amplified several times over.

"Here I come."

I stared blankly at the hurtling hammer and my spear, bent into an L-shape. Barely repaired, and broken again already.

Eh, whatever.

"?!"

I could always just get a new one.

"This is going to hurt a little."

KWAAAAAAAANG!!!

The hammer that had materialized in my hand at some point smashed straight through Drak's hammer and sent Drak himself flying into the far distance.

"Home run?"

■

Drak's power had been amplified quite considerably, which meant I'd swung my hammer back with quite a bit of force in return.

I hadn't used any blunt-weapon technique or anything special. I'd simply swung hard. A little harder than usual, that's all.

Fwooooo...

"Are you alright?"

"...So this is what they mean by wounding someone and then playing the healer."

"You're injured, so treating you is only natural."

"Utterly mad...."

I had gone to find Drak — hurled three territories' distance from where we'd fought — and was now treating his wounds. Drak looked dumbfounded, but to me this was all rather familiar territory.

Healing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠someone, that is.

"Well, it's a relief. If anything had gone wrong, that would have been a disaster."

Not that I'd have used a resurrection spell to bring him back if it had.

"...What is it you truly want?"

"Sorry?"

"Is it truly the protection of Talikal that drives you to seek a Masterpiece? Or the collection of many Masterpieces?"

And if neither of those—

"Perhaps compulsion?"

A compulsion toward power. The restless need to grow ever stronger, even when there was no real need to...

"...You know the phrase 'the more, the merrier'? The more I have, the better."

"An amusing answer. Very well. I imagine you have your own secrets hidden away too."

As if deciding he would ask no more, Drak quietly submitted to the treatment.

"From the look of you, you favor two weapons — the spear and the hammer. Which one, I wonder, shall I forge for you?"