Chapter 4
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Dragon Slayer
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The first time that 'status window' popped up in front of my eyes, even I couldn't believe it.
No warning whatsoever. Just a translucent message floating there like it was overlaying reality itself.
[Hidden Class – Mythic Blacksmith]
[Would you like to select?]
[Yes / No]
Hidden class?
Mythic... blacksmith?
I stared blankly at the words for a moment.
This kind of development usually happened to protagonists isekai'd into games or worlds with level-up systems attached.
But not me.
I was the guy who'd poured most of my previous life into earning a PhD, writing papers, and prepping conference presentations.
Forget games—I barely spent any time with my family, and the monsters I dealt with in reality were deadlines and reviewers, not fantasy beasts.
The only reason I even theoretically knew what this was came from reading a bit of web novels.
Which made it all the more ridiculous.
Not isekai'd into a game.
Not a game world at all.
Just reincarnated into a medieval fantasy isekai like this one, and bam—here's a choice prompt popping up.
And on top of that.
The 'mythic' descriptor definitely caught the eye, but the job attached to it was the problem.
Blacksmith.
The job where you just swing a hammer, stand in front of a fire, and pound on lumps of metal.
"...Of all things."
I let out a hollow laugh.
Of course, thinking in game terms, 'mythic' was literally the top tier.
Above legend, above hero—the insane rank that only showed up right before the ending.
So if this was real—
"I'd become an insanely amazing blacksmith, right?"
That's what I said out loud, but honestly, it didn't feel real at all.
Because no matter how incredible a blacksmith was, they were just village support.
In other words, purely a 'helper' role at best.
"Should I... be happy about this or not?"
The words slipped out as a mutter.
Ever since hearing the news a couple days ago that Lady Elysia had been dragged off to a dragon's lair, my mind hadn't been right.
And in the middle of all that, this status window suddenly appears.
The setup of awakening some cheat-level ability like a web novel protagonist wasn't bad in itself.
But of all jobs, it had to be this one.
"This is basically telling me not to fight."
That was my honest take.
No matter how you spun it, a blacksmith wasn't a frontline job that charged in and slashed enemies.
That held true in games and history alike.
Of course.
I was a history major.
I didn't view blacksmiths as just "NPCs swinging hammers at metal" with such a shallow understanding.
Blacksmith.
In other words, artisan.
Before the concept of factories, all weapons were made by human hands.
Select the iron, control the fire's temperature, hammer it endlessly, and finish with heat treatment to shape it.
Every single step required experience and intuition—impossible without them.
In modern terms, they were skilled technicians, or key players in critical munitions industries.
So by medieval standards, blacksmiths were definitely respected professions, among the wealthier commoners.
The problem was—
"They're still the ones making, not using."
No matter if you forged a holy sword, it was the knight wielding it in battle.
No matter if you sharpened a legendary blade, it was the hero standing on the battlefield.
Blacksmiths were always one step behind.
"No matter how I think about it... I can't picture a blacksmith grabbing their own weapon and heading out to fight."
That was a realistic assessment.
And that reality felt brutally cruel in my current situation.
I wanted to help Lady Elysia right now, but there was nothing I could do alone.
She was my lifesaver, the one who'd rescued my life.
Yet here I was, powerless again.
"...Still."
I gritted my teeth.
At the very least, I could make a weapon.
Even if it meant dying in a fight against a dragon, I could forge at least one weapon worthy of Lady Elysia with these hands.
The problem came after that.
The person who would wield that weapon and dare stand before a dragon.
In this world, was there anyone besides me?
That thought flashed through my mind—right then.
▶ Blacksmith (Mythic)
- A Mythic Blacksmith commands the very concept of 'crafting' itself.
- Based on your knowledge and understanding, you can manifest weapons and gear that no longer exist or survive only as legends and myths.
▶ Common
- Everyday weapons and gear
- Achievable with smelting techniques alone
▶ Advanced
- Weapons enhanced with mana
- Standard gear for knights and regular soldiers
▶ Rare
- Weapons with special effects
- Gear with magic, attributes, or unique traits
▶ Heroic
- Weapons from heroic tales
- Exclusive gear tied to specific individuals or conditions
▶ Legendary
- Divine weapons passed down as legends
- Symbols of nations or races
▶ Mythic
- Conceptual weapons existing only in myths
- Armaments for facing gods, dragons, or the world itself
- Weapon origins span all worlds.
- Includes historical records, myths, legends, oral traditions, and conceptual armaments.
- Crafted item's performance scales with 'Affinity' and 'Replication Fidelity'.
- Crafter must fully comprehend the creation process.
- Incomprehensible concepts cannot be crafted.
- Exclusive weapons require sufficient 'Affinity ()' or 'Bond' with the target.
"Is this... the class description window?"
As if it had read my unease, translucent windows scrolled up one after another before my eyes.
Dense.
Bluntly so.
Like it was screaming, 'You'll regret passing this up!'
In the end, the explanation of the Mythic Blacksmith shattered every preconception I'd had—from start to finish—about some 'hammer-pounding upper-class commoner craftsman.'
First, my eyes locked on [Craftable Grades].
Beyond everyday weapons, past magic-infused artifacts, reaching legends—and even surpassing them.
It was beyond what you'd call 'fitting for a fantasy world.'
And below that.
Weapons' origins span all worlds.
That one line hit me like a hammer to the head.
Not just weapons recorded in actual history, but tales surviving only in folklore.
Stories of dubious veracity.
Even fictional armaments existing solely in myth.
'I can make them.'
"Legends and myths, huh..."
I muttered absently.
"Then... something like the club Heracles swung in Greek myth, or Cú Chulainn's spear from Celtic lore—"
I trailed off, imagining it.
That was all.
Just picturing it in my head...
A chill.
Goosebumps raced up my spine already.
Of course, there were conditions.
You needed 'understanding' of the weapon to craft it.
But.
That was my strongest domain.
Studying history isn't just memorizing timelines.
It's delving into the myths underpinning that history, the local folklore, what people believed, and the stories they used to explain the world.
The reason I'd chosen the path of a historian in the first place was because 'human history' appealed less than the 'tales gods wrote first.'
A childhood hunger for stories.
That hunger became my major, my papers, and the man I am now.
Once I thought of it that way, this class felt familiar—no longer alien.
This wasn't just a crafting job.
It was the culmination of my life so far.
The seat that turned all my accumulated knowledge, obsession, and tenacity into tangible results.
In short, this class was prepared for me.
"Choice is obviously YES."
[Congratulations.]
[You have acquired the Hidden Class 'Mythic Blacksmith.']
The next instant.
The moment I tapped the floating button, it was like someone cracked open my skull—alien sensations flooded in all at once.
Knowledge.
Not theory, but experience.
Even with my soft palms, the angle and force for gripping a hammer came naturally.
The sound when striking metal instinctively told me if the fire was too hot or the iron not heated enough.
It felt like a callused master's memories were forcibly overlaid onto me.
And from that moment.
My body knew—independent of my will—what the most important thing to do right now was, and it moved.
I rose at dawn, hastily submitted leave, and left the castle without a word.
I walked, and walked some more, following paths where human feet no longer tread.
Finally, I arrived at an abandoned, dilapidated smithy no longer in use.
The moment I opened the door, the scent of dust mingled with the presence of aged metal.
Inside: rusted iron scraps, a cracked anvil, a hammer with a worn handle.
Pathetic.
But to an artisan, the state of materials is no excuse.
Not being picky about tools.
That defined an artisan.
The instant I settled in the corner, the forge belched flames as if it had been waiting.
The fire wasn't ordinary.
Its hue was subtly different.
Mana rippled through the heat like breath.
I picked up the hammer.
And began to strike.
Clang.
Clang!
The sound gained rhythm.
Like a ritual.
Like a festival.
The air in the smithy grew scorching hot.
What I was about to forge now was a sword.
For the one who bore the blood of the Valenhardt Family yet had not obtained her holy sword.
My lady, Elysia.
What she needed wasn't the legends of this world that a hero's heir hadn't inherited.
What came to mind was from the Korea of my previous life—across oceans, over mountains, from a cultural sphere utterly different from this empire.
A land where tales of steel and blood, heroes and betrayal, and dragon lore endured as stories.
Germany.
There exists an ancient epic there.
A tale of gods and men, greed and curses, converging on a single hero.
Song of the Nibelungs.
In that story, one man slays a black dragon.
Bathed in dragon's blood, he transcends human limits.
Proving that legend was a sword.
Not a mere weapon.
A blade completed as legend only by slaying a dragon.
I knew that story, understood its context, and could recreate its meaning with these hands.
CLANG—!!
With the final strike, flames erupted massively.
The sound echoing through the smithy wasn't hammer blows—it rang like a declaration of completion.
I exhaled.
And gazed down at it on the anvil.
The hero Siegfried's sword.
Balmung