That's Not How You Repair a Weapon...
"W-wait a second…"
The female adventurer, who had expected nothing more than a cloth to wipe off some grime, froze in surprise when the heavy equipment came out.
Click.
Clank.
But then—
"Huh?"
She fell silent the moment she saw the child dismantle her sword with practiced ease. This was nothing like the work of a five-year-old.
Those tiny, stubby fingers flew across the blade, taking it completely apart in moments. Only then did the child pull out a cloth and oil and begin polishing every surface with meticulous care.
"(Surprisingly professional, milady.)"
The male adventurer standing beside her murmured under his breath.
"(Impressive. At that age…)"
"(Looking at the speed, most blacksmiths would be put to shame.)"
Creak-creak.
Scrape-scrape.
The child soon lifted the sword and set the edge against a whetstone. The two adventurers forgot their words entirely and simply sat down to watch the work unfold.
"……"
A short while later.
"Hm? Is something wrong?"
The child shuffled over to the woman with fidgety little steps, head bowed so low their eyes never met, and held something out.
"What's this?"
Screws. Two in the left hand, one in the right.
"What about them?"
"Th-that is…"
The child stammered, barely able to form words. Realizing how hard conversation was for the little one, the woman examined the screws carefully.
"Ah…"
Unlike the other two, one screw was heavily rusted.
"You mean this one needs replacing?"
"(Nod-nod.)"
"Hmm… Can't I just keep using it as is?"
"(Shake-shake-shake-shake.)"
The child flatly refused the idea of leaving it alone.
"Then can you fix this too?"
"(Nod.)"
"All right. Please do."
"……"
"Hm? Why aren't you starting?"
"…Ah."
The child fidgeted as if struggling to force out a difficult phrase, then finally managed to open her mouth.
"Extra… fee."
The words were barely audible.
"Ah, that. No need to worry about it."
"(Nod.)"
The child returned to the workbench. Creak. This time she began carving a new screw to match the exact size of the rusted one.
Click.
At last every task was finished.
"……"
"My thanks."
The female adventurer took the sword back. Anyone could see how clean and restored it now looked.
"Hm?"
The moment she held it, a strange sensation ran through her.
The weight balance… feels more stable?
She turned the blade this way and that, marveling.
"Thank you."
She smiled and reached out to ruffle the child's hair—
Clank.
"O-oh? Customers, I see."
The real owner of the forge pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Ahem. Need something?"
He eyed the two cloaked figures in their shabby gear with a faintly cold attitude.
"Ah, we were just with this child…"
The woman pointed at the sword she had just received and glanced toward the child—
"(Shake-shake-shake-shake.)"
—only to see the little one frantically shaking her head. The woman stopped mid-sentence.
"Never mind. We'll come again."
With that the two of them left the forge.
Clank.
The male adventurer hurried after the woman as she strode out of the forge in a daze.
"Leaving already? Without checking further?"
"No. That child is the one. The one we've been looking for."
"What? How can you be so sure?"
Without warning the woman unfastened a button and bared her collarbone.
"Gah?! M-milady, what are you—"
"Stop babbling and look carefully."
"Huh?"
Only then did he notice the crescent-moon mark near her collarbone.
"This is…?"
"The mark of the North. Anyone with even a drop of Bearheart blood carries this somewhere on their body."
"I never knew."
"If you focus, you can feel mana flowing from it as well."
"Oh? You're right."
"And that little one earlier—there was a similar mark on the back of her right hand."
"Ah! Then that means…"
"Yes."
The hooded female adventurer—Freya Bearheart, the only daughter of the Northern Grand Duke, or so she had believed—gazed silently back toward the forge.
"That child is my half-sister. The bastard born when our worthless Grand Duke forced himself on her mother."
"As I thought…"
Albert, the knight standing at her side, wore a bitter expression.
"Then we should begin soon."
"……"
"Though the situation has grown complicated. Of all places, she lives outside the northern border—in an autonomous city, no less."
"Yes."
"We'll have to find a way to draw her out quietly. Buying the child with money will be difficult, I assume? After all, her father is…"
Albert reached into his coat and drew a dagger.
"No. Stop, Albert."
Freya stayed his hand.
"Pardon?"
"We will not do that."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
Albert sheathed the dagger again, then stepped closer with a flustered look and whispered urgently.
"You cannot, milady. Have you forgotten? This is a loyalty test set by the Grand Duke himself."
"I know."
"If you fail to finish this properly, it won't be the Grand Duke who takes your head—it will be your elder brothers."
"Perhaps."
"'Perhaps'? If you do not kill that bastard child, then you—"
"……"
Freya looked down at the weapon her half-sister Tina had just repaired.
"To think a worn-out sword could become such a fine blade…"
She closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought.
"Even you were doing your best in your own place. At that young age…"
"Milady?"
"Then I, at the very least, must struggle as well."
"What are you saying?"
"Albert. Look at this."
Freya drew a letter from her coat.
"This is…?"
"A letter from the very territory we were meant to visit."
"Ah!"
"Yes. Twenty such letters have reached me."
Albert scanned the contents and recoiled in shock.
"The northern lords who command ten thousand troops have already sworn loyalty to me."
"Th-this is reckless, milady. The capital already fields a larger force, and those who support the eldest young master number even more."
"I know."
"And one day you will have to face both young masters yourself."
"I know that too."
"The Grand Duke may be old, but the young masters are not. Setting the eldest aside, you have never once bested the second young master, have you?"
"True. But I no longer intend to return."
"Milady…"
"Albert. Do you truly believe I will live if I kill the Grand Duke's bastard?"
"……"
"Exactly. The game for the throne has already begun. Even a younger sister with no claim to succession is someone they cannot trust."
"Milady…"
"Only two paths remain. Wither away as I am… or resist."
"There is also the option of fleeing."
"I will not."
"……"
Albert bowed his head bitterly.
"Milady."
"Yes."
"I will stay with you to the end."
"Tina! What are you doing? Get to work!"
"(Nod.)"
Ah, she was a pretty older sister. No—an older sister now.
Clink.
The silver coin the adventurer sister had secretly left behind jingled inside my clothes. I would have to spend it carefully so my adoptive father never noticed.
"I've got business. I'm heading out."
"(Nod.)"
My adoptive father left the house again. Not for business—just to go drink himself stupid. Thanks to several city-hall contracts he had landed lately, the household finances had improved quite a bit.
I, meanwhile, was still living on boiled flour gruel.
Clank.
I opened the storeroom and hauled out the wooden shafts stacked inside. Materials for spears. The city government was expanding its army these days. Something about the northern situation looking unstable. Rumors said the Northern Grand Duke had fallen ill and a succession war was brewing, or something like that.
Clang-clang-clang.
Whatever. None of my business. I hurried to finish the work my adoptive father had left half-done. He would not be back until well past dawn.
Which meant…
Clang.
"Haa… Done."
Tonight I could finally step outside the forge.
Rustle.
I took out the secret weapon I had been hiding for so long.
Clank.
A full-plate helmet forged to fit my head perfectly. With this, no one would recognize me. It would also keep a little kid from looking like easy prey wandering alone at night. Anyone who saw me in armor would assume I was a dwarf. People might ignore a child, but no one trifled with a dwarf. I knew how foul-tempered they could be—I had met a few as customers. Of course, that was mostly my adoptive father's fault for trying to overcharge them.
"Haa…"
I took a deep breath. Even in my previous life I had barely gone outside, so the nerves were only natural. But I had no choice. If I wanted to craft a wider variety of things in this forge, I needed to go out and buy materials.
Clank.
I opened the door and stepped into the night.
"Haa…"
The same streets I had glimpsed briefly when Mother was still alive—streets I had never seen again since.
First… find a general store and an apothecary.
I carefully studied the hanging signs, then set off in the right direction.
Thud.
That was when my foot caught on a stone and I went sprawling.
Clang.
The helmet flew right off my head.
"Ah!"
I jammed it back on in a panic and scanned the surroundings. No one seemed to have noticed.
"Whew…"
This city had strong autonomy and solid security, but I could not let my guard down. A pervert kidnapper could snatch me up at any moment. Honestly, this little kid's body was far too inconvenient. I wished I would grow up already…
Knock-knock-knock.
After many twists and turns I finally reached a nearby general store.
"Welcome? Hm?"
The shopkeeper who had started to greet me had to look down to spot me at all.
"Wel… come?"
He still did not recognize me.
Scritch-scritch-scritch.
Hello.
No need to speak and give away that I was a child. I began a written conversation on my slate with chalk.
"Need… something?"
The shopkeeper eyed me with open suspicion.
"(Nod.)"
Scritch-scritch-scritch.
I wiped the slate clean and prepared to list what I needed.
Scrape-scrape.
"…."
That was when I heard it—the soft scraping of a small paring knife working on some kind of nut or root. The shopkeeper was doing odd jobs while we talked, casually whittling away with a knife.
"If you need something, just say so."
"……"
And that knife…
"Customer. I asked if you need anything."
…was one I had made.
Scritch-scritch-scritch.
So—
"Hm?"
Thud.
I slammed the slate down in front of the shopkeeper.
That's not how you use that.
A blacksmith has to say what needs saying, after all.
