Chapter 147
Chapter 147
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 147
Chapter Title: 15. Adding Insult to Injury? (8)
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# 147
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The rhythmic clang of iron being hammered echoed steadily from the village's one and only smithy.
I'd left my greatest weapon here for repairs.
"All done?"
"Ah, Melrn, it's you."
The blacksmith recognized me just from my voice as I stepped through the door. He was a middle-aged man, just a bit older than me.
And here's the key point: he was middle-aged, not elderly.
This was vitally important, so it bore repeating!
"The stuff you left is over on the right. Grab it yourself."
"Got it."
He was swamped with work these days and didn't even glance my way, just kept pounding away at the iron from behind.
Truth be told, having a smithy in a backwater village like ours wasn't ordinary at all.
Skilled smiths who could smelt and forge iron were rare talents.
Even in a peaceful kingdom with hardly any wars, no lord would let one go easily.
If they decided to supply weapons to rebels, an uprising wouldn't be far off.
But in this world full of greedy lords, ours was a rare decent one. He let retiring craftsmen return to their hometowns.
Thanks to that, the returning artisans put their skills to use for the village, a godsend for us scraping by in this harsh land.
"Let's see... this it?"
I gave the hardworking smith one appreciative glance, then pulled my secret weapon from the corner and inspected it closely.
"Ooh..."
"Your tool's unique. Fun to work on."
His gruff voice carried a hint of pride amid my admiration.
But I could tell.
The surprise hidden in that tone!
I'd been just as shocked as a kid, trailing my parents to the fields.
No God Hoe, one of Korea's mightiest farming tools!
The hoe (Ho-Mi)!
The ultimate farming implement that spread worldwide.
Small but mighty: digs soil, levels earth, weeds, even harvests potatoes.
A shovel, a dibber, a weeder, and a harvester all in one.
Existing since the Three Kingdoms era—no wonder it stirs national pride, even if you grumble about it.
Simple, widespread, and efficient—one standard God Hoe lets an adult man weed 300 pyeong of rice paddy in a day.
Best part? Low risk of injury, easy even for a cute daughter to use!
"You made it perfect, just like we agreed."
"Yeah, sturdy but not too sharp. Heard it's for a girl, so I put extra care into it."
"Thanks."
"No need. It's my job."
His stoic hammering only boosted my trust.
That was true craftsmanship!
"How much?"
"Ten silver."
Damn... Lost in artisan spirit, now reeling from the price again.
Ten silver wasn't cheap for a commoner, but doable.
For ironwork, it was a bargain.
Not forging from scratch—just melting down damaged tools and scraps, so material costs were low.
Still, smiths were treated like artisans. Their labor alone made ten silver a steal.
Custom-fitting a God Hoe and such? Even better!
"Use it well."
He didn't check the payment—or rather, hadn't turned once since I arrived—just waved me off casually.
No one here wanted bad blood with the longtime local smith.
"Here you go."
I set down the pouch of silver, slung the sack of tools over my shoulder.
It weighed a ton, but this body had decades of conditioning!
No sweat for me.
"Hm?"
A few steps outside, something felt off.
"What? Did I miscount?"
The farm crew hadn't changed, so tool quantities stayed the same.
Weight should've been identical...
"But it feels heavier?"
I dropped the aching sack and checked the tools.
"Yup..."
Exactly the usual amount.
Same sizes too.
Sack weight unchanged.
Then...!
"No way."
Only one explanation left, but I rejected it.
Even lazing through winter, I'd built up some strength!
"These sturdy muscles!"
Squelch.
"Urgh..."
I grabbed my bicep.
Once iron-hard from training, now it was mushy despite the bulk.
"Where's my six-pack?!"
I lifted my shirt. Belly flat.
Muscle traces lingered, but no chiseled abs.
"No way..."
Lazing a bit shouldn't make this weight feel heavy!
"No, impossible!"
I hoisted the sack again, straining.
"Heavy."
Not impossible, but tough.
Shoulder it home? Draining, but doable.
Just that bit harder.
My body noticed the difference.
"But..."
It meant last year's me and this year's were worlds apart.
Something routine now felt subtly taxing.
I'd weakened.
For a swordsman, physical decline was fatal.
Especially for high-level ones.
Brute strength wins only novice scraps.
Masters need technique, countless battles' wisdom.
They compensate physical gaps with skill and control.
Seems like raw power loss hurts less than that.
Brute fighters just hit softer.
But technicians? They lose options.
Miss dodges, parries, blocks.
They turn foes' force against them—miscalculate, and you're done.
When honed moves fail from frailty, death follows for the skilled swordsman.
"Don't wanna die."
Cute daughter already made life sweet—no dying now.
Sure, quiet village, rare crises. But with former Sword Saint, dragons, suspicious cats, and daughter as heroine candidate? Anything could happen.
To survive?
Simple answer.
#8 Their Circumstances: The Circumstances of a Certain Daughter
"Huh?"
Time froze.
Shocking words made my wooden cup roll away, but I couldn't care.
"What do you mean, Dad?"
I gazed up desperately at Dad, refusing to believe.
"No more chicken from today."
Reality didn't budge.
Why?
I'd just begged Dad, back from buying chickens, to fry some. Now he coldly declared no more.
"Why?"
I couldn't fathom it.
Dad loved chicken too.
Who doesn't?
Dad, Sis, me, neighbor Grandpa, Misha, Kkoko—all chicken fans.
So why refuse forever?!
"You're getting fat."
"Huh?"
"Too fat for chicken, sweetie."
What? Fat means no chicken?!
"Who cares about that!"
A little pudge is fine!
"Fat means shorter life."
"If eating chicken costs years, I'd sacrifice gladly!"
Future me would agree.
Better happy chicken-filled death than long regretful life without.
No chicken, living long? I'd die regretting, "Didn't skip it for this..."
"Bad thinking."
"No! Dad! What's most vital in life?!"
"Health."
"W-Well... yeah, but humans need food, clothing, shelter! Food trumps health!"
Perfect logic.
Universal truth.
Even Dad couldn't refute.
So, drop the chicken ban.
But.
"You'll eat. Super healthy meals."
"Eeeek..."
Dad shattered my logic effortlessly.
"Not banning food. Good-for-you stuff. Food and health both!"
"Not what I meant..."
I stomped in frustration. Nothing else worked.
Good for body = tastes bad. Equation.
Best taste = chicken. So no more.
'Sis, help!'
Desperate eyes to Sis.
She got the signal, stepped forward.
'Go Sis!'
I cheered hard.
Sis could do it!
And my faith...
"Dad, chicken!"
"No."
"Guh!"
Shattered instantly!
"S-Sis!"
"Sorry, no dice."
"Too quick to quit!"
"Dad's firm. Gotta fold. You know, 'let go and chill'!"
"N-Nooo..."
Give up chicken? Impossible.
"Sis, Dad's totally wrong. We gotta convince him."
"Nah, he's right deep down."
"Betrayal?!"
Sis wasn't convincing him.
Bribed already?
'No way!'
Retaliation for nagging him to get a wife?!
Dad once said trade retaliation hurts more than force sometimes.
His diplomatic payback?
"C-Can't lose like this!"
Surrender here? Chicken held hostage forever.
One loss means all losses.
I won't kneel.
"If that's how you play, Dad!"
"Mom?"
Hugging approaching Kkoko, I vowed fiercely.
For this kid too, no bowing to Dad!
Thus began the war between Dad and me!
#9 Their Circumstances: The Circumstances of a Certain Cat
An eerie silence blanketed the room.
Ordinary breakfast, but unusually quiet.
"Urgh, grassies!"
One weirdo aside.
"Dad, this is too much! Even for broth, toss in some meat bits! Right, lil sis?"
"......"
"Lil sis?"
"......"
"Wanna get hit?"
"S-Sis! I'm silent-protesting Dad! Don't interrupt!"
"Oh, really?"
At her savior's words, the silver girl nodded and looked away.
...At me!
"Then I'll play with kitty?"
"Myaaaao!"
Dunno what's up... but end it quick, savior!
"Ehehehe!"
"Nyaaao!"
Before the master's issue resolves, I'll die first!