Chapter 250
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 250
Chapter Title: Part 2, Chapter 20: Blacksmith Ironrail (1)
A towering, elongated mountain range stretching from the desert.
Atop the summit blanketed in eternal snow, a single man stood in confrontation with dozens of burly warriors.
All of those dozens wore armor emblazoned with sun emblems. They were Paladins of the Sun Church.
The Paladin at the forefront spoke.
"Your escape ends here. You've come quite far, even after weakening to this extent."
The man looked haggard.
His hair was disheveled, and his beard grew wildly, as if shaved haphazardly.
A broken chain dangled from the shackles around his ankles like a tail.
The man glanced at it before curling his lips into a sneer.
His teeth were not just yellowed but blackened.
For five years, he had been confined in pitch darkness where he couldn't see an inch ahead.
He prided himself on his formidable mental fortitude, but five years bound head to toe was enough to drive anyone mad.
That's right.
The man was insane.
"Kuhihihihihi."
Sable laughed with his shoulders shaking as he raised his right hand.
"I wonder how warm your blood is?"
His eyes were filled with madness.
He walked barefoot across the snowfield toward the Paladins.
He had no idea how many Sun Church Paladins he had killed until now.
He didn't even want to remember.
He simply savored the warmth of their blood with each kill.
"My feet are cold. I want to warm them up. Yes, let's soak them in your blood. That'll make them nice and toasty."
"He's completely lost it. By the Captain's order, kill him."
At that command, the Paladins moved in perfect unison, surrounding Sable.
They were the Paladins of the Sun Church, said to be the strongest among the twelve orders.
Their prowess was widely known to be a level above the Paladins of other churches.
These men had trained together for years.
They had slain more than a few Sword Masters in joint attacks.
"Still, be careful. The previous dispatch was wiped out by him. Even weakened, he's the Sword of Zenith."
The Paladins nodded.
Tension hung in the air.
Many burned with rage over their fallen comrades, but they never let emotions show.
Revenge could wait until after the kill.
Sable scanned his enemies before snickering.
"But..."
"What are you looking at?"
At those words, the Paladin captain's eyes widened.
As the highest realm among them, he sensed the anomaly faster than anyone.
But it was already too late.
"Vermin."
Splurt!
The heads of several Paladins floated into the air.
Feeling the moist, warm blood's heat, Sable grinned maniacally.
"You're nothing but vermin."
Causality had already been twisted.
Sable merely tilted his head back slightly.
A dozen Paladins collapsed, spurting blood.
He wiped the smile from his face and gazed at the heart in his hand.
Clenching his fist crushed it, sending hot blood trickling down his hand to his feet.
His feet had been numb from the snow, but now it felt like the ice was melting.
To savor that sensation, he trampled the corpses for a while, basking in the blood's warmth.
"So warm. Perfect. Time to head back."
Leaving the Paladins' bodies behind, Sable turned toward the Zenith Church's main headquarters.
The Parent had issued a divine revelation.
The revelation mentioned a "holy war."
Recalling last night's dream, Sable quickened his pace.
"Jamie Welton!!"
The day he tore that bastard limb from limb wasn't far off.
"So he escaped after all."
"Yes. No traces besides the Paladins' bodies. Oh, and they said bloody footprints circled around the corpses."
"His doing, no doubt. Dismissed."
Once the subordinate left, Blazer organized the papers on his desk and pulled a cigar from the drawer.
He didn't care much for cigarettes, but he enjoyed the unique aroma of cigars, so he smoked them occasionally.
He needed no match.
As the Sword of the Sun, wielding fire's authority was second nature.
"Is this sufficient?"
Two days ago, Blazer had a dream.
It wasn't an ordinary dream.
His lord had delivered a divine revelation, so it couldn't be mundane.
A single line of revelation, but Blazer proceeded with the task on his own.
Some Paladins died in the process, but confirming Sable's current power level was a fine result.
"He's grown stronger, Sable."
Locked in the deepest pit for five years without training, he should have weakened.
He should have been captured unable to withstand their combined assault.
Yet not only did he repel it, he slaughtered them with overwhelming force.
"To think he broke through the wall in prison."
Sable had originally been at the cusp of Sword Master.
If such a man broke through the wall, he had undoubtedly reached the Grand Master realm.
In the human realm, those who attained Grand Master were countable on one hand.
With none publicly known, it was said there were zero currently.
Now, one more had joined that supreme realm.
Blazer welcomed it gladly.
"Another archenemy added."
Why had the Sun God ordered him released?
But he harbored no doubts.
The gods' choices had their reasons; he merely obeyed.
Once Sable reached the Zenith Church headquarters, the war would fully materialize.
Its scale would rival a world war—no, it would be the world war itself.
"Not a bad start to the world reset."
Blazer murmured as he eyed the long staff before him.
God Killer.
The staff bestowed by the Sun God, capable of slaying gods.
Dawn broke.
Jamie woke, gazing at the brightening sky.
His mind had been too preoccupied for much sleep, yet he felt no drowsiness.
Perhaps because his realm had advanced yesterday?
Feeling refreshed, he stepped outside.
Avalon's residents were already bustling early in the morning.
Mostly farmers, they headed to the fields at sunrise and returned home at sunset to rest.
The peaceful scene reminded him of Hyse.
Hyse was Seldam Kingdom's largest agrarian city, with far vaster farmlands than here.
"It's already been two months since we left Hyse."
Time had flown by.
He wondered how his family was faring.
Were his disciples training diligently?
Was the magic world running smoothly?
Come to think of it, he hadn't written a single letter lately.
"I should write one before bed tonight."
Check on their well-being and report what he'd learned here.
"Maybe take a stroll."
Nothing to do until Isis called.
Bena and Behemoth might return, but they'd head to the lodging on their own.
More nagging was Hawks' match yesterday and Nell-Sharan's sudden appearance.
Why had she popped up like that?
He knew her as a 9th-class archmage, yet she spoke like she was dealing with a child.
Still, he was curious.
Common elves rarely reached 9th class, unlike high elves.
High elves were a perfect race born with everything, while common elves were their derivatives.
They inherited affinity for nature and spirits, but their magic was amateurish.
That said, their magical prowess wasn't inferior.
It matched current human levels, but with far fewer numbers, their archmage ratio lagged.
Yet Nell-Sharan was a 9th-class archmage.
'Not fully perfected, but she wouldn't lag far behind me.'
Especially her mana capacity.
Not using full-body breathing like Jamie for multiple mana cores, yet she held an immense amount innately.
A born mana core possessor.
He wanted a deep conversation with her.
Modern human magic had taught him much.
What about elven magic?
Theirs had surely evolved since his past life.
"Hope for some good exchange."
Jamie murmured, staring at the distant mountains.
Then—thud—he bumped into something hard.
Looking down, a furry lump only waist-high stood there.
From above, only lush hair was visible.
A stocky man looked up.
Thick eyebrows, stubborn eyes, a massive face on a 2-head proportion body, and compact yet rock-solid muscles.
Finally, callused hands and a hammer.
"..."
"..."
They stared silently.
"Come in."
Ironrail tossed his hammer aside carelessly and stripped off his grimy gloves.
Jamie sat where indicated, surveying the forge interior.
"Nice forge."
"Skip the flattery. It's a mess by any standard."
True enough, so Jamie shut up.
Ironrail turned and said,
"Usually, you'd say something like 'It's really cool' here, right?"
"...It's really cool."
"No need to grovel."
What now?
Jamie stayed put.
Ironrail headed to what looked like the kitchen.
Clang, crash, bang! Noises erupted from within.
He'd been invited for breakfast, but were those normal cooking sounds?
An ominous unease crept up; he half-wanted to slip out.
But bound to run into him again here, he didn't want the awkwardness.
Jamie stood and wandered the forge, examining things.
Frontier's exclusive blacksmith lived up to the hype.
"This sword's really good."
With Scourge broken, Jamie was swordless.
No permission asked, he drew it.
The long sword looked hefty but felt weightless in hand.
No apparent enchantments—just lightweight craftsmanship from the start.
Even so, light enough for famed sword status.
"What do you think? Not bad, eh?"
Ironrail's voice came from behind.
Distracted by the sword, Jamie hadn't noticed.
Ironrail approached on short legs, tray in hand.
Simple sandwiches.
Freeloading, but all that racket for sandwiches?
"Great sword."
"Heard you're a swordsman... but no sword in sight."
"Broke. Some bastard's fault."
Jamie replaced the sword and pondered.
Ironrail rated it merely "not bad."
He knew little of smithing, but to most, it'd be a masterpiece.
"You really think it's just 'not bad'?"
"Hm? Yeah. Pretty good for a whim."
Tone, expression, demeanor—all sincere.
The less skilled boast; the masterful don't flaunt.
Ironrail embodied that.
Jamie sat across and said,
"One favor."
"That's how you ask?"
"Fair. Still, one favor."
Ironrail stared at Jamie's brazen face before chuckling.
"Beat Hawks, so you're a strong warrior. I like the strong. Speak your request."
"One sword."
"Take that one. Gift."
"Excellent, but sounds like you can make far better."
"Twice now. Barely glimpsed you yesterday. Why craft a treasure for that?"
"I'll pay."
"Money's no use. Supplies are provided here. Offer something else."
"Interested in materials?"
"Materials? Hm. Seen most rares."
"Dragon Heart?"
Ironrail paused mid-cut on his sandwich with fork and knife.
He looked up, staring at Jamie.
"...You have one?"
"Forge a sword suited to me with it, in exchange."
Jamie pulled the Dragon Heart from sub-space.
Pristine, unused.
Ironrail's eyes bulged, mouth agape like he'd seen a ghost.
As he reached, Jamie stored it back.
A Dragon Heart was a treasure countable on one hand worldwide.
No—even fewer, maybe three fingers.
No matter the smith, handling one was rare.
Seeing one, even rarer.
"Saw it yourself—not fake. Perfect, undamaged. Good trade?"
Ironrail pondered briefly, then grinned.
"Can't resist a Dragon Heart."