The Anvil's Song
"......Gremori?"
If Tud remembered him, this was someone from ages ago—at least a few hundred years back. And he was here? No way a dragon, right?
Stunned and baffled, Vulcan unwittingly echoed the name Tud had spat out.
The man paused, clearly surprised, and looked Vulcan over again.
"You know me?"
"Uh? Oh, no. I mean......"
Realizing his slip, Vulcan tried to backpedal, but what could he even say? There's a transparent dragon floating over my head who just told me?
"You know about our family? Looks like you've done your homework."
"Ah, yeah. Sort of. Haha......"
Luckily, the man jumped to his own conclusion, covering for Vulcan's blunder. Family, though? So not Gremori himself?
- Definitely resembles that punk, but a bit different. A descendant, maybe?
'Could you figure that out a little sooner next time?'
He looked so much like the guy that even Tud was thrown, but Vulcan had no clue who he was. He'd never met him during past visits here, never even heard the name. No idea at all.
"I'm Gremori Hatoon. Inherited the baron's title by blood, but as the name suggests, I'm a free noble without land—no need for stiff formalities. Just think of me as the old manager running this place. Everyone else does, so relax with me too."
"Still...... got it."
Noble surnames usually came from their territories. The land granted to them became their family name, or vice versa. The "von" in between meant "of," reserved for those with holdings.
So Gremori Hatoon, sans "von," was a landless free noble. He owned it openly, grinning like a friendly neighborhood uncle and insisting on casual treatment.
'Some types say that then smack you with noble insult charges if you slip up...... but he doesn't seem the sort.'
Vulcan played it safe—not too guarded, just polite enough.
"I'm Vulcan. Honorary baron myself, but no family name."
As a noble, Vulcan could make one up, but no perks came with it, so why bother playing dress-up? Once he snagged a territory, it'd naturally become his surname.
"Right. Mind if this old-timer asks what you're up to?"
- Old-timer? That fresh-faced brat?
'By human standards, yeah, he's elderly. But what's his deal?'
- Back in the day, a snot-nosed smithy kid clung to Tud's pant leg, begging for lessons. Shook him off after a quick pointer, but the pest was persistent.
After quick introductions, Gremori asked again, but Vulcan hesitated. How to even explain this without sounding nuts?
'Say I'm a descendant of his old master Tud?'
Embarrassing, but no real secret. And as a smithy's heir, he might help. Screw it—Vulcan spilled his situation.
"Truth is, I want to hear the anvil's song, but I don't know how. Figured mimicking other artisans' hammer work might spark something."
"The anvil's song? Nostalgic phrase. Hardly anyone calls it that anymore."
"Really......?"
Vulcan shot Tud a glare. No wonder no one knew. All that legwork for nothing—infuriating, but not the time to gripe. A lead on the anvil's song stood right here.
"Know how to hear it?"
"First, what are you crafting?"
"Pardon? Uh...... a shield nothing can pierce?"
Gremori seemed friendly, so Vulcan asked eagerly—only for a cryptic counter-question. What story did he want his gear to tell?
Simple, yet Vulcan froze. He mumbled the artisan contest theme, but Gremori chuckled and shook his head.
"Haha, entering the monthly artisan tourney? My phrasing was off. Let me rephrase: What tale do you hope unfolds through the gear you're forging?"
"......A tale?"
Caught off-guard, Vulcan blanked. He'd never lacked words before, but this was uncharted.
"The user?"
"Could be. A clear user sharpens the story. But I mean beyond who wields it—you. No matter who, what narrative do you envision birthing from your creation?"
- Hmph. Spouting nonsense.
It hit like a gut punch. Vulcan had stuck to recipes, tweaking materials and tech, but never pondered the "story" Gremori evoked.
At best, custom stats or options. But Tud's grumble hinted this was on track.
'A story, huh.'
Vulcan cleared his mind, reframing. Like Gremori said, envision a tale through an impenetrable shield.
A knight at the vanguard, shield raised against enemy onslaughts. Arrows raining, brutal sword strikes, barrages of spells—all blocked, deflected, endured as he presses forward.
'Deflected?'
But that was legend stuff. No shield blocked everything perfectly; it just seemed that way. Vulcan knew best—he'd been a top ranker on Uncommon-class skills via godlike technique.
So, add realism: Don't block—glance. Arrows, blades, magic. Simple: Eyes locked till impact, then slide the strike off slickly.
Master that, and even without a shield, you could parry anything. Basics of "evasion tanks." Rare even among aces, but what if the shield made it effortless?
'Doesn't have to look like a traditional shield. For evasion tanking, no need to touch the attack first. Add that, and......'
A small spark, massive inspiration. Sensing Vulcan's trance, Gremori smiled warmly, silent.
"Sorry. Got lost in thought......"
"Quick on the uptake. Congrats—you've taken a step forward as an artisan."
"Th-thanks."
Snapping back, Vulcan caught the rest: Gremori's congratulations and wisdom.
"Artisans might be future-weavers. They birth gear from their hands, anticipating owners, feats, infusing will and power. Thus, fitting creations emerge. Bards retell heroes' tales later; we pre-sketch them via gear. Their harp is the anvil, voice the hammer. The anvil's song? The melody ringing as we co-author those tales."
"That's the anvil's song......"
It clicked vaguely. Not the sound itself yet, but the trigger condition: the story.
'Infuse a narrative into the gear.'
And this was huge. Stories meant "epic" in game terms. Epic items/classes shared grand narratives.
Not every story birthed Epic gear, but nailing the concept might.
"Thank you. Seriously. Way better than some narrow-minded jerk."
- What? You ungrateful bastard!!
'Hey, quit drooling. Chocolate everywhere!'
Crunch!
Vulcan glanced back—Tud, fuming, nipping at him. Just a pinch, bearable.
"Hm? What's that?"
"Nothing. My mentor who gave this homework's a grumpy sort."
Gremori shook his head, advising kindly.
"Whatever it is, ease up. A master who knows the anvil's song and guides you to it must be exemplary."
- Hmph. This guy's got sense. Hear that, you dimwit incarnation?
Vulcan pouted but conceded. No direct lesson from a dragon, sure, but this was Tud's intent.
"Go on, then. Digest insights fresh—they become yours that way. See you soon."
"Pardon? Oh, right. I'll head out, then......"
They chatted briefly more, but Gremori bid farewell first, urging Vulcan to forge his revelation into reality.
Heart already set, Vulcan didn't refuse—thanked profusely and left Artisan Hall.
He rushed to his assigned forge, ideas burning to shape the shield's story.
"Let's do this."
Form and materials set. Now, etch the vision in.
Won't happen by wishing—focus up. Through every strike, he hammered that tale home.
"Ah......!"
And finally, the shield was complete.