The Lord of Ragna Castle
The next day, and the day after, and the day after that—for well over a week—Elsid steadily visited the forge to lend a hand. Aside from the first two days, he and Uncle Tom barely exchanged any real conversation. It was only natural. Uncle Tom had never been the talkative sort, and Elsid himself wasn't exactly chatty either.
"Here. These are today's tasks."
"Got it!"
One thing had changed: Elsid now handled most of the repair work. He'd picked up how to distribute his strength when swinging the hammer and learned the little tricks of where and how to strike. As for Tom, he spent his time melting down equipment that was far beyond repair and forging entirely new weapons. Ragna Castle produced a mountain of broken arms every day from battles against orcs and other mid-sized monsters. Until now, simply repairing those weapons and returning them to the soldiers had been all they could manage. With Elsid's help, Tom finally had a sliver of breathing room. Instead of fixing soldier's gear, he used that time for something personal.
He melted several different kinds of iron ingots, hammered them, folded them, and repeated the process over several days. What emerged from all that labor was a single sword.
"Hoo..."
After bringing the blade into existence, Tom let out a long breath, set his hammer down, and stared at his work.
"You finally finished it."
"...Yeah. At my age, why put myself through this?"
Tom answered without looking up.
"It's an errand. Take this sword to the lord of Ragna Castle. And if he tries to make you do this again, tell him to hand over the materials first before asking for the work."
"Leave it to me."
Elsid carefully wrapped the sword—clearly a masterpiece at a glance—in cloth, strapped it to his back, and tied the cords tight.
"Then I'll deliver it faster than anyone else, and in my own way."
With a loud, reassuring shout to the exhausted blacksmith slumped in his chair, Elsid stepped out of the forge.
The sun was already sinking, painting the sky in sunset hues. Seeing the fading light, Elsid picked up his pace. He crossed the plaza with its fountain and statue, then arrived at the lord's castle.
"Welcome. What business brings you here?"
A single soldier stood guard at the gate, spear held ready, politely blocking the way.
"Hello. My name is Elsid. I'm running an errand for the blacksmith Tom. Would it be all right to deliver a weapon to the lord?"
"Blacksmith Tom Cleave? Please wait a moment."
The soldier disappeared inside the gate. A few minutes later he returned.
"You may enter."
"Thank you."
Guided by the soldier, Elsid stepped into the castle. The interior hadn't changed much since the days he'd followed his grandfather inside as a boy. The design was plain, the atmosphere dignified. Because the lord disliked ostentation, the only decorations were a few modest ornaments and paintings. If one had to describe it, it was the very picture of "simple is best."
"My lord, I've brought the blacksmith's errand runner as mentioned earlier."
The soldier spoke before the door to what appeared to be the lord's office.
"Good work. Return to your post."
At the order, the soldier left at once.
"What are you standing there for, errand runner? Come in."
Elsid opened the door and stepped inside.
"Welcome, Elsid. I've heard quite a lot about you."
A young man in his mid-twenties wearing white armor stood in the room. Though Elsid had never seen him before, the man greeted him like an old friend.
"You know me?"
"Of course! I've heard plenty from the previous lord—my father—his friend, your grandfather, and the blacksmith Tom."
That explained the warm welcome. The man had simply heard many stories about Elsid over the years.
"Well, I was studying at the knight academy back then, so today is the first time I've actually seen you. Haha."
His words confirmed what Elsid already suspected.
"Enough small talk. Let's get to business. What errand brought you here?"
"I came to deliver this."
Elsid handed over the cloth-wrapped sword.
"This is..."
The lord felt its weight, then unwrapped the cloth. A silver longsword gleamed in the light.
"A magnificent blade."
He held it in one hand, examined it closely, and nodded with satisfaction.
"I'm glad it meets your approval. By the way, Uncle Tom said that if you ask him to do this again, to tell you to provide the materials first."
"Haha, I'll keep that in mind."
The lord laughed heartily.
"Come to think of it, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Bernard. As you may know, I am the lord of Ragna Castle."
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Elsid. Thanks to various people, you probably already know everything about me, so there's not much left to say."
"By the way, have you become a blacksmith now? Why are you running errands for Tom? Last I heard, you were working as a trainer for someone."
"Haha, circumstances."
Elsid could hardly explain that he'd given a harsh lesson to a high-ranking noble and lost his trainer position, so he simply smiled.
"Circumstances?"
Bernard tilted his head, curious, but didn't press further.
"Well, I won't ask. Everyone has one or two things they can't tell others."
True to his station, he showed generous tolerance.
"Anyway, thank you for bringing such a fine sword."
He rewrapped the blade and set it down.
"Whatever the case, we're drawing closer to the decisive battle."
"Decisive battle?"
Elsid tilted his head at the unfamiliar phrase.
"We can't drag out this tedious war of attrition forever. We need to settle things soon."
Bernard's eyes gleamed with fierce determination.
"Whether it's us or them."
That gaze belonged to a man prepared to fight to the death. At the same time, a faint fighting spirit rose from his clenched fists.
"Fighting spirit?"
Elsid unconsciously tilted his head.
"Ah, sorry. I must still be inexperienced—when my emotions run high, it leaks out without me noticing."
"Impressive. To think you can wield fighting spirit."
"Hmph. I am a knight, after all. Though I dropped out of the academy, so I can't use proper knight techniques."
"There are plenty who can't use them even after graduating."
Fighting spirit was a realm anyone could reach through effort alone—manifesting one's will to fight in order to strengthen the body or enhance a weapon. Knight techniques, however, required talent: the ability to imprint one's mental image onto fighting spirit itself, allowing one to explode it outward or create illusions. It was said there were as many variations as there were aura swordsmen. Elsid himself had only ever witnessed his grandfather's techniques, so his knowledge ended there.
"More importantly, by decisive battle, do you mean an all-out war with the orcs?"
"That's right. It will be a grueling fight."
Bernard smiled.
"Thousands against hundreds of thousands. Only the gods know who will win. Well, we'll fight so stubbornly that even the gods will grow sick of watching..."
Yet the emotion behind that smile was unbearably heavy.
"..."
Elsid had no words. What could a mere commoner say to a man shouldering the weight of an entire castle?
***
After finishing the errand, Elsid returned to the forge to report.
"You're back."
Uncle Tom sat in his chair, lightly blowing across the mouth of a bottle.
"So you delivered the sword safely?"
"Of course."
Tom's shoulders were slumped, his mood clearly low.
"Did I ask about my son last time?"
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
Whether Elsid knew about that person or not made little difference to him.
"Do you still have the sword my son gave you?"
"Yes. It's wrapped in cloth and stored carefully in my luggage at home."
It seemed Tom had finally decided to speak after all.
"Is that so."
Tom took another sip from the bottle.
"That sword is the last one my son Vandel forged before he left this place."
As he spoke, Tom's expression grew darker.
"Yeah... it was not long after you left, ten years ago. The boy was thirteen at the time."
He set the bottle down, picked up his hammer, and continued.
"Not because he's my son, but that boy was a true genius. At ten, when I first handed him a hammer, he could already repair most weapons without being taught. At eleven he had an eye for materials, at twelve he mastered forging iron, and by thirteen there was nothing left for me to teach him."
Tom's smile held both pride and regret.
"In just three years he caught up to me after I'd spent over thirty years at the anvil. No—he might have already surpassed me..."
He stroked the hammer in his hand as if remembering old times.
"Was that why? Did he think he'd learned everything? He left behind only one sword and one letter, then vanished without a word..."
"A letter?"
"Yeah. Just one letter, and he disappeared like the wind."
Tom bowed his head, sorrow and longing plain on his face.
"Let's continue this story another time. It would take quite a while to tell everything..."
"...Yes. I understand."
Continuing had clearly pained him. Tom ended the tale at an inconclusive point and left the forge. It seemed locking up tonight was Elsid's job.
"Just what happened after I left...?"
Alone in the forge, Elsid muttered to himself in a voice no one else could hear.