Masterpiece
Masterpiece
Canaria was well aware that her talent was something alien. After all, a talent that let her reach the foremost ranks in anything she attempted could hardly be called ordinary. So from a very young age, she had continuously picked up various skills, calculating the time it took her to bring each one to a first-class level.
When she was still very young, it had taken her a fair amount of time. Naturally, that was because she had no foundation whatsoever. Filling a blank slate to a certain degree always takes considerable time. So it took about a year of effort before she managed to reach a first-class level. That was the day Canaria resolved to become a nun. By then, she was handling holy power at a fairly advanced level and competently performing the various duties expected of a nun in training.
Other than that, when had it been... perhaps when she had followed Isabella and taken up drawing? Naturally, she could not surpass Isabella, but she had been able to imitate the craft well enough to reach a level just below her. Of course, Canaria had known it was not her path, and since she had deemed it unnecessary for remaining at Rosaria's side, she had quickly set it aside.
And then she had been confined in the underground chamber. She had devoured demons and been granted their knowledge and abilities. Her body, too, had ceased to be merely human in its capacities, and her extraordinary talent had spread its wings even further, assimilating with her transformed flesh. What had shone especially bright were the skills that involved using the body, such as martial arts.
After all, Canaria was an existence that moved in the shadows, so she had needed to learn skills of that nature. Though, of course, because the Pope had kept her under close watch, she had not been able to learn them properly... but for having studied such skills for a short span of barely ten days, she had been capable of using them at a first-class level. However, as long as divine authority existed, there was no real need to use her body, so she had not delved particularly deeply.
But that did not mean she had reaped no harvest. Canaria had realized that she could ascend to a first-class level in a given field with tremendous speed. At most a month, usually around two weeks — with that much time, her enhanced body, the accumulated knowledge etched into her instincts, her winged talent, and the path opened by the existence called Serena all moved in concert, allowing her to quickly master any such ability to a formidable degree.
Lately, preparing for every eventuality, Canaria had been raising all manner of abilities to a first-class level one by one. Dance was part of that. Swordsmanship, unarmed combat, even playing instruments, and the wielding of mana or holy power... she had succeeded in somehow elevating every skill needed for daily life or battle to the first class.
But she could not stop at first-class. Even if Canaria's talent could not bring every ability to the zenith beyond that... under the assumption that, if she dug only a single well, she might just barely graze that furthest edge with one of her abilities, Canaria had exerted a blood-vomiting effort.
And what she had chosen was the combat-oriented category: swordsmanship and unarmed combat.
Because it was those who read the world in intervals of 0.01 seconds.
It was training to broaden a vision that she found lacking.
Naturally, she did not take a separate teacher. She had only to search a little through the memories carved into her instincts, and the memories of heroes were scattered everywhere. The erased footprints that demons had left upon history had touched countless people. At the very least, their teachers — or the entities that had bestowed talent upon them — had themselves been demons.
Memories of heroes like sword masters were strewn about in abundance. Dozens of them, each of a different kind. Taking as her teachers the traces of countless human figures who had reached the limits of their species — through region of birth, school of learning, sex, constitution, inborn fate, or special tools — Canaria had trained day after day.
Of course, it was a secret from Rosaria. After all, the difference between exercising divine authority from the rear and standing at the front, gripping a sword, was absolute.
While reading memories in that way, Canaria had also seen the memories of the Hero, Cain. Since Serena's memories were engraved into her as well. Though it was not fully clear, Canaria had glimpsed a faint trace of those days.
'...He sealed something using the holy sword as a medium?'
Canaria had witnessed the memory of sealing something — an existence far removed from the ordinary — inside the sword, and then, using that as a medium, transforming a "blade" forged from miracles into a holy sword and binding a certain being there.
At the same time, a single possibility surfaced in Canaria's mind.
'...Would it be possible to seal Serena?'
The greatest variable was, of course, Serena. Naturally, she did not consider sealing her for the sake of something like world peace. She was simply weighing the possibility of having her body stolen, even if only a little. No matter how many dozens of vows and promises were made... Canaria could not bring herself to trust demons or the entity called the Demon King. After all, if you looked closely, she herself was a being of a similar kind.
Because such beings could flip their words as easily as turning over a palm, could claw apart the inside of the mind and twist existing perceptions and memories with absurd ease. When the Saint's authority had still been with her, it had protected her — but now, the moment had come to hand it over to Rosaria. And so Canaria could not wholly dismiss the possibility that, in the instant she surrendered it, some variable might arise.
Even if Serena had lost interest now... thinking inversely, the chance that she might one day recover her interest and steal Canaria's body was not zero. Just because something converged toward zero did not mean the possibility ceased to exist. Moreover, Serena was an existence of a different dimension. Whether the concept of a vow could firmly bind her — that was something wholly unknown. Even if they talked... would it not be impossible to fully trust it?
That was why Canaria wanted to sever Serena entirely from herself. But regrettably, she needed Serena's power. Her wish, then, was to separate and seal Serena into a form like the holy sword she had seen within the memories, and to process Serena by operating that power in such a manner.
However, the moment such a thought crossed her mind, Serena, who had pierced through the wall grown somewhat loose after half of the divine authority had been handed over, opened her mouth.
- If I could have been sealed in something like that, Solomon would have done it long ago, wouldn't he?
You truly have so little faith in me, Serena muttered. But she, too, understood it. After all, she knew her lack of interest was merely for now, and that there was no guarantee it would remain unchanged later. However, regarding the part about the oaths... there was much she could say. Only, there was no time to speak of it.
Serena sneered at Canaria like that, exacting a small revenge.
Be that as it may, Canaria kept trying to find a way...
"...You mean a masterpiece?"
Thinking she had to at least try, the first thing Canaria considered was using a masterpiece as a vessel. A historic work of perfection that a blacksmith could create only once in a lifetime. Knowing that Kal was a Meister-class blacksmith, she had commissioned the creation of a masterpiece from him.
But Kal could not easily make the decision.
"...Is it difficult?"
"...It is."
After all, Kal had his own circumstances. A masterpiece was truly a proof of the soul, made by devoting one's entire life to it. One could do no other work; one had to live day in and day out inside the workshop, pounding the anvil, and only by doing so could it be finished — which was why it was called a masterpiece.
But Kal did not yet wish to do such a thing. The blacksmiths who created those had genuinely tried everything life had to offer and, before dying, challenged themselves to leave behind the proof of their existence — a masterwork of that concept. Kal still had much to do, and there were people who needed him. He was not merely a swordsmith who made only blades; he was a blacksmith who crafted all things truly needed.
"...Then, could you introduce me to a blacksmith capable of making one?"
At those words, Kal shook his head once more. A masterpiece was not an object that simply appeared — poof! — just because one wanted to make it. And, in the first place, it was not something made to suit another's needs. A masterpiece was what emerged when a blacksmith pushed what they themselves wished to create to its utmost extreme.
"...It might be better to take over one that another person possesses."
Of course, Canaria had already attempted that. The Sultan's blade, too, had been a masterpiece. But due to the issue of material, it had corroded the instant it came into contact with divine authority, so it had not earned a passing mark. For unless it was Holy Iron wrought by divine authority, the Demon King's authority of decay would rot anything it touched.
"That is precisely why I am like this. I need a masterpiece made of Holy Iron."
"...Pardon? Did you just say Holy Iron?"
At that moment, Kal flinched at the word Holy Iron. Naturally, among blacksmiths, the prestige of the material called Holy Iron was singular. It was the steel of the chief god, the very material of the holy sword. Obtaining it was effectively impossible, and even if one did, one would be branded a heretic and put to death for the crime of destroying holy relics... It was a material that had passed into the realm of myth — desired by all, yet obtainable by none.
The blacksmith's instinct within Kal flinched.
"...Why? Have you changed your mind?"
"...I am sorry, Saintess."
Honestly, Kal wanted to make it. A blacksmith who forged a second holy sword? Anyone who could resist that was no blacksmith at all. To abandon all current work and everything else, to shut oneself inside the forge for months and hammer at Holy Iron — that would be the happiness of a lifetime; what else could happiness be? But to change his words as if flipping over his palm...
The one before his eyes was the Saintess. To refuse the request of God's reincarnation, and then the moment he heard the details, to change his words? It was an act of irreverence. And so Kal, not merely kneeling but pressing his head to the ground in prostration, begged for forgiveness.
That was how desperately he longed for it.
"...Raise your head. It is partly my fault as well, for not having stated the subject first."
Kal was grateful for that mercy.
"...For now, I need two blades."
Of course, she did not mean to dual-wield.
"A masterpiece, and an ordinary blade that is not a masterpiece — two blades, like so."
At those words, Kal was even more overjoyed.
Even one would have been enough, but she had requested two.
Was he not being treated to the extravagance of fulfilling every blacksmith's dream, not once but twice?
"...I shall begin at once."
And so Kal abandoned all his ongoing work without hesitation.
His disciples, asking for the reason, simply gazed at him with eyes full of envy.
Naturally, for they, too, were blacksmiths.
They were jealous of Kal, who was heading off to feast on something delicious all by himself.
But if they were that envious, they would have nothing to say if told to become a Meister first.