The Red Dagger's Cry
Dorian watched from behind a tree as Raon trained.
"Whoa..."
He'd meant to stand watch so no one would interrupt. He'd forgotten that ages ago. All that came out of him now was awe.
Has he gotten even stronger?
The keenness of a blade that split the air. The grounded certainty of footwork that pressed into the earth. And the natural harmony between the two. The martial prowess Dorian had watched in the training ground seemed to have taken another full step forward.
Does this even make sense?
All Raon had done since arriving here was gamble his heart out, devour mint chocolate with abandon, and cheerfully steal other people's things. Dorian had been the one carrying all the worry and tension. So why was it only that man's swordsmanship that had improved?
Huh? He's even drawing aura?
As if he meant to swing in earnest, Raon began drawing up his aura. A vividly shining crimson energy, as if sunlight itself had taken root in it.
"Ughk."
Unable to contain his excitement, Dorian pulled his favorite round chips from his Belly Pouch and bit into one.
Whoooom!
Raon drove a true step into the earth and unfolded the Refining Sword Technique. Every form was one Dorian knew, yet each carried a grandeur of presence so overwhelming he couldn't have blocked a single one.
Shiiiiing!
The crimson blade's trajectory suddenly turned savage.
The vicious swordsmanship that had torn through the bodies and minds of the trainees at the 5th Training Ground.
Fwoooooosh!
The sword's rotation changed once more. Scarlet flowers of flame bloomed along the blade, petals scattering as if in a moment of autumn. Dorian's hair stood on end before the storm of fire devouring the space around it.
I couldn't block that.
He'd been chasing Raon's back all this time, but he couldn't imagine stopping those petals. It was certain. Raon was growing even in this very moment.
"Haa..."
Dorian drew a deep breath and shook his head.
I want to ask him for help.
If that man came to his family and lent his strength, maybe even that matter could be accomplished.
But.
He was wary of bringing it up. No — he couldn't. He hadn't followed this man hoping for something like that.
At first, it was curiosity.
Even when the collateral branches and the direct line mocked him, he'd stood tall. Dorian had been drawn in by a persistence that seemed not to know the word surrender, and he'd approached Raon.
Up close, the man had been the real thing. He'd shown exploits and daring no one had expected, and earned the recognition of the direct line, the collateral branches, the vassal houses, and the recommended trainees alike. They were apart now, but all forty-two trainees of the 5th Training Ground followed Raon in their hearts.
He's an incredible person.
Just as Dorian pulled out a second round chip and brought it to his mouth, Raon turned around.
"How long are you going to just stand there watching?"
"Huh? You knew I was here?"
"You were eating snacks right there. Did you actually think I wouldn't notice?"
Raon glanced at the round chips Dorian was eating and let out a dry laugh.
"Ugh!"
Dorian stuffed the remaining chips into his mouth and ran out into the clearing.
"You too."
"Huh?"
"It's been a while since you swung a sword properly. Loosen up a bit."
"Ah, I'm fine, really—"
"Do it."
"Yessir!"
Dorian nodded at once and drew his sword. Just as Raon had demonstrated, he unfolded the Refining Sword Technique.
"Straighten your elbows a little more, and bend your knees. Slow your breathing by about a quarter."
"Yessir!"
He corrected his off-kilter stance according to the advice.
Whooom!
Just settling into the proper stance changed the wind rising from his blade.
As long as I'm with this man, I'll be fine wherever we go.
The conviction settled in him again. If he was with Raon, he could overcome any trial.
Ah. Except Habun Castle.
That place was honestly a bit scary.
No — a lot scary...
After finishing breakfast, Raon headed for the workshop street at Camelun's eastern edge. Even at this early hour, the heat rising from the forges had the street baking.
This brings back memories.
The heat was enough to make him sweat, and it reminded him of training in Vulcan's charcoal kiln.
That was really rough.
Enduring the cold welling up from within and the heat pressing in from outside, he'd nearly died.
-Tsk. This King had it worse. Just looking at heat makes This King's teeth chatter.
Wrath puffed out breaths as if trying to shove the approaching heat away.
"Hmm."
He looked over the workshops displaying swords, sabers, spears, and all manner of weapons.
Not bad.
The swords' hardness, edge, and balance were well matched. These were works made with heat and sweat by skilled craftsmen.
-Not bad? Are those knot-holes you call eyes? These would snap if This King used them to trim his nails. They're not even worthy of being called weapons.
What, are your nails made of diamond?
Raon snorted a laugh and headed for the next smithy. He'd said they were decent — he hadn't said he was buying. Those pieces weren't bad, true, but the sword he already had was better. This wasn't the kind of blade he wanted.
"Young master."
Dorian, who'd finished looking over the entire workshop street, tilted his head as he chewed on a snack.
"I don't see the workshop the prince mentioned yesterday?"
"It wouldn't be in a place like this."
Yesterday, Grier had said it wasn't on this main street — that it was a place operating without a sign, tucked between the alleys.
That way, maybe?
On the right-hand row, there was an alley barely wide enough for a single person to pass. Heat was rising from it. That had to be the workshop Grier had mentioned.
Clang! Claaang!
As they walked into the alley, a hammer's ring came that sounded like it could split a mountain. The heat flowing out grew stronger.
Found it.
You could tell just from the sound of a hammer striking the heart of the steel. This was hammering of a completely different caliber from the smiths in the outer workshops.
He looked at the weapons left in front of the forge. They weren't arranged at all, as if they hadn't been put out for sale — just scattered in a mess. He picked up the sword right in front of him.
This is...
No flash. No refinement. But the balance of both edges was perfect, and it was solid. It carried a weight that felt like it would hold through any fight.
-Hmph. This place is at least passable. Of course, it'd still snap if This King used it to trim his claws.
Ignoring Wrath's nonsense, he looked at the other blades. Swords, sabers, spears, even daggers — all of them were finished to a level in a different class from anywhere else.
Clang! Clang! Claaang!
He looked inside the forge. A white-haired old man was swelling jar-like muscles as he brought the hammer down on steel. He had to know customers had arrived, but he didn't stop what he was doing.
Are all master craftsmen like this?
Vulcan, whom he'd met at the charcoal kiln, had been the same, and so was this man. Skilled craftsmen didn't seem to care about the people beside them.
Anyway, this is definitely good.
The swords here were vastly superior to the ones he'd seen outside. He'd come to the right place.
"Excuse me?"
Unable to bear the boredom, Dorian called out to the blacksmith.
"You've got customers?"
"Dorian."
Before Raon could stop him, the steadily ringing hammer fell silent.
"Ahem!"
The blacksmith who'd been bent at the waist straightened up. Height that nearly reached the ceiling, and massive muscles. It was like looking at an orc.
"I don't take customers."
He turned and glared with brown eyes. Looking again, it wasn't an orc's presence — it was an ogre's.
"Eek!"
The moment Dorian's eyes met the old blacksmith's, he let out a monkey-like squeak and his legs started shaking.
"Go back."
He waved a pot-lid-sized hand as if he had no interest in money or customers.
"We came on a recommendation."
"A recommendation?"
Only then did the old blacksmith look at Raon.
"Prince Grier recommended this place. He said it was decent."
"Grier? Grier... Don't tell me you mean the Third Prince?"
"That's right."
"That sword-obsessed brat recommended this place? There's no way he'd— huh?"
The old blacksmith looked Raon over from body to arms, then tilted his chin.
"You... what are you?"
"Pardon?"
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"You're even younger than Grier!"
The old man's eyes went so wide they looked ready to pop out.
"Sword energy like that at fifteen! What the hell are you?!"
"I'm not sure what you mean..."
"There's a sword dwelling in your body. It hasn't been fully tempered yet, but it's a large, sharp, and solid blade."
"Ah."
Raon nodded as he looked into the old man's eyes, which surged like waves. The man was seeing the realm of the sword Raon had been tempering. As expected of a craftsman Grier had introduced — this was no ordinary person.
"How can you have tempered sword energy like that at your age?"
"I just trained hard."
"If hard training got you to that realm, there wouldn't be a person on this earth who isn't a master. Huh. Wonders never cease. Are you the next Sword of Owen or something?"
"No. I have no connection to that side."
"Hmm. It's certainly not Owen's sword. This presence... House Zieghart?"
"Huk!"
The answer came not from Raon, but from Dorian. The boy had gone wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open.
-That is what a true craftsman looks like. He looks at a swordsman and even names his origin. This King had a craftsman like that when he was in the Demon Realm. This King's sword...
"Yes."
It was already out thanks to Dorian. Raon ignored Wrath's Demon Realm rambling and nodded.
"House Zieghart after all."
He chuckled and stepped back.
"So the hegemon of the north was raising a monster. I've seen countless swordsmen, but I've never seen one like you."
"My name is Raon."
A man who could grasp his martial power just by looking. Courtesy was the right call. Raon properly gave his name and introduced himself.
"I'm Kuberad. Just an old man who hammers because he hasn't managed to die yet."
"Ah!"
Raon swallowed dryly. Kuberad Jayton. A man whose name stood alongside Vulcan's among the continental master smiths — a monster of a blacksmith who had produced countless masterworks between Owen and Valkar.
"Why are you here...?"
A continental master smith in a corner alley like this was about as astonishing as retired Vulcan spending over a decade making charcoal.
"I accomplished what I set out to accomplish. Now I just pursue my hobbies alone."
He gestured as if telling them to come inside.
"Um, uh, what about me? How do I look?"
Dorian sidled over and pointed at himself with a finger.
"What are you talking about?"
"Can you see sword energy or whatever on me too?"
"Hmm. Round face, round eyes. Puffy cheeks. You're a coward."
"Urgh!"
Struck dead-on, Dorian staggered.
-That old man. Does he have a dog's nose and a fortune-teller's eye?
No kidding.
Sensing his own sword energy was one thing, but he hadn't expected the man to pick up on Dorian being a coward too.
-This King wants to show him his dragon visage. He'd drop to his knees in worship the instant he saw it.
Yeah, right.
Raon snorted. One look at Wrath's pale, washed-out face and the first words out of anyone's mouth would be that he was unhinged.
-You brat! This King's true face is not this lump of ice! A flower! A flower, I tell you! The finest beauty in the Demon Realm...
Sure, whatever.
Wrath bellowed, but Raon ignored him and looked at Kuberad.
"So. Why did you come looking for me?"
"I came to find a sword."
"A sword?"
"I expect a fairly brutal fight ahead, so I came looking for a hard, sharp blade."
"Hmm. You want me to forge you one?"
"That's not it. I haven't become a swordsman yet, and there's already someone who said they'd make my first sword."
"Huh?"
Kuberad froze in place.
"You're... not even a proper swordsman?"
"Yes."
"What the hell have you been doing with your life? Still a trainee, and you have martial power like that..."
He muttered in disbelief and plopped down on a wooden crate.
"A genuine monster. Haven't seen one in a long time. Wait — the person who said they'd make your sword. Is it Vulcan, by any chance?"
"..."
"It is! That bastard said he retired! He's back! Kahahaha!"
Taking the lack of an answer as confirmation, Kuberad burst into a hearty laugh. A laugh with real feeling in it. He seemed to have some kind of relationship with Vulcan.
"Of course I can't snatch a swordsman Vulcan's already marked."
He grinned so wide his beard lifted, then spread his hands.
"Take whatever catches your eye. I don't make anything slapdash, so whatever you pick will serve you well."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. If a brat who might become the continent's finest someday is going to use it, my sword's the one that's honored."
Kuberad spread his hands wide, then knocked back the liquor bottle that had been sitting on the table.
"Um, can I pick one too?"
"Sure. I'm in a good mood! You pick one too, coward!"
"Ugh..."
Dorian pouted. He didn't say no, though — he just started looking over the swords with his eyes gone a little red.
"Hmm..."
Raon examined the scattered swords one by one.
A different class entirely.
They looked roughly made, but every one of them would easily surpass rare grade. Whatever he picked, he'd be able to use it with satisfaction.
Then which one... hmm?
He was looking over a slightly longer sword when a strange sound came from his left. A sound like something wailing.
Jiiing!
He hadn't misheard. He set the sword down and turned his head.
"Huh?"