The King of Metals
Raon and Runaan followed Vulcan into his workshop. Heat still poured from the furnace in thick, shimmering waves, as if the old master had been working without pause until the very moment they arrived.
"Sit there."
Vulcan pointed to a small table and a pair of chairs tucked into the corner.
"Consider yourselves honored. It's been two years since an outsider set foot in my father's workshop."
Haren dropped into the seat beside them and folded his arms.
"Don't make a mess, don't make a racket, just sit quietly and—"
Vulcan's face twisted as he seized Haren's ear and yanked.
"Aagh! Dad! What was that for?!"
"You're the loudest one here. We have guests, so why the hell are you sitting with them? Go fetch some tea!"
A fist drove into the top of Haren's skull.
"Gyaaaaah! Use your words!"
"As if you'd listen to words."
"Ugh! I oughta just leave this damn house."
Haren rubbed his battered head furiously as he disappeared into the back of the workshop.
"If that idiot offended you in any way, I'll apologize on his behalf."
Vulcan let out a long, weary sigh and dipped his head.
"He wasn't always this much of a wastrel. Then he met a certain gambler, and he turned into… this."
"A gambler?"
"That's right. The elf. You know the one."
"Huh?"
"Pardon?"
At the words an elf you know, Raon and Runaan both pricked up their ears. Gambling had been mentioned too. There was only one person who fit.
"W-what kind of trouble did our squad leader cause…?"
"Squad leader? That bastard's a squad leader now?"
"Yes."
"Hah. The world's gone to ruin."
"What exactly did Squad Leader Rimer do here?"
"Rimer. That son of a—"
Vulcan stared at the ceiling, grinding his teeth.
"He gambled with my idiot son. And he lost. Every. Single. Hand!"
Raon's eyes went blank. He wasn't sure he'd heard that right. Rimer hadn't even won. He'd lost. So why was Vulcan this angry?
"Mm?"
Runaan, too, furrowed her brow — a rare sight.
"I'm not sure I follow…"
"After that moron beat Rimer, he got it into his head that he had a gift for gambling. He threw down his hammer, bounced from one gambling den to the next, and burned through every last coin he owned. Still hasn't come to his senses. Lives like a complete degenerate."
"Ah."
Now it made sense. Haren had won every bet against Rimer, decided he was a gambling prodigy, and fallen down the rabbit hole.
In other words, he beat a sucker among suckers and deluded himself into thinking he had talent.
Wrath snorted.
Honestly…
It wasn't really Rimer's fault. But whenever that man was involved, something always seemed to go wrong. He carried misfortune around with him like a second shadow.
"If Rimer had just lost a few hands, the boy wouldn't have fallen apart like this. How do you lose fifteen games in a row?! And then he dragged Haren around teaching him every rotten habit he knew!"
Vulcan clenched his fist, seething. Raon had nothing to say. He quietly lowered his head.
"Hah. Well. That's all in the past now."
Vulcan exhaled a heavy breath and studied Raon's eyes.
"I heard about you from that gambler, but you've grown up properly. More than properly."
"Squad Leader talked about me?"
"That damned fool told me stories about you so I'd lend him money."
The more Raon heard of Rimer's life story, the harder it became to hold his head up.
"I—I'm sorry. How much did he borrow?"
Raon pulled out a pouch of gold coins, ready to settle the debt on the spot.
"Forget it. That much doesn't matter. But you're even more than I was told. The sword aura you've built has already climbed more than halfway up the wall. To come this far in five years… it gladdens this old heart."
A clear, unguarded smile spread across Vulcan's face. When he spoke of Rimer, he'd looked ready to commit murder. When he spoke of Raon, he smiled.
"And this swordsman here. Who is she?"
Vulcan's gaze shifted to Runaan.
"A comrade of mine. She said she wanted a sword made, so she came with me."
"Runaan Sullion."
Runaan stood at once and bowed.
"Sharp as expected of House Sullion — no, cold enough to cut. Is Zieghart nothing but prodigies these days?"
Vulcan read her energy and let out a low whistle of admiration.
"I'll introduce you to the village chief of Mirtan. Whatever kind of sword you want, that friend of mine can forge it perfectly."
"Thank you."
Runaan bowed again.
"Will you begin forging right away, then?"
"I'd like to. There's a problem, though."
"A problem?"
"The geothermal heat around Mirtan Village has dropped far below normal. It usually recovers within a week, but two weeks have passed and it's still running cold."
Vulcan tapped the floor with his foot, frowning.
So that's why.
Raon had heard that Mirtan was quite warm despite sitting in the north. In person, though, it was only a little hotter than Zieghart. He'd thought it strange. The geothermal veins were the reason.
"When the ground heat is this low, even Gold Charcoal won't get the forge to the temperature I need. Something's gone wrong on Mount Skelei, I'd wager."
"You already said that if the heat hadn't come back by the end of this week, you'd request support from Zieghart. Just call them."
Haren thunked a teapot and cups down in the middle of the table and sat.
"Shall I go take a look?"
Raon turned toward the door, glancing in the direction of Mount Skelei.
"Well, in that case…"
"What? Don't you dare!"
Haren waved both hands before Vulcan could even finish.
"The lady swordsman, maybe. A brat like you would be dead the second you set foot up there. The mountain's crawling with monsters that feed on heat, so— ghhk!"
"Are those eyes of yours knotholes?"
Vulcan sighed as if Haren were a lost cause and cracked him across the back of the head.
"You'd be willing to go?"
"Runaan and I would be no different from a support party sent by the house."
Raon nodded. Runaan was an Expert as well. Clearing out the mountain's monsters was well within their reach.
"Would you stop hitting me already! Who even is this kid?!"
"This boy is the future of Zieghart."
"What? Whaaat?"
Haren shot to his feet, still rubbing his head, and nearly knocked his chair over.
"The future of Zieghart? W-wait a second — then that promise you used to talk about…"
"That's right. You lot ran around calling yourselves the family head's chosen, but the swordsman I made that promise to is this one."
"Huh? I—I can't feel anything from him, though? You're telling me this little brat is Expert High-Class or above?"
"If you hadn't wasted the last two years on gambling, you'd have felt it just fine."
Vulcan clicked his tongue in disgust.
"Tch!"
Haren bit his lip, unable to find a retort.
"Then we'll head out at once. If we could just have a guide…"
"Ah. Before that, there's something we need to do."
Vulcan raised a hand, stopping Raon as he started to rise.
"I need to identify the right materials for the two of you first. Makes the work go faster."
"Materials?"
"Just as there are many schools of swordsmanship, there are countless kinds of metal. Finding the iron that matches your aura and temperament is essential. Haren! Bring the Gold Grain Stone!"
"I'm not a servant, you can't just order me around like— ugh."
Haren had been sipping his tea. One look at Vulcan's glaring eyes sent him scurrying back inside. He returned with a cracked stone, a handprint pressed into its center.
"Inside this stone is an iron called Gold Grain. The King of Metals — it amplifies any energy in this world, no matter the type."
"Gold Grain…"
Raon had heard of it. A legendary metal so rare that even money couldn't buy it. Name your price, and you still couldn't find it.
"This Gold Grain Stone, forged from Gold Grain itself, feeds on aura and tells you which metal suits a swordsman best. Care to try?"
"It's already cracked. Won't it shatter if I put aura into it?"
"It will never break. Don't worry about that."
"Understood."
Raon reached for the Gold Grain Stone, then glanced to his right. Runaan's eyes were sparkling for the first time — she was clearly interested.
"Runaan. Want to go first?"
"Mm."
He slid the stone toward her, and she nodded at once.
"Rest your hand in the hollow and push your aura through the crack."
Runaan nodded, laid her palm on the center of the stone, and fed her aura into it.
A low hum rolled through the workshop. Pale silver light welled from the stone's fissures in soft, billowing wisps, and frost began to bloom across its surface.
"Hoh."
Vulcan tapped the stone, then widened his eyes.
"Your aura is remarkable. I haven't seen cold this pure in a long time."
He told Runaan she could take her hand away and scratched his chin.
"The best match would be Cold Blood Iron. Failing that, Argent Iron — it takes to frost exceptionally well…"
"I have Cold Blood Iron."
Runaan held out the box she'd been clutching to her chest.
"Ohh!"
Vulcan opened it and let out a breath of genuine wonder.
"This size, this density. Perfect. High-grade even among Cold Blood Iron. A fine sword will come of this."
He ran his fingers over the metal and nodded, thoroughly satisfied.
"Raon. Your turn."
"Understood. Though…"
Raon set his hand on the Gold Grain Stone, then looked at Haren. He tried to send him out with a glance, but—
"What! Never seen a handsome face before?"
Haren seemed to think it was a staring contest. He glared even harder.
"I told you to get out!"
Vulcan hurled a scrap of wood from beside the table. It bounced off Haren.
"Augh! Come on! What's so secret about aura?!"
"You're noisy. Go stand watch at the door!"
"Damn geezer!"
Haren grumbled the whole way, but he went. He planted himself in front of the workshop door. For all his complaining, he did as he was told.
"He looks like a fool, but the boy used to have real passion for the hammer — and the talent to match. Once I've finished your sword, I intend to knock some sense into that skull of his, even if I have to crack it open."
"He certainly seems to have the gift."
Even after wasting himself like that, Haren had still recognized Runaan's sword aura. That wasn't something an ordinary person could do. As Vulcan's son, the talent was there.
"Then begin."
"Yes."
Raon nodded and laid his hand on the Gold Grain Stone. Vulcan had likely already guessed that he carried both fire and frost aura. There was no harm in letting the old master see.
He was about to channel both auras into the stone when a cluster of presences stirred outside.
"The door really is open…"
"We came every day for ten days and never even saw his face. And he opened the door for some child? Is that true?"
"This is nothing short of an insult!"
"Does the Kingdom of Zetur look like a joke to you?!"
Voices thick with anger mixed with the clatter of armor. The knights of Zetur — the ones Raon had been hearing about since he arrived in the village.
"Ah, what's your problem? Whether the old man takes a customer or not is his business!"
"Shut your mouth! You think you can snub the Kingdom of Zetur and walk away clean?!"
"It's not a snub — a reserved client showed up! This is disruption of business. Get lost!"
To Raon's surprise, Haren didn't run. He stood his ground in the doorway, blocking the knights.
"Hah. I just didn't want the hassle of meeting them, and now it's come to this."
"Ghhk!"
Vulcan sighed and started for the door — just as Haren came flying inward with a strangled cry.
"Kh, those bastards…"
Haren tried to get up, staggered, and went down again. The blow hadn't been that heavy, but a hit to the jaw and gut had stolen his balance.
"Tsk. I'll be right back."
"I'll come with you."
Raon stepped outside with the scowling Vulcan. Knights in armor marked with a rapier emblem on the left breast stared them down with killing eyes. Zetur Kingdom, as expected.
"Don't tell me it's this brat?"
The blue-haired young man standing at their center — mid-twenties — ground his teeth. The pressure rolling off him was considerable. A fighter who had reached the intermediate-high ranks of Expert.
"Master Vulcan! This is too much! You wouldn't even show us your face, and you chose a child like this?!"
"It wasn't a choice. It was a promise. Five years ago, I swore I would forge this boy a sword."
"F-five years ago? He would've been a little kid!"
The young man's eyes flew wide in disbelief.
Raon clicked his tongue, looking at the red-faced knights.
Raised soft.
He understood how they felt, more or less. A continental master smith who wouldn't even show his face after ten days of visits, then opened his door for a young swordsman — anyone would be furious.
But that was something you swallowed. Showing up to throw a tantrum didn't just disgrace yourself. It dragged your kingdom's name through the mud.
Invoking Zetur like that only made them look younger.
"What could you possibly have seen in this brat to promise him a sword?!"
"You keep calling me a brat. It's getting on my nerves."
Raon stepped forward, lowering his brows.
"Stay out of this, kid! This isn't your place!"
"The one who should stay out is you."
"What?"
"The owner of this shop is taking an order from a reserved client. What business do a bunch of unrelated strangers have telling him what to do?"
"Th-that's…"
"You even beat the owner's son. I can't imagine what you think you're going to get by planting yourselves here."
"Shut up! Master Vulcan's swords are the highest art. They're not something a maggot like you should walk away with!"
The young man in the center stepped forward, teeth bared.
"State your name!"
"You should introduce yourself first."
"Insolent!"
"Do you have any idea who this man is?!"
The knights flanking the young man flared their auras, ready to charge.
"This isn't Zetur. This is Zieghart territory. If you want to flash your stripes, go do it somewhere else."
"Kh!"
"You little—!"
"Enough."
The young man stopped his knights as they reached for their swords and stepped forward himself.
"The way you talk, you must be with Zieghart. I am Tarkan, prince of the Kingdom of Zetur. The Blue Falcon of Zetur!"
Tarkan lifted his chin.
"Zieghart or not, I feel nothing of worth from you!"
"Hmph."
Raon narrowed his eyes at Tarkan.
A prince, then.
A prince in his mid-twenties who'd reached intermediate-high Expert — no wonder his head was overheating. Raon understood the impulse to charge in. Slightly. Understanding was not the same as letting it slide.
Zetur was famous for fast swordsmanship and precise strikes, as I recall.
The rapier emblem on their armor wasn't for show. Zetur was renowned for swordplay that was both swift and exact.
Might as well pick his swordsmanship apart while I'm at it.
If things had come this far, provoking the prince and extracting the principles of Zetur's sword arts didn't sound like a bad idea.
So that one's about to become a sucker too…
Wrath shuddered at the faint smile on Raon's face.
"A prince? The way you carry yourself, I took you for some street thug. Is that how the Kingdom of Zetur raises its heirs?"
Raon smiled, the insult deliberate.
"Sh-shut up and give me your name!"
"Raon Zieghart."
"Raon? Never heard of you. A cadet branch, then, as I thought."
"And?"
"Hah! Not even a direct descendant — a nameless cadet — and you think you deserve Master Vulcan's sword?!"
House Zieghart was not a family that spread information about itself. These men knew nothing about him. Even the fame from Habun Castle had traveled under epithets — the Young Sword Fiend, the Wall of Flame — not his actual name. Of course they didn't recognize him.
"Then test me yourself."
"What?"
"Whether I have the qualifications or not. Test it with your own hands."
"That's exactly what I wanted!"
Tarkan drew his sword as if the day had just been made. It was thinner and keener than a typical longsword, flashing as it caught the sun.
"If I win, you leave this place at once."
"And if I win, you get on your knees and apologize for the arrogance."
"Gladly. Not that it will happen!"
"Come on, then. I'll even give you the first move."
"You bastard!"
Raon crooked a finger. Tarkan's eyes blazed as he kicked off the ground. A sword-strike like a bolt of lightning shot toward Raon's chest — clean, despite the rage behind it. The man hadn't trained his swordsmanship carelessly.
Raon spun the Ring of Fire, tracked Tarkan's blade all the way in, and knocked it aside.
"Hmph. So you've got a trick or two."
Tarkan snorted, bent his knees slightly, and unleashed a flurry. The strikes were fast as rain skimming the earth, yet bound together in a single organic flow.
Steel rang on steel in a rapid, climbing cascade. Raon took Tarkan's swift sword apart piece by piece — six resonating Rings of Fire and eyesight honed to its absolute limit doing the work.
Speed laced with precision. An ascending sword art that aims only for the vital points.
Tarkan's strikes weren't merely fast. He was driving the blade into the smallest of openings with real accuracy. For all his explosive temper, he had learned a prestigious sword style properly.
"Let's see how long you can keep blocking!"
Tarkan seemed to decide it was time to show his true skill. The pressure rolling off him surged, and the energy streaming from his blade fell like shafts of light.
It wasn't just the power. The sword itself grew faster still — so quick it seemed to split the air.
Raon turned aside Tarkan's endless assault by the width of a sheet of paper, refining a new set of principles for a swift-sword art as he did. He had never seen swordsmanship that pursued speed this purely. It was an education.
"Your Highness! He's almost done!"
"He can barely hold his sword — he's exhausted!"
"Finish it!"
The Zetur knights cheered their prince, smiling. Because Raon studied Tarkan's blade until it was a hair from his skin before turning it aside, it looked from the sidelines as if Tarkan were overwhelming him.
The man actually fighting was dying inside.
What the hell is this guy?!
At first Tarkan had barely felt any presence at all. He'd thought he could win easily. The moment their swords met, the story changed.
Every clash felt like striking an iron wall. His grip screamed as if it would tear. His wrist shuddered as if it would snap.
And on top of that…
At the start, the brat hadn't even seemed able to follow the swift sword. Now he was moving his blade faster than Tarkan himself. It had to be his imagination — but it felt as if this opponent was growing through the duel.
I need to end this. Now.
Tarkan clenched his teeth and wrenched up every last drop of his remaining aura, wrapping it around his sword and his arm. He concentrated the energy into the striking portion of the blade, then detonated it in a single instant — the secret technique of Zorkin swordsmanship.
The secret art of Zorkin swordsmanship — aura concentrated into the blade and detonated in a single, blinding revolution of speed.
A sword-strike so fast Tarkan could barely see it himself shot toward Raon's chest.
There's no way he can blo— wait?
Tarkan swallowed dryly. He'd expected panic. Instead, Raon's lips curled into a thin smile.
"I was waiting for something like this."
That chilling voice, and Raon's hand rose like a thunderbolt.
Tarkan's sword met Raon's — and shattered like glass, fragments glittering as they scattered through the air.
"Ah…"
Tarkan's lips trembled. Raon's blade had moved later. It had arrived first. That was the extreme speed you only saw from a Master.
"I learned a lot."
"Le-learned? Learned wha— ghhk!"
Tarkan's jaw dropped as he looked down — and Raon's sword smashed into his mouth.
Struck across the jaw and lips at once, Tarkan spat four teeth like kernels of corn and collapsed.
"Y-Your Highness!"
"Damn it!"
"W-what do you think you're doing?!"
The escort knights rushed in, scooped up their prince, and leveled their swords at Raon.
"Wasn't this a fair match? Why are the swords out?"
"Th-that's…"
"Urgh…"
The knights' eyes wavered like sailboats in a storm. They still couldn't believe their prince had lost.
"If you have a complaint, come to Zieghart and find me. Of course, before that…"
Raon pointed at the limp Tarkan, eyes narrowing.
"When he wakes up, tell him to come kneel and apologize. You didn't forget that part, did you?"
"Kh…"
"This isn't over…"
The knights bit their lips until they bled, then turned their backs.
We'll see, they say…
They were counting on the Kingdom of Zetur behind them. Raon had House Zieghart behind him — a name just as vast. Once the heat left their heads, they wouldn't dare show their faces.
"You…. Did you just learn a swift sword from that prince's technique?"
Vulcan stared, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Not so much learned as used it for reference."
"Hah. You've become a monster while I wasn't looking."
He shook his head as if he didn't know whether to laugh or groan.
"They won't be coming back."
Raon sheathed his sword with a faint smile.
"Hrm. I'm grateful for the consideration, but you didn't need to step in like that."
"Pardon? For what?"
"You drew every last bit of their attention onto yourself so it wouldn't fall on me or my idiot son."
"Ah…"
Raon scratched the back of his head, a little sheepish. Vulcan had noticed that he'd repeated the name Zieghart on purpose, and waved it off as unnecessary.
"You used to be like a doll with no feelings. Looks like you've picked up a human side along the way."
Vulcan chuckled and clapped Raon on the back.
"Come inside. I want to see what suits you — and I want to see it now."
Back in the workshop, Raon set his hand on the Gold Grain Stone. He ran the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacia at the same time, pushing both auras into the stone's fissure.
Fire and frost poured into the Gold Grain Stone as one, seeping through every crack like ink into paper.
A deep, rolling hum filled the room. Crimson and azure aura soaked the entire stone and burst into brilliant light.
"That light, that color — Mystic Iron and… wait?"
Vulcan stepped toward the Gold Grain Stone and froze, eyes flying wide.
Between the red heat and the blue frost, a new light sprouted like a seedling. The three energies wound together in a spiral, as if they had always been one, and poured out an auspicious golden radiance.
Hairline cracks webbed across the Gold Grain Stone — the stone that was never supposed to break — and the golden aura only grew denser.
At last the stone could no longer bear the force. It shattered into fragments, and from within, a small metal sphere leapt free, shedding a luminous, otherworldly glow.
"Hah!"
Vulcan stared at the sphere, thunderstruck.
"Gold Grain… revealing itself?!"