Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Elven Sword
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Like a mute who had eaten honey.
Exactly that.
"..."
No one dared open their mouth.
The head of the Wood Elf Lord rolling around right in front of them.
And Damian Winter standing there, splattered in blood.
The overwhelming sight had sealed their lips.
'N-no way...'
Torg's eyes shook.
He had taken down that monster alone?
"Uh, um... th-that..."
Torg scrambled for some excuse.
But Damian gave him no chance.
"Guild Leader."
Damian's gaze turned to Anton.
"Yes, yes. I'm listening. Go ahead."
The guild leader came running over in a fluster.
The defiant attitude he'd shown against the mercenaries just moments ago was nowhere to be seen.
"Let's settle the success fee properly."
"Of course! What would work best?"
"27 survivors. 100 gold per head success fee."
Damian ticked off the points clearly.
"Total 2,700 gold. All to me."
"Huh? W-what does that...?"
The guild leader's eyes went wide.
No matter how one sliced it, this was an unexpected demand.
"You did say you'd pay it out upon successful subjugation."
Damian nudged the Wood Elf Lord's head with his foot.
"I succeeded alone, so doesn't it make sense I take the reward alone?"
A perfectly reasonable claim.
But not to the mercenaries.
"Hey, newbie! That's going too far!"
Torg jumped up in outrage.
He couldn't back down like this.
"You think you could've taken all those monsters without us?! We risked our necks too!"
A few mercenaries nodded in agreement with his outburst.
Just as the mood soured again...
"Risked your necks?"
A sneer curled at Damian's lips.
"Looked more like you were busy running for your lives."
A single sentence that struck right at the heart.
"Isn't that right?"
Damian stepped toward Torg.
His icy gaze pierced straight through the man.
"... "
Torg couldn't respond.
No, he couldn't respond.
The man before him terrified him.
On instinct.
"Very well."
Damian turned his head to look at the guild leader.
"Now that we've settled that, when and where do I collect?"
"Ah, the settlement! That's crucial. Come with me for now. We'll hash out the details at guild headquarters."
Anton shouted to his escorts.
"We're heading back to HQ! And those present here..."
"Damian Winter."
"Escort Sir Damian Winter to the carriage! Pack that hideous head carefully in a sack too!"
Having barked the order, Anton clapped Damian on the shoulder.
He showed no concern for the bloodied armor whatsoever.
"Come on, hop in the carriage. You must be exhausted."
The guild leader's steps were busier than ever.
The finest lodgings provided by the Anton Merchant Guild.
A plush bed and a cozy fireplace.
Luxury beyond compare to the battlefield.
'Feels almost too comfortable.'
Damian gazed out the window.
The vibrant cityscape filled his view.
'Still hard to believe.'
From farmer to conscript.
And now, he'd reached the realm of a proper Sword User.
A life reversal like no other.
'A life I never even dreamed of.'
Gluttony.
The power to kill foes and devour their abilities.
It had upended his entire existence.
He'd even confirmed it worked on monsters.
'How much stronger can I get?'
Endless potential for growth.
That set his heart racing.
'Might as well check while I'm at it.'
Damian sat and closed his eyes.
Time to review his recent gains.
'Lowest Regeneration, and alchemy knowledge.'
The Lowest Regeneration from the slime.
He'd already tasted its power in the duel with the lord.
'Not quite on the slime's level, though.'
Humans and slimes were worlds apart, after all.
If limbs could regrow, they wouldn't be human.
Minor wounds, however—that was possible.
For example.
Stab!
Damian lightly pricked the back of his hand with his dagger.
The wound bubbled up...
...and healed in an instant.
Shhh...
'Lowest Regeneration in action.'
Satisfied, Damian sheathed the dagger.
Next, he recalled the alchemy knowledge now in his mind.
Basic stuff, ancient enough to carry that label.
Yet plenty useful.
'All sorts of recipes, plus vast herbal lore.'
It would aid his future plans immensely.
Plenty of time to dive deeper soon.
'But today's real prize...'
The blue text that had appeared right after the battle.
Two potent abilities now etched into his flesh.
'Proficient Ancient Elf Swordsmanship.'
A flood of vast information poured into his mind.
Movements fluid and lethally elegant—unlike any human style.
The sensation of wielding the blade in harmony with nature.
'Definitely different.'
The solidity of Kingdom Swordsmanship.
The destructive power of Imperial Swordsmanship.
And the flexibility of Elf Swordsmanship.
A sword art on a whole new level.
'Not to mention...'
The heart of this achievement.
The technique he'd coveted so badly.
'One Flash.'
A single strike that cleaved all before it.
The Wood Elf Lord's overwhelming speed and power.
'Now mine.'
The thrill of claiming what he'd desperately wanted.
He itched to test it right away.
One small issue, though.
'Not with this sword.'
Ancient Elf Swordsmanship and One Flash alike.
Both premised on a two-handed sword.
Couldn't bring out their true potential with Dawn, a one-hander.
'Can't even merge with my old styles.'
Fundamentally different systems.
Forcing it would only backfire.
He needed a fresh approach.
'That's why I brought this.'
Damian grasped the two-handed sword propped by the bed.
The weapon once wielded by the cursed Wood Elf Lord.
'Elven Sword.'
He gripped the Elven Sword with both hands.
It fit his palms like it was made for him.
'Hefty, for sure.'
But its condition was abysmal.
Blade chipped all over.
Signs of long neglect.
Could snap any moment.
'Needs fixing. Before heading to Sobkov Territory.'
Essential for proper use.
Problem: it was an Elven Sword.
Would any smith handle an elf blade?
'Gotta ask the guild leader.'
Melrn was a big city.
Bound to have skilled smiths.
Knock knock!
Right then.
A knock from outside.
"Anton Merchant Guild here. Success fee settlement is ready."
Damian rose from his seat.
Time to collect his funds for the road.
The Anton Merchant Guild's reception room.
Ornate chandelier and luxurious furnishings.
At the center sat the guild leader, Anton.
"There you are, Sir Damian."
He shot to his feet upon spotting Damian.
"Sir is too much."
"Nonsense! You're the hero who saved our guild—no, this city's trade! We must accord you the honor you deserve!"
He shoved a hefty pouch across the table.
"Business starts with settling accounts—that shows true intent. Base pay plus success fee comes to 2,720 gold total. Threw in a little extra as personal thanks."
"No need for that."
"I've climbed this far on gut instinct alone. And my gut's whispering: keep good ties with this man."
Lip service or genuine—who knew.
But no reason to turn down extra coin.
Damian nodded and took the pouch.
Jingle!
Stuffed full of gold coins.
A fortune he'd never touched in his life.
"Gratefully accepted."
"Think nothing of it—we owe you thanks. Ha!"
Anton waved it off with a laugh.
"Thanks to you, we can resume caravans worry-free. The losses piled up bad. Lucky break, eh?"
A glint of greed flashed in his eyes.
No doubt, he'd rake in far more than today's outlay.
From all the backed-up trade runs, courtesy of the Wood Elves.
"By the way, one thing I'm curious about."
Damian spoke up suddenly.
"Ask away."
"Those elves—how'd they end up like that?"
"The Wood Elves?"
The tribe from Shadow Forest.
Why had they been cursed?
"Don't know the full story myself. Over a century ago."
Anton shook his head with a wry look.
"Heard they were on friendly terms with humans long ago, though. Called Forest Guardians, respected and all."
From revered guardians to monsters.
Hard to even imagine what happened.
"Did the attacking Wood Elves steal goods too?"
"Seemed like it, but nothing valuable. Broken cart wheels, bedrolls—junk like that vanished."
Anton paused, rummaging through memories.
"Some grabbed pricey wares, sure. But felt more like random snatches than deliberate picks."
What had driven the mindless beasts to that?
'They demanded tribute from us too.'
The cursed Wood Elf Lord.
It had spoken of 'tribute.'
'So that's why they plundered.'
Even cursed into monsters.
The Wood Elves still served their king.
For over a century.
Loyalty carved into their instincts.
"I see."
The Wood Elf talk ended there.
No need to dig deeper.
Something else mattered now.
"Need anything else?"
"One more question?"
Damian jumped right in.
"As many as you like. Shoot."
"Looking for a smith skilled with special weapons."
"Special how, exactly...?"
"This."
Damian set the Elven Sword—propped by the office door—onto the table.
A gray greatsword, chipped to hell.
"An elven blade, eh. And ancient at that."
Worth of a guild leader—he knew it on sight.
"Wood Elf Lord's sword. Took it as spoils."
"Impressive."
He examined it gingerly.
"Elven Sword..."
Anton stroked his chin, deep in thought.
"As you know, elven gear's gospel: only elf smiths can work it."
No wonder 'elven-made' or 'dwarven-made' commanded premiums.
Dwarves for dwarven, elves for elven.
Common knowledge.
"Problem is, only one elf smith around these parts."
"Who?"
"Goes by Jillian. Bit of a sticky wicket, honestly."
Sticky how?
Damian perked his ears.
"Doesn't run a proper smithy."
"Meaning...?"
"Heard of the outfit that rules Melrn's nights?"
"Crime syndicate?"
"Aye. Black Hand—brutes who deserve the heavens' wrath."
The so-called 'Black Hand'.
Melrn's largest criminal outfit.
"Jillian's their... exclusive smith, you might say."
"Forced labor?"
"If only. That'd be better."
Anton wagged his head.
"Not official, but everyone in Melrn knows: Jillian's the Black Hand's boss."
An elf smith was novel enough.
Pile on crime lord to boot?
One of a kind.
"Means he's dangerous. Better hunt a safer option slow-like? I'll help."
Anton's voice dripped concern.
But Damian thought differently.
'If that smith really deserves divine punishment...'
...all the better.'
'Might snag his skills.'
Elf blacksmithing.
That tantalizing prize.