Chapter 137
Chapter 137
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: 12. Survival Competition (13)
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"I don't remember exactly when it was."
"From what I heard in the family, it's been nearly two hundred years."
"Has it been that long already? Time has passed in its own way, regardless. Still, the memory sticks out vividly."
"Was there a reason for that?"
"The head of the Lebedev family back then had venom in his eyes. Aside from eating and sleeping, he talked of nothing but demons."
"Relations between the kingdom and the empire weren't as friendly as they are now, were they?"
"Spot on. That's why he looked like any commoner."
I was chiming in like a sounding board next to Mr. Rambi as he infused mana into the metal and spun his tale.
His expression was a subtle one, hard to explain as mere reminiscence.
"I don't remember the name well. Do you know about your ancestors?"
"The one who brought the sword to the family was Sir Amet, I believe."
"Ah, that was the name. Right, right. Anyway, that Sir Amet was the quiet type, no change in expression. But whenever demons came up, he'd silently sharpen his blade."
"I don't know the details myself, but back then, finding someone in the Lebedev family without a personal grudge against demons would have been harder."
"I heard your territory borders theirs."
"Yes. There are hardly any clashes now, but..."
"Peace, huh. Not bad, aside from the hard time trusting the other side."
Mr. Rambi paused to shape the core with mana, then wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel he'd set aside nearby.
Processing high-grade material clearly wasn't easy.
"Anyway, the job landing with me was pure chance. But it stuck in my memory. Hammering iron isn't fun, yet he came to check every time."
"Did he say why?"
"Something about wanting to witness the birth of a blade to cleave demon necks. Felt like he was obsessed solely with slaying demons."
"Honestly, it does sound a bit excessive."
"That's how deep the grudge ran, no doubt. Compared to that, you seem pretty well-adjusted."
"I think it's more fate than grudge."
"Fate, eh. Heavy word."
Sweat kept dripping from his forehead, so after wiping it nonstop with the towel, he just tied it around his head like a bandana.
He resumed working on the core in that state and spoke again.
"So if things with the demons are in a stalemate, do you exchange with regular demons now and then?"
"Yes. We stand regular guard shifts at the border, and we get along decently with the demons we run into then."
"World's full of surprises. Humans and demons nearly in a truce."
"The Demon God cultists are still a problem, though."
"Yeah, those types are trouble everywhere, always."
He handed me the partially shaped core, and I took it, channeling mana into it.
Smooth mana conduction—clean was an understatement. The oddly familiar feel was probably because the maker matched my old sword.
To be even more honest, it felt a touch smoother and more comfortable than the original.
Maybe because it was just the core, or perhaps Mr. Rambi's skills had improved in the interim.
He grinned, satisfied with how the mana flowed, took it back, and began polishing the surface smooth.
"So, with you leaving home, what happened to those prior exchanges?"
"...No idea."
"You said you'd return this sword to the family."
"Yes."
"Go see for yourself. There might be things worth cherishing beyond what you hated."
"Not sure anything that important exists."
"Doesn't matter. Worth a look."
As I stayed negative, he gave a wry smile and added,
"Even if nothing's precious to you, someone might cherish you."
"...If you put it that way, I get it."
"That sword's important, but the family hasn't asked for it back, right?"
He was right. The family was probably still hoping I'd return.
Whether it was for my sake or not, they at least wanted me back home, if not the academy.
Truth be told, I really didn't want to, but since the sword's maker—who was doing this for free—was advising it, I'd listen.
"Well, for long-lived folks like us, we can take it slow without big issues, but human lives are short. Not everyone can use lifespan-extension arts."
"At least in my family, probably just me."
"That's why dwarves and elves don't venture out much. Time perception differs with shorter-lived folk, and worst is watching them go first."
"True, but."
"Death itself isn't the issue. It's the regrets piling up over longer times than you knew them, things you couldn't slowly make up for. You know you can't give relationships your all every time, but the shortcomings linger."
Polishing done, he set the core on the workbench and fetched the mithril lump for the outer sheath, wrapping up his story.
"Even if emotions make you turn away, long life means long regrets. If you're living long, don't leave any."
"Got it."
Pinpointing 'things you'd regret' suggested he had his own reasons or experiences.
Once the sword was done, I'd head back then.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Justina had been riding intense emotional waves lately. Yulius's name would lift her spirits, only for the realization he had no plans to return to crash her down.
Banned even from visiting him on her own, she moped constantly, leaving those around her struggling—not like her old lone-wolf days, but in a whole new frustrating way.
"Justina senior?"
One of the few who could brighten Justina's mood, Karin, arrived at the garden with two friends.
Her figure had filled out lately, her face somehow more refined and pretty, but without specifics, Justina couldn't pinpoint why.
Being Yulius's main line of contact, she was extra cautious not to pry lest it upset Justina.
"No asking about the Shopkeeper?"
"C-can I...?"
"He didn't say not to tell me or anything."
"Then just a little."
"...The Demon God cult invaded the dwarves' land, so he's gone to help."
Whisper whisper.
Pushing even her friends aside to murmur it, Justina thought it sounded just like Yulius. Heading to another nation to tackle demon threats—what resolve.
That's my big brother.
Justina's mood lifted.
"Um... And this is delicate."
"Yeah."
"The sword he has—it's from the Lebedevs, right?"
"It is."
"It turned into a holy sword. So for whatever reason, he might stop by home... Ah, just a guess."
"Then I should prep to head home too."
"Yeah. Honestly, not sure if the Shopkeeper will get along with his dad. Figured you'd better be there to look after him... that's why."
"Thanks, even as a guess. Gotta hurry and prepare."
Justina quietly headed to her room. Everything she needed was already at home; no point packing anything fancy.
Better yet, bringing records of her efforts while her brother was here would surely sway her father positively.
Deep in rummaging her treasure trove for the best magic crystals, a knock broke her focus.
"Who is it?"
"Me."
"Rias. We said we'd get along, but we're not that close, right? Why my room?"
"After all the drinking, puking, and chaos, 'not close'? Anyway, you free anytime soon?"
"Heading home."
"Huh? What? Word reached there first?"
"Pardon?"
"Nah, Mom—the Duchess—told me to head to the Lebedevs 'cause she has something to say."
"...Different reason for me."
"Just tell me when. I'll sync up."
"Not set yet; I'll let you know later. Not urgent, right?"
"Doesn't seem so. If urgent, that lady throws total hysterics."
Rias's lip twisted negatively. In Justina's memory, Duchess Calamity was a bold heroine who crossed lines a bit.
At 17, in her prime, asking her brother if he fancied 'doing something nice' with her.
Maybe more than a bit.
Justina eyed Rias with pity.
"What's with that lukewarm look?"
"Just pity. Growing up under a mom like that."
"I know, fuck."