Chapter 49
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Trial of the Forge
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The dwarf, not missing the subtle change in Luon’s expression, spoke.
“By the looks of it, you didn’t know your sword had awakened an ego?”
Luon thought for a moment before replying.
“I’ve felt something like a connection before. But it only started spouting obvious nonsense relatively recently.”
“Is that so?”
A smile touched the dwarf’s wrinkled face.
The menacing aura that had made him look ready to kill Strabo at any moment was gone, replaced by a deep, craftsman-like curiosity as he gazed at the holy sword.
“This isn’t a conversation to be had standing out here. Come in.”
As the dwarf turned his sturdy back and walked into the forge, Igor rushed over to the fallen Strabo.
“Strabo, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Aside from the fact that it’s hard to breathe and I can’t lift my right arm!”
“Merciful Mother—”
“Wait.”
Strabo’s thick palm covered Igor’s clasped hands as he began to murmur a prayer.
“Not now.”
“What?”
“The more beat up I look, the less mad my father will be. I took that hit on purpose.”
With a grunt, Strabo laboriously pushed himself up.
“Let’s get inside, friends. My father isn’t a patient dwarf.”
***
The orange glow spilling from the round furnace illuminated the dark interior of the forge.
The white-haired dwarf addressed the group, who were seated on backless stools.
“I am Garan.”
After the simple self-introduction, the party members stated their own names.
Everyone knew it was merely a formality for the conversation to come.
Garan glared at Strabo, who was squatting on the floor instead of a stool and rubbing his sore shoulder, then turned his head.
“We’ll put aside this damned brat’s punishment for a moment… Let’s talk about the sword. What in the world have you been doing to let it get this broken?”
At that question, Luon began to speak.
He explained how he had acquired the skull dagger after killing Salvator, how it had been transformed by Tivela’s grace into its current form, and how it had gradually grown in power by killing the servants of demons.
“…And that’s the story.”
When he finished, Garan, who had been listening silently, unfolded his arms.
“What a bizarre case.”
He slowly tilted his head. To the right.
“What in the world are you?”
For a moment, Luon couldn’t tell if Garan’s “you” was referring to him or the holy sword, so he held his tongue.
Garan ran a hand through his stiff hair and opened his mouth.
“…It’s rare for an object exposed to powerful forces to awaken an ego, but not unheard of. In your sword’s case, the goddess’s blessing must have been the catalyst. Do you understand why I’m telling you this?”
Luon shook his head at the sudden change of topic.
Garan clicked his tongue softly.
“It means you are that ego sword’s first master.”
He sighed, looking at the party members who were watching him in silence.
“It seems none of you grasp the significance of that… Listen carefully. To a newly awakened ego, the first master is the one from whom it inherits the will that will guide it for its entire existence. You could say the master is, in effect, everything.”
Garan continued, like an old man reciting a mystical folktale.
“Why do you think the legend of ego weapons choosing their masters came to be? It’s because the weapon seeks a new wielder worthy of carrying on the will of its first master…”
It was a fascinating story, but Luon, feeling it was straying from the point, cut in.
“Just the gist, please.”
Garan cleared his throat with a cough and pointed a finger at Luon.
“What in the world are you?”
Repeating the same question as before, he narrowed his eyes and added.
“I just can’t fathom what kind of influence you had on it for a holy relic to become corrupted by recklessly absorbing demonic power. This is beyond biting off more than you can chew…”
Luon shook his head.
“I’m not sure about that myself.”
Though he said that, Luon had a faint inkling of what influence he might have had on the holy sword.
*…The completion of the story and leveling up?*
It would make sense if the holy sword, influenced by his own relentless pursuit of strength to escape this world, had broken itself by recklessly absorbing the power of a great demon.
Just then, Garan spoke.
“I’ve gotten sidetracked. Let’s get to the point, albeit late… You want to restore the corrupted holy sword to its original state, is that it?”
Luon nodded.
“Is it possible?”
At those words, Garan’s brow furrowed unpleasantly. He spun around and, without hesitation, kicked Strabo squarely in the chest with a loud thud.
Strabo let out a yelp.
“Ugh! Why are you taking it out on me?”
“You good-for-nothing son! Did you not even tell them who I am on the way here?”
Kyle quickly tried to pull Garan away.
“Whoa, calm down.”
Ignoring him, Garan pounded his chest and shouted.
“I am Garan. Garan Bolund! There is no greater blacksmith than me in Roberdeux. Of course something like this is possible!”
*Did I bruise his pride?*
Luon addressed the fuming Garan.
“My apologies if that sounded rude. That was not my intention.”
“Hmph, is that so? Then it’s fine!”
Luon let out a wry chuckle as he watched the dwarf’s anger dissipate in an instant. It was easy to see where Strabo got his simple-minded personality.
Garan spoke.
“However, I can’t do it for nothing. You look like a mercenary… so you must know how things work in that world, right?”
“I have plenty of money.”
“No, it’s not money I want.”
*This is getting tedious.*
Luon let out a faint sigh.
He had expected as much, but the words reeked of a typical chain quest.
Hoping it wouldn’t be some out-of-the-blue demand for materials, like the bones or horns of some monster, he asked.
“Then what is it?”
Garan replied with a serious expression.
“Pass the Trial of the Forge. A man acknowledged by the goddess, one who has had such a profound influence on an ego sword… should be able to handle at least that much.”
As Luon tilted his head at the non-intuitive demand, Strabo shot to his feet and shouted.
“The Trial of the Forge, out of nowhere! Don’t tell me this is because of me? Because he’s a friend I brought?”
Garan growled at him.
“You brat, I ought to beat you to death. Have I ever let personal feelings interfere with my work?”
“Well, no, but…”
“If you know that, then shut your mouth!”
Cutting through the two dwarves’ shouting, Luon spoke.
“Care to let me in on this?”
Garan replied to his cold voice.
“The Trial of the Forge is a process of proving your strength to the great Duermyure. If you pass the trial, every dwarf in the world will recognize you as a true warrior, regardless of the length of your legs. They might even beg you to use the weapons they’ve forged.”
Luon nodded readily.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“I like your decisiveness.”
Smiling with satisfaction, Garan was immediately met with another question from Luon.
“Where do I take this trial? I hate waiting around, so I’d like to get it over with quickly.”
“I’ll guide you, so wait outside. I’ll get ready and come out.”
As Luon immediately headed out of the forge, Kyle hurried to catch up.
“What’s going on?”
“You heard everything inside, didn’t you?”
“Well, I heard it, but the conversation had no middle ground. A trial all of a sudden? Why do you need to pass a trial to restore the holy sword?”
Strabo, who was following behind with Igor’s help, spoke up.
“…Dwarves consider it the greatest honor for a warrior who has passed the Trial of the Forge to use their weapon. I think that’s why my father made it a condition.”
At his words, Igor frowned.
“…Don’t tell me that a warrior who passes the Trial of the Forge is called Duermyure’s Champion?”
“Oh, you’re a smart one, Igor.”
“Mother, have mercy.”
Abandoning Strabo, who was giving him a thumbs-up, Igor approached Luon.
“Sir Luon, you can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“We should tell Garan that you are Tivela’s Champion right now and have him demand a different price.”
*What’s with him now?*
Luon looked down at Igor, who was gazing up at him with an anxious face.
“Have you forgotten what the priestess said? I am not Tivela’s Champion.”
“B-But… there is no one more fitting for that title than you, Sir Luon. Truly.”
Kyle, watching them quietly, muttered to himself.
“He sounds like he’s begging his wife not to leave him…”
Just as he said, Igor’s attitude was as if he was afraid Luon might become the official champion of Duermyure.
Luon let out a faint sigh and said.
“Even if I pass the trial, I won’t be Duermyure’s Champion. Nor will I be Tivela’s Champion. I am just Luon. Just as you are just Igor.”
Igor, seemingly struck by his words, bowed his head deeply.
“…My thoughts were shortsighted.”
Seeing this, Kyle wiped under his nose.
“Hmm, Luon, that was pretty cool just now.”
Strabo, who was still on the ground, chimed in.
“Ooh, how romantic, Luon. If only my arm wasn’t broken, I’d want to write that down somewhere! By the way, can someone help me up?”
As Luon squeezed his eyes shut at the chaotic scene, Garan walked out of the forge and said.
“Let’s go.”
***
The group followed Garan up a sloping path.
Treading on the long weeds growing between the smooth flagstones, they were greeted by a modestly sized temple.
Compared to the city’s ornate buildings, the temple had a very plain appearance.
“I don’t know why you all tagged along when this one is the only one taking the trial.”
With a snort, Garan entered the temple first.
Following him, they saw a bald dwarf standing before a wide brazier filled with dancing flames, who then looked up.
“…Garan? What brings you here?”
He tilted his head at the approaching Garan, then his gaze shifted to the group.
“Three humans and one dwarf… Strabo? What are you doing here?”
“It’s been a while, Retol.”
The dwarf called Retol scratched his shiny forehead and replied awkwardly.
“Y-Yeah. It has been a while.”
Garan addressed Retol, who was staring at him as if demanding an explanation.
“A warrior came seeking my help, and he’s clearly no ordinary man, so I urged him to take the Trial of the Forge. If he passes, I intend to help him with all my strength, no questions asked.”
Retol instantly realized Garan was talking about Luon and asked him directly.
“Human warrior. Is what Garan says true?”
“It is.”
After his short reply, Luon strode directly toward the brazier.
Retol spoke.
“And you know what happens if you fail?”
“I wasn’t told about that.”
“You’ll become a cripple.”
Startled by those words, Kyle shrieked at Garan.
“What! This crazy old geezer didn’t mention the most important part!”
“You little whelp! Who do you think you’re raising your voice at?”
Retol spoke in a dignified tone to the two fired-up men.
“Silence. Have you forgotten this is the temple of Duermyure?”
Once the atmosphere calmed down, he looked up and stared intently into Luon’s eyes.
Finding no trace of hesitation in those deeply settled eyes, Retol spoke.
“Are you not afraid?”
“Of what, at this point?”
Luon gave a faint smile.
If he was the type to tremble at a mere trial like this, he would never have even dreamed of aiming for a great demon’s throat.
Live or die. To Luon, who had broken through countless battlefields where only those simple yet cruel outcomes awaited, the Trial of the Forge was just another fight.
“It’s been twenty years since we’ve had a non-dwarf challenger.”
With those words, Retol closed his eyes and his lips began to move.
A sizzling sound rose from the brazier, and steam billowed up.
Through the dispersing steam, a hammer, glowing red-hot, was revealed. The peculiar thing was that every part of it, except for the handle, was engulfed in blazing flames.
“If you grip the handle…”
Before Retol could finish, Luon, who had already grasped the hammer’s handle, spoke.
“Long-winded explanations only cheapen the moment.”
In that instant, an immense heat and a torrent of flames swept over his body.