Chapter 27 - When Sword Meets Sword (3)

One day, when he awoke, deep regret came flooding in.

The pride of a craftsman was nowhere to be found, and all that remained was disgust toward himself for having made swords as though stamping them out, drunk on empty fame.

It was an emotion he had never felt in his life, and the old man did not know how to master his own heart.

And so, as always, he stood before the furnace.

He placed a heated lump of iron on the anvil and hammered it without rest.

Refining and forging, work he had repeated countless times until now.

But this time, what the old man was working was not iron, but his own heart and his entire life.

And then the blade was completed.

His heart was still full of impurities, yet the lump of iron had already taken shape.

Those around him made a fuss, saying another masterpiece had been made.

But to the old man's eyes, the sword was a failure full of impurities, and without hesitation he thrust the sword into the furnace.

Sachsen, the man in charge of the workshop, threw a fit, but the old man paid him no mind.

He took up the hammer again and repeated the work of refining and forging.

Another sword was made.

His heart was still troubled, yet only the impatient lump of iron seemed to be urging him on.

The old man thrust the sword into the furnace again.

In that way, countless swords turned to molten iron inside the furnace.

Each time a sword was discarded, the regret and shame left in his heart faded little by little.

The old man threw himself even more fervently into his work.

How long had he hammered the iron, and his own heart, like that?

When he came to his senses, the regret that had filled his heart was already gone.

What had newly filled its place was a longing utterly befitting a craftsman.

He wanted to make even one proper sword before he died.

The old man measured the time left to him.

There was not enough time remaining.

His weakened body would soon be unable to lift even a hammer.

Before that happened, he chose his iron.

As it happened, there was a piece of desert scrap iron that no one had touched.

["Heat it until it is like the sun rising over the horizon, and cool it until its color is like the royal purple robes of a king. Then a sword like the sun and like a king shall be born."]

Repeating the song handed down among craftsmen countless times, he stoked the furnace fire.

When the scrap iron amid the surging flames became like the sun, he drew it out.

CLANG. CLANG.

After hammering it, he plunged the iron into precious whale oil.

When the iron turned reddish purple, he took it out and placed it back in the furnace.

He repeated that process countless times.

One day, two days, a week, half a month, twenty days passed.

Ordinarily, the shape of the sword would have revealed itself by now.

But this time, strangely, the blade would not take form.

He hammered and hammered.

But still, the change was slight.

At this rate, his strength would run out before he saw the end.

The thought that his final sword might remain unfinished drove the old man even harder.

Then, one day.

The workshop grew noisy.

It seemed some noble of high station had arrived.

At that moment, a change occurred.

The lump of iron that had haughtily refused to reveal its form changed as if it were a lie.

As though shaping itself of its own accord, it slowly began to take the form of a sword.

His impatience vanished, and ease returned to his heart.

Only then did the old man learn who the highborn visitor to the workshop was.

A prince.

And not just any prince, but the kingdom's First Prince had come.

That bastard Sachsen went around threatening everyone to handle things properly if they did not want the workshop shut down.

Even amid all that, the old man did not stop working.

He burned himself even more fiercely for the work whose end had now begun to come into sight.

Once the iron began to take form, it assumed its shape with astonishing speed.

Several days passed like that.

"I was hoping to see it finished before I left, if possible."

The prince's mutter reached his ears.

Immediately afterward, that bastard Sachsen hummed to himself, saying the prince would soon be leaving.

That day, the old man did not leave the anvil until the night was gone.

Without resting for even a moment, he hammered the iron and cooled it again, over and over.

As a result, when dawn broke, he was finally able to complete the sword.

Torrance, the eldest son of the Ellen family, appeared with the prince at just the right moment.

"I offer this sword to Your Highness."

Whether he had spoken, or the sword had borrowed his mouth to speak, the old man could not tell.

When he came to his senses, he was already standing before the prince, holding up the sword with both hands.

"Does it have a name?"

The prince asked.

"How would it be to call it Twilight, Dämmerung?"

"Twilight at dawn, or twilight at sunset?"

"For me, it would be dusk, but for Your Highness, it would be daybreak."

The prince burst into hearty laughter.

"You are far too eloquent to be believed a blacksmith."

The old man's hands grew light.

The sword he had been holding in both hands was suddenly in the prince's hands.

At that moment, the old man felt as though his entire body had been emptied.

No regret, no longing, nothing remained.

The old man staggered and collapsed.

Had the prince not reached out and caught him, the old man, whose strength had failed, would surely have died on the spot.

As the old man's vision bleached white, the prince's voice reached his ears.

"Tell my maternal uncle."

"Your Highness?"

"That it seems we will have to spend tonight here."

* * *

Count Vale Ballorhard came after the prince had moved the old man to a quiet place beyond the reach of the workshop's heat.

"What is this? Why are you suddenly asking to postpone our departure?"

"I received an unexpected gift, yet I have no way to pay the price, so I intend to remain at his side at least in this way."

There was a brief quarrel, but the prince ultimately forced his stubbornness through.

People were surprised by the prince's consideration, and they were surprised once again to see the Count, famous throughout the kingdom for being rigid and exacting, yield a step to his nephew.

Night came.

Torches were lit.

The Royal Knights and well-armed royal soldiers surrounded the prince.

The private soldiers of the Ellen family surrounded them again.

"I guarantee that even if you combined every sword the master smith has made until now, they would not equal the value of that one sword."

"I have eyes, so I can see that for myself. But what can we do about a sword the master smith has already offered to His Highness the Prince? Why did you have to do something so unnecessary!"

Count Ellen rebuked Torrance.

Torrance showed an aggrieved expression, saying he had not known things would turn out this way.

"How about this? His Highness is still young, so we give him a suitable sword and receive that sword back."

At Torrance's words, Count Ellen frowned and looked toward the prince.

He saw the work of the master smith standing upright beside the prince.

Its shape was that of an ordinary longsword, but strange wave patterns embroidered the entire length of its blade, making it obvious at a glance that it was a rare treasure.

"Unless he is a fool, leaving a sword like that..."

"An ordinary sword will not do, of course. Would he not be tempted if we placed something alluring enough in his hands?"

Scheming whispers passed back and forth, and several soldiers headed to the castle.

And when those soldiers returned, they were carrying a large chest in their hands.

Torrance opened the chest and drew out a sword.

It was a splendid sword with a red jewel set boldly into it.

"Your Highness. I would not dare discuss the value of a sword made with a soul poured into it, but I believe another sword would suit Your Highness better. As it happens, we have a 「Magic Sword」 we intended to offer to Your Highness..."

Before he could even say they should exchange them, the prince waved a hand with an indifferent look.

"Later."

The will contained in that brief word was so firm that Torrance had no choice but to turn back with an embarrassed face.

After Torrance returned from that little trick, not long afterward, the old man opened his eyes.

The prince and the old man spoke for a long time.

They laughed and talked as though they had known each other from before, and there was no restraint between them in how they treated each other.

It was truly a strange sight.

A noble, young prince getting along like that with a shabby, old blacksmith.

Everyone standing guard around them felt a peculiar feeling as they watched that sight.

The brightness that had seemed like a dying candle flaring brilliantly in its final moment disappeared as well, and the light in the old man's eyes rapidly faded.

Everyone sensed it.

The old man's death was not far off.

The conversation between the old man and the prince abruptly stopped.

The old man merely gasped for breath.

To that old man, the prince whispered in his ear.

A whisper no one else could hear, one only the old man could hear.

"Good heavens! You are!"

When the prince drew away from the old man's ear, the old man wore the face of someone who had seen a ghost.

"I am ..., so you think I wouldn't know how this fellow feels?"

"Ha ha ha."

The old man laughed.

At first, there was absurdity in it.

Then there was wonder.

And at the end, there was expectation.

"May this sword become as great as you..."

"It absolutely will."

The prince, who had been speaking with a smile, closed his mouth.

The old man had already closed his eyes.

The smile hanging from his lips was more peaceful than any smile he had worn in life.

* * *

Originally, I had intended to leave after watching only the old man's final moments, but after learning that he had no family to hold his funeral, I stayed one extra day and attended the funeral as well.

"We must hurry."

Seeing the impatience in my maternal uncle, it seemed that, just as he had carried out the task given by the King in Ellen County, he also had business at Iron Lion Castle.

But I, too, still had business of my own left in Ellen County.

"Again?"

"It will be quick this time, so do not worry."

Saying that, I beckoned Torrance, who had come out to see us off.

"Give it to me."

"Your Highness? What do you mean?"

"The Magic Sword."

At my words, Torrance's eyes went round.

But that lasted only a moment, and he curved his eyes upward and grinned.

"Once you see it, you will like it very much."

After making that confident boast, Torrance gestured and summoned a soldier.

Perhaps it had been prepared in advance, for the soldier held a splendid sword in his hands.

"Excellent."

In truth, the Magic Sword Torrance had prepared looked quite useful even to me.

The sword's own sharpness was not bad, and the energy I felt from the jewel set boldly in the exact center of the guard was no ordinary thing either.

At the very least, it was a mid-grade artifact, beyond low-grade.

"Your Highness, then that..."

"A sword made by a famed master smith with his soul poured into it is already a gift I wonder if I will ever receive again in my lifetime. On top of that, you present me with a Magic Sword as well, so I can see that the Ellen family's loyalty toward the Royal Family is indeed extraordinary."

Torrance opened and closed his mouth several times.

His eyes, ceaselessly wavering, were searching to see whether I knew the true value of Twilight or not.

Of course, I knew Twilight's value better than anyone.

"If Your Highness puts it to good use, that would indeed be the honor of our family."

Torrance seemed to have realized that fact as well, and his shoulders drooped.

"Since you put it that way, I will accept it without burden."

When I returned, leaving the eldest son of the Ellen family behind, my maternal uncle clicked his tongue.

He already seemed to have grasped what was going on.

* * *

Our arrival at the Ellen family had been delayed by a day, and even after we reached the count's estate, two more days had been spent from the schedule.

So we hurriedly spurred our horses as though we were messengers announcing war.

We left the carriage and infantry to follow behind, and took only the knights and cavalry with us, moving at the greatest possible speed.

As a result, we were able to reach Iron Lion Castle in only half a day, when it would normally have taken two days.

"Ohhh!"

At the majesty of the most fortress-like fortress I had seen since awakening, I let out an exclamation without realizing it, and the castle gates opened, with a group pouring out from within.

They were knights clad in armor that revealed its iron color in full.

The knights of the Iron Lions charged toward us threateningly, then slowed from afar, dismounted all at once, and paid their respects to me.

"Then let us go in."

Barely listening to their greeting, I moved straight into the castle.

"York of Walloden greets the noble First Prince, Your Highness!"

"The Iron Lions greet the noble blood of Leonberk!"

Count York Walloden, the lord of Iron Lion Castle and the commander of the Iron Lion Knights, called out first, and more than two hundred knights roared after him.

A welcome brimming with more spirit than necessary.

Perhaps if he had truly been that scoundrel, he would have been overwhelmed by their spirit and spent the entire schedule quietly, as if he were barely there.

Of course, I was not him, and I had no intention of staying quiet and leaving.

"Maternal Uncle, if you have business to attend to, do so."

At my words, my maternal uncle looked back at me.

"I have some business to attend to as well."

Questioning rose in my maternal uncle's eyes.

His face seemed to be asking what business I could possibly have here.

I merely smiled, and unease appeared on my maternal uncle's face.

Ignoring that burning gaze, I looked around.

Hundreds of knights were looking at me.

Among them was someone who especially caught my eye.

Arwen Kirgayen.

My first knight was looking at me from among the Iron Lions.