Chapter 61 - Demonic Sword

The demonic sword.

A name that always clung to Aisha Dragnoff like a label whenever anyone spoke of her. A name that had elevated her to the ranks of heroes at eighteen.

The sword whose origins and arrival in Aisha Dragnoff’s hands had never been uncovered, the sword that had spawned countless rumors, lay before him.

As Bera stared blankly, astonished, at the sword that had once been aimed at his throat, Dovan noticed his expression and spoke.

“Stare all you like, but I can’t make you one to this sword’s specifications.”

Bera turned his gaze toward Dovan. Meeting his dazed look, Dovan added with a grin,

“I made it by accident, without even knowing how I did it. I can’t take it any further or analyze the process, so I’ve left it unfinished. How could I make you another like it?”

Creating something even its maker did not understand.

Those words allowed Bera to grasp the nature of the demonic sword that had left so many questions unanswered in his previous life.

“... Are you making a Masterpiece?”

A Masterpiece.

A supreme work that a craftsman who had attained true mastery could supposedly create only once in a lifetime.

If Dovan had forged the demonic sword, then it surely belonged to that realm.

Dovan nodded at the question, looking sheepish.

“Yes. It means leaving behind an achievement that will endure even after these old bones are dead, doesn’t it? Embarrassing as it is, that’s what I’m aiming for. And I believe I have the skill for it.”

As he spoke, Dovan looked toward the unfinished demonic sword. Bitterness crept over his face.

“... Well, I started with all that confidence, but now that I’ve actually tried, it’s hardly easy. I’m learning the hard way that wanting a Masterpiece isn’t enough to make one.”

Bera understood him immediately. Considering how the weapons and armor known as Masterpieces had come into being, it was easy to see why.

Pure Blood, the sword wielded by Albrecht, the Knight of Reverence, had only been completed after the Empire’s first emperor melted his own blood into it.

White Mane, the cloak worn by the Grand Duke of the Bitter Cold, had been completed when the spirits of the snowfields cast their bodies into it.

Recalling those works, Bera formed another conjecture.

An event of comparable magnitude must lie behind the birth of the sword called the demonic sword. Only after such an event would that sword, which fed on resentment, finally be complete.

Gathering the information he had, Bera began to work out what that event might be.

‘Dovan is forging the demonic sword.’

Aisha was Dovan’s apprentice. Moreover, there was a strong likelihood that Dovan would die.

‘Perhaps...’

Might the event that would complete Dovan’s Masterpiece—the demonic sword—be what drove him to his death?

With that conjecture in mind, Bera narrowed his eyes and watched Dovan’s back as he put the demonic sword away in a corner.

* * *

The following morning.

Renée was sitting in the backyard, passing the time, when she suddenly sensed someone approaching and lifted her head.

The steps were light. No footfalls could be heard, and even the breathing was faint and intermittent, suggesting an attempt to sneak up on her.

She recognized who it was at once.

“Aisha?”

“Eek!”

Aisha’s shriek filled the air. Startled that Renée had noticed her immediately despite her stealthy approach, she asked,

“... How did you know?”

“Your footsteps were unmistakable.”

To Renée, the answer was obvious. Aisha looked bewildered and asked another question.

“You can do that?”

Even she, whose hearing was far sharper than a human’s, found that difficult. How was it possible? Renée gave a small laugh at her question and answered.

“I’m blind, remember? Since I can’t see, I needed other ways to sense my surroundings, so I trained.”

Aisha’s mouth fell open. Then she nodded, accepting the explanation, and studied Renée’s face as she remembered why she had come.

‘I need to apologize...’

She remembered how Renée had wept yesterday, pouring out her sorrow in response to Aisha’s words.

Renée had cried so bitterly that Aisha forgot her own anger and felt guilt well up unbidden. The sight had lingered in her mind all night, keeping her awake with remorse. She spoke cautiously.

“... Um, aren’t you crying anymore?”

She meant to ask whether Renée was all right today.

Renée suddenly jerked at those words. Her face was turning scarlet.

With her own head lowered toward the ground, Aisha failed to see that expression. Just as she tried again to apologize,

“About yesterday, I’m sor—”

“Aaaaaah!!!”

Renée screamed, flailing her arms toward Aisha.

“D-don’t talk about that! It never happened! Please!”

The mortifying memory she had only just begun to erase was resurfacing. Renée pleaded in a desperate voice.

Startled by her reaction, Aisha’s tail shot upright. Then she nodded awkwardly.

“Well... okay.”

She answered with the thought that Renée must be all right now.

At that answer, Renée felt her eyes grow moist.

“Thank... thank you...”

Even as she spoke, resentment toward herself welled up again.

‘Why did I do that!’

Why had she argued with a twelve-year-old brat and made such a mess of things? Why did she have to endure this much embarrassment?

Her shoulders trembled faintly.

Watching Renée swing from one mood to another all on her own, Aisha inwardly concluded, ‘So there really is something wrong with her mind.’ Swaying the tip of her tail, she sat beside Renée and asked,

“What were you doing out here alone?”

“Hm? Oh... Hella went to cook, so I’m waiting for her.”

“Hmm...”

Aisha nodded, remembering the dim-looking blonde woman she had seen yesterday.

“You two must be close?”

“I... suppose so? She’s always helping me. I’m grateful to her.”

A small smile settled on Renée’s lips. The flush had yet to leave her face entirely. Realizing this was her chance to change the subject, she quickly asked,

“What about you? Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Then would you like to eat with us? Hella’s a really good cook.”

At the invitation to share a meal, Aisha considered for a moment. Then, thinking there was no reason not to, she answered.

“Sure.”

* * *

In the open space in the backyard.

Having asked Dovan’s permission to eat there, Renée began her meal. Sensing Aisha beside her brought to mind what she had heard yesterday.

‘A war orphan...’

A child orphaned by the conflicts that had erupted when the beastfolk empire split into five.

At that thought, Renée suddenly felt a tightness inside.

‘... Why?’

Why did they wage war? They had finally been freed from Haman, finally reached a point where they need not be hurt anymore, only to carve away their own flesh.

It was a thought Renée could not understand, one that only filled her with frustration.

Renée could not comprehend the irrational greed that made people willing to go as far as war. She valued those sacrificed in its wake more than the astronomical profits it brought.

And so she felt sympathy for Aisha, who had lost her parents to the madness of war—a madness Renée could never understand. Her words naturally began to soften.

“Is it good?”

“It’s all right.”

Aisha tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, but Renée sensed the excitement beneath her words. She let out a little laugh and added,

“Have more if it isn’t enough. Hella always cooks so much that we end up with leftovers.”

“My apologies, ma’am.”

“... I’m not criticizing you.”

“That’s a relief, ma’am.”

Another laugh escaped Renée.

Aisha looked between Renée and Hella, then suddenly asked,

“Hey, by the way.”

“Yes?”

“Are you a noble?”

It was a natural question for Aisha. From the fabric of Renée’s clothes to the way her companions treated her, and how readily she accepted that treatment, everything about her seemed reminiscent of the nobles who occasionally visited.

Renée looked briefly flustered, but soon composed herself and answered.

“No, I’m not a noble. My father is a merchant. Um... he runs a fairly large business. That’s why I have people helping me like this.”

It was a cover identity. She could not openly reveal that she was the Saintess, and pretending to be a noble would have severe repercussions if she were discovered. Thus, this identity had been created.

As Renée recited it, Aisha gave a small nod and replied in a much more relaxed voice.

“That’s a relief. I would’ve been upset if you were a noble.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t like nobles.”

Renée tilted her head. Watching her, Aisha swung her legs and added,

“Those noble bastards bother Master. They’re always pestering him to come work for them, and they show up in crowds and fight outside our house.”

“Oh...”

Renée nodded as something came to mind.

‘So the troublesome customers were nobles.’

The “troublesome customers” Dovan had mentioned yesterday must have been those nobles.

‘He did say Mr. Dovan was remarkable.’

She recalled Bera saying, with a rare hint of excitement, [“Master Dovan is a highly accomplished craftsman who would be welcomed with honor anywhere on the continent.”] She smiled and added,

“Mr. Dovan really is an amazing person, isn’t he?”

“Of course!”

The reply was almost a shout. Aisha sprang to her feet and added,

“Master is a craftsman who can even make a Masterpiece!”

Her words brimmed with pride.

Aisha believed that Dovan would surely complete his Masterpiece. He would create a magnificent work that would live on in the continent’s history.

Wasn’t he a wonderful man, always full of passion and skill? Wasn’t he a kind soul who looked after her despite all the trouble she caused, and had taught her countless things?

Her master was a great man who deserved respect. Being such a man, he would surely be able to complete a Masterpiece.

“I hope he does.”

“It’s not a matter of hoping. He’s definitely going to.”

Aisha answered with absolute confidence once more, then clenched her fists and added resolutely,

“So I have to help Master finish his Masterpiece. That’s why I keep the bad people who bother him away.”

Hearing Aisha’s passionate voice and the affection within it, Renée found herself smiling again and again.

Their bond was truly lovely to see.

Dovan, whose stern words held affection, and Aisha, who showed affection for him alone despite her prickliness—Renée wished with all her heart that they would be happy.

“Then I should at least pray for you.”

“Huh?”

“I should pray that you can drive the nobles away and that Mr. Dovan can complete his Masterpiece.”

“What, are you some religious nut?”

Renée flinched.

“Weeell...”

How should she answer?

At a loss for a reply to being called a religious nut, Renée could only laugh. Aisha shook her head and added,

“You have to forge your own path in life. You should take that to heart too.”

“Y-yes...”

Taking the twelve-year-old girl’s advice deeply to heart, Renée picked up her utensils again.

“Then you should eat plenty so you’ll have the energy to do your best today, right?”

“Yeah, give me another bowl. It’s pretty decent.”

The tip of her tail swayed as she spoke. Just as Hella took Aisha’s bowl, a shout came from the smithy’s front entrance.

“Anyone home!”