Chapter 74 - Masterpiece

There were moments like that.

Moments when repeated failures had become so familiar that, upon failing yet again, you simply accepted it with a thought of, 'Of course.'

Moments when failure had, so to speak, become a habit.

And when you realized you had come to take failure for granted, the feeling that arose would usually be a hollow sense of futility.

Why bring this up...? Naturally, because that was precisely what Renée was feeling now.

CLANG!

A hammer rang throughout the smithy. Dovan had begun his work.

Sitting beside Bera in the smithy's backyard and listening to that sound, Renée suddenly felt a deep sigh escape her.

'Of course...'

Her relationship with Bera had made no progress.

Since early that morning, Renée had filled her head with all sorts of fantasies, hoping their relationship might move forward. Yet Bera treated her with an attitude not one whit different from usual—and she herself felt relieved by it. Both left her feeling profoundly empty.

Really, how was she supposed to describe this?

Even as she wished for a deeper relationship with Bera, at some point she had grown afraid that what they had might fall apart. Now she was reassuring herself, 'At least we haven't grown apart.' Wasn't there something indescribably hollow about being stuck in that same old pattern?

As Renée dwelled on it, she suddenly felt anger welling up inside.

'... No, of course Bera would act this way.'

She was angry at herself.

It wasn't as though she didn't know what kind of person he was. She had known all along and still spent years loving him from afar, so naturally she was the one who ought to approach him. What infuriated her was her inability to muster any courage because of this damned shyness.

The most she ever managed was holding his hand a little tighter or walking a little closer than usual.

Even that never lasted ten minutes before her pounding heart drove her back to their usual distance. At this rate, wouldn't all that frustration actually make her ill?

CLANG!

Even as her emotions seethed, the hammer kept ringing.

Renée listened for a long while, then lightly worried her lip and began choosing what to say.

It was her own small act of courage.

Using the anger rising within her as fuel, she pondered her words with a resolve that might fade at any moment: she would do something, however small, to make Bera notice her.

Her brows drew together slightly, her lips pressed tight, and her constantly fidgeting hands clenched into fists.

Bera watched her as she wrestled with her thoughts.

For some reason, he found it difficult to look away from Renée today, and had been following her every little movement.

Her expression kept changing as though something was troubling her, until at last she was sitting there agonizing over it.

Somehow, all those expressions overlapped with the way she had asked him to stay beside her the day before, drawing his gaze for no reason he could explain.

It was a feeling Bera himself did not quite understand.

And so, on that morning, his eyes remained fixed on Renée, while she, unaware of his attention, struggled ever harder with her thoughts.

* * *

CLANG!

The hammer struck, ringing out. The shock traveled up its handle and shook his whole body. Heat flushed his skin, making him breathe in heavy bursts.

It was truly grueling labor, yet Dovan felt none of the sensations assailing his body to be a hardship just then.

Partly, he had grown all too accustomed to the work. And partly, his thoughts were so wholly focused on a single idea that he had no attention to spare for such secondary concerns.

CLANG!

Sparks flew. The pure-white metal changed shape beneath the blows.

What filled Dovan's mind as he hammered without pause—the intent he called to mind as he forged the sword—was the back of the man who had left alone with a sword in hand.

CLANG!

["I am going to protect them."]

It was the utterly upright conviction of a man who had stood before him in the guise of a knight, offering nothing but his sincerity.

CLANG!

In that moment, Dovan felt the sincerity the man had brought to him kindle a fierce heat in his chest.

Yearning was the right word for it. Facing that resolve, untouched by even the slightest doubt, he had felt a deep yearning to somehow shape that intangible conviction into something material.

CLANG!

And so only that yearning remained.

He cleared his mind of his pride as a craftsman, his ambition to leave behind a great masterpiece, and every other lesser concern. With only that one yearning in his thoughts, he swung his hammer.

CLANG!

It could only be called a state of utter self-forgetfulness.

He simply hammered.

Dovan banished every stray thought and, holding on to that single yearning, hammered the sword for a long, long time.

CLANG!

Thus, in a shabby smithy tucked away in a remote mountain range of the continent, a masterpiece was taking shape—one that would be spoken of for ages to come.

* * *

The sword was pure white from end to end.

Even in the darkness of night, it shone alone, radiating nothing but white light.

A straight sword of the simplest design, without a single embellishment.

Holding that sword, which seemed almost crude at first glance, Bera felt something that could only be called wonder rising within him.

"... This is."

His words broke off abruptly before he could say anything more.

The sword Dovan had completed and presented to him was...

"Somehow, that is what it became."

A Masterpiece.

It wasn't that there was anything spectacular or unusual about it.

Simply taking hold of the sword had given him an almost impossibly abstract certainty: this was a completed sword.

It did not flaunt itself. Nor did it hide itself away.

Dovan's Masterpiece simply existed there, shedding its white radiance.

Bera turned his gaze to Dovan. His face was etched with exhaustion, yet it was more full of life than ever before.

At the sight of that face, which seemed almost to have transcended worldly cares, Bera could only stare blankly.

Dovan chuckled heartily at his obvious, speechless astonishment and continued.

"I was able to finish it thanks to you. With this, I have let go of every last lingering regret."

The lingering attachment that could only be called obstinacy, the fear that his goal would forever remain beyond his reach—thanks to this man, he had overcome them all and achieved it. Offering his thanks was only right.

Yet even at those heartfelt words of gratitude, Bera remained dazed.

Into the strange silence, with neither saying anything more, Aisha—who had been listening to their exchange—shouted in an emphatic voice.

"You should be more grateful! Master just gave you his greatest work!"

Her words brimmed with pride, as though she had made it herself. Her expression was supremely haughty, her shoulders tensed and raised high. Her ears stood alert, and her tail stretched straight out.

She looked every bit the lively young girl one would expect at her age.

Only then, looking at the white sword and at Aisha, did Bera realize.

He had changed the future to come.

There would no longer be a demonic sword pouring out resentment upon this continent, nor a swordswoman wielding it with a heart full of venom.

Instead, that old smith and young girl would fill the space they left behind.

An indescribable emotion welled up within him: the feeling of finally grasping what he had protected.

Bera, who had only ever taken from others and thus known nothing but cruelty, now saw tangible proof that he had taken a step forward. His heart stirred.

Of course, he could not call it entirely good.

One hero who would stand against the Demon King was gone. The alliance of kingdoms was still embroiled in conflict. And with all the other gaps left by Aisha's absence, the future would now head in a direction utterly unknown to him.

This should have been a moment for worry, yet Bera did not worry.

He had learned something through this ordeal.

'... What I can do.'

Whatever might come, he need only do his utmost at what he could.

If Aisha Dragnoff, wielder of the demonic sword, was no longer there, he could fill her place himself. He could become something greater still.

If an unknown future approached, then when it arrived, he need only forge his own way through it.

In a sense, it was only natural.

Who in this world moved forward certain of the future? If a person could only move forward once the future was certain, could anyone be more foolish or cowardly?

At last... at long last, standing before that simple truth, Bera spoke.

"... What should I call this sword?"

He looked toward Dovan.

Now that he stood before that simple truth, on the same ground as everyone else, Dovan answered his question.

"Choose for yourself, Sir. You are the one who will wield it."

"May I truly do so?"

"That is how it should be."

Dovan smiled.

"A sword is defined by what its wielder wields it for. So give it a name yourself."

Having said his piece, Dovan quietly waited for Bera's answer.

He had forged the sword for the man before him. It was only right, he felt, that it be given a name befitting what that man wished to do and the path he wished to walk.

Bera looked at Dovan, who was waiting for his answer, then lowered his gaze to the sword.

What would he wield it for?

The question arose, and an answer followed.

'The most fundamental duty.'

It was a sword he must wield to uphold that duty.

A sword he must wield to protect what lay behind him.

A sword he must wield for the yearning he had carried in his heart ever since beginning this life.

His thoughts continued.

Memories of his previous life flashed through his mind.

Now that the demonic sword Aisha Dragnoff had wielded was gone, something was needed to replace it.

"... Holy Sword."

And so Bera bestowed that simple, presumptuous name upon it.

"Let it be the Holy Sword."

The demonic sword that poured out resentment was gone. For the sake of the future he desired, it was only right to place a Holy Sword wielded with conviction in its stead.

Bera looked at Dovan.

Dovan met his gaze.

He asked,

"What is that Holy Sword for?"

He was asking how Bera would define his greatest work.

To that, Bera gave this answer.

"It is a sword I will wield for the duty I believe to be right."

He did not stop at a simple answer.

Knowing better than anyone in the world how hollow a pledge of mere words could be, Bera added tangible proof to what he had spoken.

He offered that proof with due respect.

With utmost care, he knelt and laid the sword across one knee, then spoke.

"I vow."

He invoked his divine powers.

"I will wield this sword for the most fundamental duty. Never will I wield it for anything wicked or wrong."

He placed shackles upon himself.

It was to ensure he would never waver, to give himself a lash when faced with hesitation.

"Should I wield this sword for wrongdoing, I will never again be able to hold a sword."

With that, he completed his vow.

He set no reward to receive.

To Bera's mind, justice enacted in expectation of a reward held no true sense of duty.

Dovan's eyes widened. Aisha's mouth fell open in a breathless gasp.

Bera looked at the sword he had named the Holy Sword.

The vow he had made with firm resolve seeped into the pure-white blade.

Golden radiance rose, and a pattern exactly like the sacred mark of oaths appeared upon the blade before fading away.

The Holy Sword sang ever so faintly.

As its resonance reached deep into his heart, a small smile came to Bera's lips.