Chapter 749

Chapter 749

People often remark that the creation of a truly magnificent blade requires at least six months of labor. However, Aitri had managed to complete his task in a much shorter window. This wasn’t some supernatural occurrence; it was simply the consequence of meticulous groundwork. While several factors contributed to this speed, the most significant influence—beyond his own readiness—was the frequent presence of a specific dwarf. This familiar visitor made his goals quite obvious. “Make sure you mention me favorably when the time comes, alright? I’m a decent fellow. It’s just how we Ironfolk are—we tend to jump into things without overthinking the details.” The dwarf usually arrived seeking assistance, but during these interactions, he imparted various smelting methods to Aitri. He also shared his personal credo regarding his craft. “Is a method better just because it’s ancient? True mastery lies in taking the foundations of the past and evolving them into something fresh!” Dwarves were constantly chasing advancement. They never hesitated to study, adopt, or implement innovative techniques. Their hunger for the pinnacle of craftsmanship was insatiable. Perhaps it was this very drive that made dwarves the most gullible of the sentient races. “A new way of doing things? Tell me everything! I want to learn.” Aitri could easily visualize the dwarf uttering those words. If one were to rank the species most frequently tricked by humans, dwarves would sit at the very top. Furthermore, when dwarves spent too much time in human company, they occasionally picked up those same deceptive habits. Regardless, Aitri had absorbed both the technical skills and the progressive mindset of the dwarf. “True progress is the marriage of my existing knowledge with new discoveries.” He had also gained the rare opportunity to manipulate noble metals—an experience virtually no other smith on the continent could claim. The sensation of working so freely with such legendary materials was transformative. Adding to this, Enkrid would occasionally bring him weapons that bore engravings. Aitri treated every single piece as a subject for intense study. He analyzed them, mastered their secrets, and integrated their essence into his own style. His life became a cycle of investigation and practice. Through this constant repetition, a specific concept began to take shape in his mind. “I will weave the three irons together.” The method he chose was pattern welding. As for the materials, he looked to the three legendary steels of the continent: Valerian Blue Steel, Rewisian Silver Steel, and Uberian Gold Steel. Most referred to them simply as Bluesteel, Silversteel, and Goldsteel. In the specific veins where these ores were mined, even rarer elements sometimes surfaced—True Iron, True Silver, and Black Gold. Aitri had managed to secure a small portion of all three, along with a fragment of meteoric iron. This was the foundation for the Three Iron Sword. He also incorporated various gemstones and unique alloys into the mix. “No tainted metals allowed.” Corrupted materials had no place in an engraved masterpiece. He had once experimented with smelting armor taken from a fallen cultist, which produced a cursed metal he ultimately rejected. Even during the periods when Enkrid was traveling, Aitri never stopped his rhythmic hammering. He spent countless hours purifying and folding the True Iron, True Silver, and Black Gold. Eventually, through a merchant association, he acquired a strange variety of iron. The material wasn’t particularly sturdy or supple. Yet, the moment Aitri laid eyes on it, he felt a spark. His intuition flared. From that point on, he worked as if guided by an external force. He applied his innovative spirit to the process of layering the metals. “A mystery.” He couldn’t explain the underlying mechanics of what he was doing. If he were asked to recreate the process, he wouldn’t know how. It felt as though he were traversing a thin wire over a massive drop, moving forward without knowing why he hadn’t fallen. In fact, Aitri felt like a passenger in his own body, watching himself work. The part of him that was focused simply struck the metal, integrating the True Iron, then the True Silver, and finally the Black Gold. “That should destroy the integrity of the blade.” Logically, he knew this was true. His conscious mind felt a sense of dread. The standard way to balance those three metals was to keep them distinct and localized. The original Three Iron Sword was the fruit of that logical approach. Now, he was discarding those rules entirely, forcing them to merge under intense heat. “This cannot possibly work.” That doubt was fleeting. Soon, even his self-awareness faded. He lost all sense of the passing hours. His meetings with Enkrid became hazy memories. When he accepted Enkrid’s Will and infused it into the glowing metal, or when he sat and listened to the man speak, he briefly regained his clarity. But as soon as Enkrid departed, those moments felt like they had happened a lifetime ago. Aitri’s student watched him with deep anxiety, fearing his mentor might simply drop dead. The way his body was withering away was terrifying to witness. “Will he survive this?” It was during one of these tense nights— The wind whistled through the gaps, shaking the wooden frames. The door hinges groaned, and with a soft thud, the entrance swung wide. “Did I fail to lock it?” Security in the Border Guard’s territory had been excellent lately. This forge specifically was under the protection of four patrolling guards. A common thief wouldn’t stand a chance. The student picked up a light and rubbed his tired eyes as he moved to investigate. Despite it being early summer, a sudden, unnatural cold washed over him, making his hair stand on end. He moved toward the door to pull it shut, but he stopped dead in his tracks. The world beyond the threshold was an absolute, suffocating blackness. It was far darker than a normal night should be. A primal fear gripped him. He sensed a presence lurking within that void. It wasn’t a trick of the light. A pale hand reached out from the shadows. Paralyzed by the shock, the student realized that a person could be so frightened that they lost the ability to scream. The white hand moved upward, placing a single finger where a mouth would be. Then, two piercing blue lights flickered in the dark, and a soft voice spoke: “Be still.” Only then did the student realize he had been holding his breath; he let it out in a jagged gasp. A figure emerged from the gloom and stepped into the workshop. “Silence.” A witch. Her identity was unmistakable. She wore a pointed cap and a robe of such deep black that it seemed to absorb the glow of his lantern. Shadows seemed to retreat and flow around her as she moved. The Black Flower—the woman associated with the Captain. “I anticipated your arrival.” The master’s voice came from right behind the student, startling him. He hadn’t heard him approach. When he turned, he saw his teacher’s sunken face and eyes that burned with an intense, feverish light. It was the same look he had worn for days on end. “I suspected you might require my assistance.” The witch remarked as she ventured further in. The student couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. When he next blinked, the sun was rising—and he had no recollection of falling asleep. In his hazy memory, he thought he saw not just the Black Flower, but also the Golden Witch visiting the shop. He couldn’t tell if it was a hallucination or a real event. He didn’t dare question his master about it. He certainly didn’t want to interrupt when the sound of the hammer began again. Whenever his teacher took up his tools, his eyes became hollow, like a ghost’s. He did nothing but work the bellows and strike the metal over and over. He looked like a man intoxicated by the fire of the forge. The student followed his routine—leaving out water and food before stepping outside. Leaving the oppressive heat of the shop, he felt the cool air fill his lungs. “Was it all just a dream?” It felt far too real for that. Later that day, the student went to the training grounds of the Mad Order to deliver a message from his mentor. “The task is complete.”

Enkrid made his way toward the smithy with measured steps. He was moving slower than his usual pace. If someone asked if he was eager, he would admit it, but his heart wasn’t racing. It just felt like the natural progression of things. Aitri had given his word—and he would fulfill it. Enkrid never had a moment of uncertainty. His trust was as steadfast as a knight’s vow. “You’ve arrived.” Aitri met him at the door. He appeared to have wasted away to almost nothing. His face was hollow, his hands little more than bone. The workshop was hushed. It wasn’t scorching, merely warm. The heat that usually soaked one’s clothes was gone; the fires had been out for some time. “Is it ready?” Enkrid walked in with an air of casualness. Aitri matched his tone, calmly presenting the weapon. It had no sheath. The hilt was unremarkable. It bore a resemblance to the Three Iron Sword, yet there was a fundamental shift in its essence. “It looks familiar, and yet…” There was a subtle alteration. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed. He didn’t expect a jolt of power or a flash of light upon touching it. Those things didn’t happen just because one wanted them to. He took the blade in his hand and tested its weight with a few experimental swings. The metal sliced through the air with a soft whistle. To be perfectly honest, Enkrid felt no sense of wonder. “It doesn’t seem like anything extraordinary.” “Precisely. That is as it should be.” “The edge isn’t as keen as True Silver, it’s lighter than Black Gold, and it likely lacks the sheer durability of the Three Iron. I’ve wielded superior blades. Even Penna had a sharper bite than this.” However, there was one clear trait— “The weight distribution is flawless.” He shifted the blade, testing its center of gravity. The way it moved with his hand was unparalleled. “It may not be flawed, but it doesn’t immediately feel like a legendary engraved weapon either.” “It requires a name.” Oara had called her weapon Smile, reflecting the beauty of her own expression. “Duskforge.” The name evoked a blade born at the break of dawn—a weapon meant to herald a new beginning. A new world. Why had he pursued the path of knighthood? Because he envisioned a future that wasn’t defined by the threat of monsters, but by something better. That was the sentiment behind the choice. While it was being made, Shinar had proposed the name Kirheis. Esther had wondered if he would choose something celestial, like Night Sky or Star. The others remained mostly silent, though Rem had offered a sincere suggestion: “What about Urquiola, the Dusksky?” It had a certain charm, but Enkrid stuck to his original thought. “Duskforge feels right. It will take some time for us to become one.” Aitri nodded—and then he collapsed. His student cried out and lunged forward to break his fall. “Teacher!” Does an engraved weapon have to be magnificent from the first moment? No one can say for sure. But one thing was clear to Enkrid. He saw a look of pure contentment on Aitri’s face. “I gave the task to Aitri, and Aitri found satisfaction in the result.” That was all that truly mattered. Had he sacrificed a piece of himself with every hammer blow? Perhaps. And now that the labor was finished, Aitri— “Is he gone?” Enkrid inquired. Was this the final masterpiece of his life? It was possible. The work had clearly drained him. Perhaps only a sacrifice of that magnitude could produce such a peaceful smile. “No! Why would you say that?!” The student wailed. Upon closer inspection, the smith was still breathing, however shallowly. He had passed out from sheer exhaustion, but his life wasn’t extinguished. Enkrid had suspected as much. He had only asked to heighten the gravity of the moment. In truth, the scene was quite understated. The weapon didn’t call out to its master, it didn’t radiate light, and Aitri hadn’t literally died to finish it. “The scabbard is over there.” It was a simple design. The guard and pommel were equally modest. The metal of the blade held a very faint blue tint. It wasn’t the deep blue of Valerian steel—it was closer to the shade of the open sky. “Maybe Skyblade would have been fitting?” It would have matched the aesthetic. The steel carried a faint aroma—reminiscent of a day without clouds. Clean and sharp. “Actually—” It smelled of the evening air, blended with the scent of blossoms and forest. Together, they created the fragrance of a vast, clear horizon. “In any case, I will put it to good use, Aitri.” Aitri, caught in the fog of unconsciousness, whispered a soft, “Yes.”

As he left the smithy, Enkrid began to show his new companion to those he encountered. “Aitri isn’t the type to waste rare materials on nothing, right? It just feels… normal.” That was Kraiss, offering an opinion without much depth. Most of the others didn’t have much to say. “Is that the new piece, Boss?” “It is.” That was the extent of his conversation with Rem. Even though the sword didn’t look like much, Enkrid couldn’t get over how naturally it settled into his grip. Enkrid didn’t waste any time and prepared to depart that very day. He had already packed his gear while he waited for the final forging. “Safe travels.” Kraiss bid him farewell. Shinar walked beside him in silence. After a few paces, Enkrid began talking to the air. “Yes, I’m on my way. Are you hoping for an adventure? Me too.” That was his only comment. Rem, seeing that Shinar hadn’t said a word, asked, “Who are you talking to?” Enkrid replied with complete sincerity. “My little one.” Rem blinked, confused. He rubbed his ear and looked at Shinar. She didn’t look pleased at all. Of course, you wouldn’t call a fairy a “baby.” She was significantly older than Enkrid. So who was he referring to? Even Ragna was paying close attention. Jaxon, who had arrived without a sound, listened in silence. A loud snort came from the side. Odd-Eye, the wild horse following them, tossed his head as if he understood the situation perfectly. “…You can’t be serious.” Rem whispered. Enkrid introduced the object formally, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You haven’t been introduced yet? Meet Duskforge.” Rem didn’t even bother to swear. This was exactly what he expected. “May your mind find some semblance of peace, brother.” Audin offered a quiet prayer.