Chapter 161

Chapter 161
Chapter 161

Eisen, having shared his parting thoughts with Lucian and Felicia, breathed his last two days later.

Because of his extreme age and the clear deterioration of his vitality, his passing was a moment that everyone had braced themselves for.

Even so, the weight of the loss and the impact of a legend who had shaped an entire era disappearing was immense.

The subordinates who had been close to Eisen were unable to mask their sorrow, and Felicia’s grief was so sharp that she abstained from all sustenance for three days.

Lucian paused his governing responsibilities for a full day to pay homage to his late mentor. Following this period of silence, he gathered the ministers of White Castle to deliver his instructions.

“The illustrious Sword Saint has been taken into the embrace of the Eight Gods. As his apprentice, it is my duty to organize a massive funeral that honors his monumental legacy.”

There was no dissent.

Even the treasurer, who was acutely aware of the massive financial burden such an undertaking would place on the treasury, did not offer a single word of hesitation.

If the recipient was Sword Saint Eisen, he was more than worthy of such a tribute.

Furthermore, the status of Sword Saint represented the peak of ambition and respect for every warrior in existence.

To even hint at minimizing the burial rites of such an icon for the sake of saving money?

Even if the Duke showed leniency, that official would undoubtedly be torn apart by the rest of the knightly order.

“The Sword Saint accomplished many great deeds in his time, so we should expect a never-ending line of visitors for the foreseeable future. Ensure that the food and housing are of the highest quality. We must not show any lack of hospitality toward those who come to mourn.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

“If you find the budget insufficient, inform me immediately. I am prepared to draw from my personal wealth if necessary. Additionally, let it be known that no official will face criticism for unforeseen costs related to this event.”

“We are deeply moved by your generosity, Your Grace!”

The treasurer, who had been sweating nervously, looked relieved and offered a profound bow.

Given the Sword Saint’s standing, the expense of hosting the mourners alone was going to be massive. In a worst-case scenario, he might have been held personally responsible for a budget collapse.

Lucian had sensed the man’s anxiety and settled his nerves. The treasurer was genuinely touched by Lucian’s thorough and compassionate foresight.

“Furthermore, I wish to place a blade forged from Fairy Light at Sir Eisen’s resting place. The stories say that spirits can bridge the gap between this life and the next, and that Fairy Light was their creation. This gift will serve as a plea that our respect for him follows him into the beyond.”

“That… is a truly beautiful idea, however…”

“I know that Asagrim currently lacks a smith with the skill to shape Fairy Light. Because of that, I plan to sponsor a tournament to identify someone who can. If even a single person manages to produce a respectable blade, I will give them my personal recognition and a massive prize.”

Of course, the tale about Fairy Light was just a convenient excuse.

The actual goal was to track down a smith capable of refining the Ancient Metal—one of the hidden treasures of the Northern Royal Family.

Whether they possessed an inherited secret or relied on sheer natural talent, Lucian didn’t care about the method.

An inherited technique meant he wouldn’t have to hunt for the processing instructions, while a self-taught master meant he had found a prodigy on the level of Ian.

Lucian caught himself mid-thought and allowed a cynical smile to touch his lips.

‘At this rate, I’m essentially turning Sir Eisen’s passing into a business opportunity.’

Eisen had provided Lucian with endless support during his lifetime. Using the man’s funeral as a net to catch the experts Lucian required felt somewhat heartless.

Though he felt a sting of guilt for being so cold-blooded, Lucian hardened his resolve.

Eisen had always been a man who prioritized function over empty tradition. Even from the afterlife, he was the sort of person who would prefer his funeral be useful to someone rather than just being a fancy show.

Moreover, hadn’t his final words been a push for Lucian to pursue his goals?

‘Please forgive me, but since you’ve moved on to the heavens, I’ll lean on your kindness one last time. You helped me so much while you were here; surely you won’t be angry about this?’

Glancing at the empty air, Lucian spoke the bold thought to himself.

Naturally, there was no vocal response, but a gentle gust of wind traveled from the distance. The whistling of the breeze sounded hauntingly like the loud, cheerful laughter he had heard so many times before.

—

The passing of Sword Saint Eisen sent shockwaves through the world, but it also sparked an unintended benefit.

The chaotic state of public safety saw a sharp, though temporary, improvement.

This occurred because the mourning warriors had announced they would not tolerate any chaos during the funeral ceremonies.

—The noble Sword Saint has joined the Eight Gods. While we are in mourning, we will execute anyone who tries to cause trouble for their own gain.

In some ways, it was just the knights taking out their anger and grief over the loss of their hero.

However, when every single knight in the Empire was venting that same anger at once, it became a force to be reckoned with.

Across every province, any thief or bandit spotted was immediately cut down by furious knights. Anyone with a grain of common sense decided to go into hiding.

The local rulers were in the same boat.

When the entire Empire was weeping for the Sword Saint, who would be foolish enough to start a conflict for a bit of land or gold? Beyond ruining their reputation, it was a guarantee that no person of talent would ever agree to work for them again.

—Let there be a ceasefire until the Sword Saint is laid to rest!

This silent pact rippled through every faction, and for a short window, the Empire felt peaceful again.

Ultimately, the ones who gained the most were the various travelers and smiths making their way to Asagrim. The roads were suddenly safe as the outlaws who usually haunted the paths vanished and the battles stopped.

Because of this, many who might have been intercepted reached Asagrim without incident.

Malcolm and his boy, having just cleared the gates of Asagrim, were among those who made it.

“We’ve finally made it.”

Malcolm whispered, his voice heavy with fatigue.

He tried to keep his composure, but such a long trek was grueling for an aging man. Fortunately, his young son was alert enough to observe their surroundings while helping his father walk.

“Father, we need to find a place to stay immediately. Looking at the crowds, if we aren’t fast, we’ll be stuck sleeping in a makeshift tent.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

The two of them remembered what they saw when they passed the gates.

Rows of tents were being set up to handle the mass of visitors, and paths were being cleared for supply wagons. Since the tents were currently unoccupied, they were clearly being built for the waves of people yet to arrive.

However, given how famous the Sword Saint was, the number of people was likely growing at an incredible speed. If they wasted time just because they were early, a few hours could be the difference between a bed and a tent.

“The issue is the coin. We don’t have much left.”

“What? I thought we had enough?”

“We would if the prices were fair.”

“Ah…!”

The son caught on a moment later.

Wherever large groups gathered, resources became scarce and costs climbed. Especially during such a massive event, prices were bound to explode.

“At this rate, we might run out of money and get thrown out even if we find a room.”

“But a tent isn’t an option. You’re planning to perform a forging method you’ve only ever read about. If your health fails now…”

Malcolm went quiet, his face darkening.

As his son pointed out, the smelting process he intended to try was something he had only studied in texts. To reduce the risk of failure, he needed to be in top form.

‘If this old, worn-out body has to deal with a hard floor on top of everything else, I don’t know if I’ll be able to show my real talent at the forge.’

He let out a heavy breath. Reaching the city was a relief, but now the stress of lodging took its place.

Just then, a voice he recognized reached Malcolm’s ears.

“If you’re worried about the cost, why not split a room with us?”

“…!?”

Surprised, both father and son whipped around.

Standing there was Vincent, the warrior who had rescued them from the outlaws previously.

Vincent gave a casual shrug and a grin.

“Good to see you again. Did the rest of your trip go well?”

—

“Whew, what a stroke of luck. To be honest, we’re low on funds too, so a triple room was all we could manage.”

Vincent, who had just booked a triple room to share with Malcolm and his son, spoke with obvious relief.

There were four men in Vincent’s party. Single and double rooms were far too pricey, and a triple room was awkward because the numbers didn’t line up.

But with Malcolm and his son there, they could book an extra triple room and divide the cost.

“We were looking at four grown men squeezed into one triple room. Because of you two, we can avoid that nightmare.”

“I am happy we could be of assistance, milord.”

Malcolm said the words, but he felt a nagging sense of awkwardness.

Even if the man was a traveling knight, sharing a room and dining with a noble was a very uncomfortable situation for a commoner like Malcolm.

‘But if I turn down his help, I might offend him, and since we’ve found a comfortable place to sleep, there isn’t much choice.’

Malcolm tried to see the silver lining in his lack of options and eventually asked a question.

“By the way, Sir Knight, how did you get here before us? Were you heading for Asagrim all along?”

“No, not at all. We heard about Sir Eisen’s death and hurried over to pay our respects. We only beat you here because we have horses.”

“You have warhorses?”

Malcolm’s son stared at Vincent with wide eyes.

Warhorses were so costly that it was rare for a lone knight from a minor house to own one. Yet, this wandering knight, who had claimed to be broke when they first met, had warhorses.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. Not every knight with a horse is wealthy. We certainly aren’t. We’re actually thinking about selling them because we can’t afford to feed them.”

Vincent spoke with total honesty.

They had simply fled with the horses they were given for their mission; they weren’t personal property they had bought. Furthermore, they had left their gold behind and only taken the mounts, so there was no way to pay for their care.

Since they barely had enough for their own meals but still had to maintain the horses, the Black Lions were struggling.

The only reason they hadn’t sold them yet was because of Jordi and the instability of the world. Whether Jordi sent hunters or they hit a group of bandits, they needed a fast way to get away just in case.

‘But we’re at the breaking point. If we don’t get hired by the Duke, I’ll have to sell them and get some cheap ponies or just walk. We’re going to starve at this rate.’

They had one horse each, so selling all four would bring in a lot of money. That would keep them fed for a while.

Of course, it would only be a short-term fix, and their long-term prospects would still look grim.

“…Regardless, what brings the two of you here? You look like smiths. Did you come for the Fairy Light?”

“That is true. It’s a legendary material. What smith wouldn’t want to lay eyes on such a wonder at least once?”

“No matter how famous the material is, it’s just a rock if nobody can shape it.”

“A smith’s honor is found in the struggle to turn a rock into a treasure. Every great sword is built on a mountain of failures, after all.”

“Ho.”

Vincent’s interest was piqued.

It wasn’t because he was inspired by Malcolm’s words, but because he noticed the son standing behind him react nervously to the statement.