Chapter 164

Chapter 164
Chapter 164

“The prehistoric metal-refining technique handed down by your forefathers? Truly remarkable! A weapon of myth is on the verge of creation—assuming you actually possess any of that archaic ore in those hands of yours! Gwahahaha!”

“Come now, friends, let’s not bully him too much. What else has he got to boast about? We wouldn’t want him to lose heart and find a sturdy branch to hang from, would we?”

“My goodness, how insensitive of me! Just making sure, you aren’t actually contemplating the noose, are you? Think of your youngster; you really ought to look after your health.”

The days of the past, when he had served as the butt of every joke among his former peers, played out before his vision like a shifting kaleidoscope.

The sneering countenances of those who had viewed Malcolm with nothing but scorn remained etched vividly in his recollection. It was a memory that usually felt like a jagged blade twisting in his vitals whenever it surfaced.

And yet, as he revisited those moments now, the pain was strangely absent. It felt as though those intense, cobalt-blue fires had turned all of Malcolm’s long-standing bitterness to ash.

“…This isn’t the end.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth, forcing strength into his legs as they threatened to buckle. While his ancient grudge had been soothed, he still bore a heavy burden—the obligation to demonstrate the worth of the ancestral wisdom he carried to the rest of the world.

Fwoosh.

As the deep azure blaze began to transition into a more brilliant radiance, Malcolm used his tongs to withdraw the Fairy Light once more. The fractured Fairy Light gleamed with a haunting beauty, resembling an egg protecting a core of sapphire flame.

Only after verifying the condition of the metal block did Malcolm begin to bring down his hammer.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

With every impact of the tool, followed by a sharp, melodic ring, the Fairy Light gradually started to assume a new form. The gathered knights watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as the prehistoric metal shifted amidst a cascade of bright sparks.

In a heavy, shocked quiet, Malcolm cycled through the labor of shaping, folding, and cooling the metal time and again. His technique remained a frantic, unpolished sight, yet unlike earlier, not a single person dared to whisper a word of disapproval. They had just watched the Fairy Light evolve through a procedure that shattered every rule of logic.

Sssssss!

After a long duration of rhythmic hammering, Malcolm executed the final plunge into the water. Once the heavy clouds of vapor cleared and he lifted it out, the Fairy Light had been molded into the silhouette of a blade.

It was merely the steel—lacking a grip, a crossguard, or a pommel. Yet its hue, suggestive of the deepest midnight sky, gave the basic blade a look of unparalleled elegance.

Malcolm held the edge he had forged with extreme care in both palms and offered it to the Duke.

“The work is complete.”

The youthful Duke, Lucian, accepted the blade without uttering a sound. After testing its weight with a few swift cuts through the air, he cried out with heartfelt praise.

“Superb!”

Upon hearing that lone, brief endorsement, Malcolm finally collapsed into the sobs he had been suppressing. It was the instant where decades of scorn were wiped away and justified in a heartbeat.

‘I’ve hit the motherlode.’

Lucian struggled with all his might to keep a wide grin from breaking across his face. He had organized this smithing competition to uncover a way to refine prehistoric metal, but if he were being honest, it hadn’t been a foolproof strategy. It was a plan that leaned entirely on someone’s raw instinct or natural talent to happen upon the correct path.

‘But then, it’s not like I had much of an alternative… and frankly, even if I’d found a solution that way, the journey ahead would have been grueling.’

Techniques birthed from mere intuition and raw ability took ages to be codified into a system. If luck wasn’t on their side, the sluggish pace of investigation and the astronomical expenses could have rendered it useless for large-scale use.

To think that a manual meticulously outlining the refining process for prehistoric metal actually existed in the world.

‘The smith’s own talent is definitely a part of it, but the fact that he succeeded on his very first attempt following a written guide—even one he’s studied countless times—proves the text is incredibly well-structured.’

In simpler terms, if he distributed the refining secrets found in that volume to other smiths, he could begin mass-producing gear almost immediately. Furthermore, he now possessed a veteran expert who, despite lacking previous hands-on practice, understood the refining theory better than anyone alive.

He had secured both a wealth of knowledge and an instructor to share it in one fell swoop; he couldn’t help but feel triumphant.

“Malcolm.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I am officially bringing you into my service. From this day forward, you are granted the power to oversee every smithy within Asagrim, and you shall act with my own authority when dealing with other master smiths. Since no such rank has existed until now, I shall designate you as the Forge Master.”

“…!”

Malcolm, still shaking with relief, was left breathless by Lucian’s follow-up words. An oversight privilege that permitted him to act as the Duke’s representative among his own kind? It effectively meant he held sovereign power within the community of builders and makers.

“The rank of Forge Master is a lifelong appointment, and you shall be immune to capital punishment unless you commit a high crime such as treason. If you choose to step down in your later years, you are also permitted to name your own successor.”

“Yo-Your Grace.”

Malcolm felt a tidal wave of gratitude crashing through him. Even though he had triumphed in refining the Fairy Light, this was his maiden voyage working with prehistoric metal. Once the secrets of the refinement were in hand, there was no real reason to be so indebted to a man of his standing, yet he was being showered with such incredible honors.

Experiencing a true sense of fealty for the first time, Malcolm instinctively dropped his head to the stone floor and shouted.

“I am humbled, Your Grace! I shall dedicate every ounce of my strength to Your Grace until my final breath!”

“Very well. I am eager to see the marvels you will produce.”

Lucian leaned down and patted Malcolm’s shoulder with a profound grin.

‘No need for thanks. I’m the one who gained the most here.’

To be sure, the honors Lucian bestowed upon Malcolm were far beyond what a typical smith deserved. However, no matter how grand the rights were, it was ultimately a role tethered to Asagrim. Lucian could strip it all away with a single decree if he so chose.

The promise regarding his life was the same. It explicitly stated he wouldn’t be “executed”; it didn’t mean he was above the law. If he committed a deed worthy of the blade, he might keep his head, but he wouldn’t escape the consequences in other ways.

‘I doubt he’ll be a problem, but if he fails to grasp the nuance and turns into a tyrant drunk on his new power, he’ll have to pay the price.’

Naturally, it would be ideal if Malcolm stayed humble and held onto this current devotion. The office of Forge Master would endure, but the service Malcolm had already performed was more than enough to merit such high status.

Most importantly, if Malcolm’s rise to prominence reached other ears, it would trigger a chain reaction where others would bring their own hidden wonders to the Duke, trusting in his fairness. As a result, Asagrim would only grow in wealth and power, so Lucian stood to win regardless.

“Now, that is quite enough. Rise. You’ll have a mountain of work ahead of you; do you really want to stay on this freezing floor? We can’t have you catching a chill.”

“Your Grace…!”

Completely blind to Lucian’s strategic calculations, Malcolm was deeply moved by the Duke personally helping him up and made a silent oath. To repay the mercy shown by this young ruler, he would spend the rest of his days in total service. He would gladly reveal every hidden secret of his family’s ancient scrolls without keeping a single detail back.

Having secured the blueprint for prehistoric metal refining, Lucian decided to keep Malcolm’s presence a secret for the moment. Since he had publicly announced the grand competition, he couldn’t simply call it off just because he’d found his man. If the event was proceeding anyway, it was wiser to hold back any information that might discourage potential contestants.

‘With any luck, another person with a lost art like Malcolm’s might decide to show up.’

After setting up a residence for Malcolm and his boy within the palace grounds, Lucian directed the knights who had assisted during the Fairy Light refining to act as their personal security. It was smarter to give the job to those who understood Malcolm’s true importance rather than assigning random guards to watch over a peasant.

Just as he thought, the knights who had seen the Fairy Light transformation accepted the duty of guarding a mere blacksmith without a hint of ego.

“Though his birth is humble, he is the smith who mastered prehistoric metal. In terms of sheer worth to the kingdom, his life is likely more vital than our own.”

“If the situation demands it, we will shield him with our very lives. For your future and the prosperity of Asagrim.”

“…No, I don’t expect anything that lethal to happen inside the palace walls, so just keep him out of trouble.”

Lucian answered with a slightly strained look at the knights’ intense devotion. It was fine that they were eager, but it was a bit much when they treated a safety measure like a suicide mission.

After calming the knights and sending them to join Malcolm, Lucian summoned Hans.

“What is the status of the Black Lions we recently brought on? Are they settling in?”

“Yes. After the trials they faced before their official appointment, they seem to be making the most of their downtime. They’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Sir Raymond lately.”

“They served together for years, so I imagine they have a lot of stories to revisit.”

Raymond and the quartet of Black Lions who had just arrived were the same men who had once been part of Lucian’s protection detail. Since the military wouldn’t just throw strangers together even in the same company, it meant they had developed a strong chemistry over many campaigns.

“They’ve been comrades since long before they met me. Their connection is likely quite strong, so as long as it doesn’t distract Raymond from his work, let them be.”

“I understand. Furthermore, a rather… brazen demand arrived from the outside just a short while ago.”

“A brazen demand?”

“A scout from First Young Master Tristan came to tell us that he plans to arrive in Asagrim shortly to show his respects to the late Sir Eisen.”

“Just as I thought.”

Lucian had heard whispers that Tristan’s position had been deteriorating and that he was out searching for a patron. He’d heard that even the support from Tristan’s grandfather on his mother’s side had been withdrawn; with his options exhausted, he had to be feeling the pressure. Since Lucian was the only one in a stable position at the moment, Tristan was likely planning to pull the family card to ask for help.

However, Hans wasn’t done with his report.

“The issue is, he requested our patience as he will be traveling with the five hundred soldiers under his direct command. It was more of an ultimatum than a polite request.”

It was a preposterous thing to ask. No matter the number, marching a private army into another lord’s lands was a direct provocation. And bringing a battalion to a funeral to mourn?

“Five hundred men, is it.”

It was the kind of request that would usually spark an immediate outrage, but Lucian only offered a faint chuckle. It wasn’t because he thought the force was negligible, but because he felt a twinge of pity for Tristan’s plight—the man literally had nowhere else to park those soldiers.

‘He has no lands of his own, so he has no base of operations. Even if he found a temporary spot, there’s no guarantee the men would stay loyal while Tristan is away.’

Tristan was currently fighting tooth and nail just to keep that small company together while hunting for an ally. If he, the only thing holding them together, were to abandon the fragile group and go to another province? Even a veteran squad would likely dissolve in no time.

‘Will he face the shame of bringing a warband to the Sword Saint’s memorial, or will he surrender his status as a leader just to save face? It’s a lose-lose situation.’

Tristan was backed into a corner, even if he realized the move would ruin his standing. If he let the army go, even the tiny hope of carving out his own path would disappear forever.

Grasping the gravity of the mess, Lucian said with a pensive smile, “Tell him he’s welcome to bring them all.”

“Are you certain, Your Grace? Even if it’s just five hundred, they are an uninvited foreign force.”

“It’s fine. They won’t be able to pull anything inside Asagrim regardless. Honestly, it would be a bigger headache for me if Tristan fell apart because I turned him away.”

Tristan was already on shaky ground; if he lost his military strength as well, he’d never get back on his feet. He would either break entirely and be swallowed by a rival or lose his life in the fallout.

Lucian wanted to prevent that if he could.

‘After all, Tristan still has a role to play in my designs.’