Chapter 168

Chapter 168
Chapter 168

Malcolm looked over at the artisans stepping forward alongside him and whispered to himself.

They all appear so dignified and brimming with self-assurance. Not a single hint of anxiety or doubt marks their expressions.

It likely stemmed from the pride they took in their own craftsmanship and the fact that each held their own specific convictions regarding metallurgy. In truth, those concepts probably carried some merit, and they had likely been hailed as elite masters by their peers. How else could they be so utterly convinced of their impending triumph?

One can usually catch a glimpse of a person’s life story just by watching how they carry themselves daily. These masters were unable to mask the radiance of individuals who had traveled a road of constant victory without ever tasting the bitterness of true defeat.

It’s almost comical. Out of everyone gathered here, I am the only one standing with my shoulders slumped.

A dry smile touched Malcolm’s face. It was a strange irony that he, the solitary man who actually possessed the secrets of Fairy Light, was behaving with more trepidation than these masters who relied on theories they had stitched together in their own minds. It was a lingering trait from surviving decades of struggle—a reflexive instinct to move with extreme caution.

In the days of my youth, I wouldn’t have spared a thought for the opinions of others… but those times have passed. Now that His Highness has granted me the esteemed rank of Forge Master, I am obligated to uphold a particular standard of grace.

If he neglected to display the skill and poise expected of a Forge Master, the public would begin to doubt Lucian’s perception. For the sake of Lucian, who had invested such confidence in him, Malcolm had to abandon his hesitant demeanor.

Taking his place at the forge with the five challengers, Malcolm pulled his shoulders back and thought back to the instructions he had been given previously.

—I want you to enter this contest as one of the participants. Naturally, your status as Forge Master is secure, so do not let it trouble you.

—Is it your wish for me to demonstrate to the others that I am qualified to be the Forge Master, Your Highness?

—It is less about that and more about setting a standard. I want you to display the method of purifying Fairy Light, stage by stage, in great detail.

—I beg your pardon? If I reveal the entire purification sequence, won’t every one of them simply mimic my actions?

Lucian’s primary objective was supposed to be the recruitment of blacksmiths capable of working Fairy Light through a trial of skill. But if the entire secret was laid out in the open, there would be no way to distinguish a genuine prodigy from a man who was merely adept at copying others.

In response to Malcolm’s skepticism, Lucian had simply shook his head.

—My objective was fulfilled the moment you arrived. What I require now are individuals capable of rapidly absorbing your knowledge.

—My knowledge, Your Highness…?

—Going forward, alongside your responsibilities as Forge Master, I plan to have you instruct other smiths in the ancient techniques of smelting.

—Ah!

Malcolm finally grasped Lucian’s intent. Previously, Lucian had hunted for a brilliant master because he lacked the ancient smelting protocols; it was a backup strategy. But the situation had shifted entirely once Malcolm provided the texts containing the systematized smelting laws.

With the protocols in hand, it was far more efficient to secure a large group of capable hands than a single isolated genius.

—We are living in an age where we must provide mass-produced blades and plates to outfit our battalions immediately. We must leverage our resources to their maximum potential. There is no luxury of time to slowly nurture the research of a lone prodigy.

—You are absolutely correct, Your Highness. This old man raised a senseless point.

—If you grasp my meaning, then you understand your role from this point on, do you not?

—I am to provide the blueprint and monitor the others. Then, I shall identify the masters who swiftly comprehend my lessons and can put them into practice right away.

—Exactly.

“The trial shall commence momentarily! Blacksmiths, prepare for the purification!”

At the command of the knight, Malcolm and his rivals took their stations at the hearths. Shortly after, the signal blew to mark the start, and the metalworkers began their labor.

The men who had moved to the front to take on the first round with Malcolm were full of bravado. They had spent a lifetime wrestling with ore; they had lost track of how many items they had forged with their own strength. Even if a metal was labeled “ancient” or “mythical,” as long as it was metal, they believed the fundamentals couldn’t vary that much.

However, that bravado evaporated before long.

“Why! Why is it refusing to react?!”

“Based on my calculations, a transformation should have occurred by this point…!”

“I would prefer it if it just cracked! It won’t even move!”

Had they failed by creating a flawed product, they would have felt shame, but not necessarily hopelessness. At least they would have failed in the act of creation. The issue was that this wasn’t just a failure—it was physically impossible to even alter the metal’s state. No matter how long they kept it in the white heat of the forge or how hard they worked the air, the substance refused to yield.

It was just as the once-confident challengers were losing their nerve and abandoning their tools one by one.

Whoosh!

“Wh-what is happening?”

“What is that glow?”

The eyes of the spectators, who had been observing with a cynical ‘I expected as much’ mindset, grew wide at the transformation taking place at Malcolm’s station. The other smiths also turned their heads eventually, gaping at the pulsating, shifting colors of the fire.

Despite the intensity of the gazes coming from every direction, Malcolm did not so much as flinch as he extracted the Fairy Light from the flames.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

“It—it’s shifting! The metal is taking shape!”

“Good heavens, a myth is being written right before us…!”

Amidst the rising wave of astonishment, the Fairy Light began to slowly transition its form. The crowd watched with intense focus, determined not to blink and miss a single moment of Malcolm’s craft. And soon, they were left speechless as they watched a method that completely ignored standard logic.

The hammering and folding phases were somewhat like normal metal, but the heating and cooling steps were utterly bizarre. It was a frantic, chaotic technique that would have caused any regular steel to shatter into pieces instantly. Yet, Malcolm pressed on with his labor without a shred of hesitation in that seemingly reckless rhythm.

Sssssss!

As the final cooling bath ended, Malcolm drew out the steel. It would still need further grinding and the fitting of a grip to become a functional sword, but those were secondary steps. For the purposes of this trial, his responsibility was finished once he had refined the Fairy Light into a blade.

“It is complete.”

“Hmm.”

The knight gave a silent nod and accepted the blade forged from Fairy Light. Perhaps because he had performed the feat once before, the blade was shaped with much more precision than the very first weapon he had created.

As Malcolm turned over the sword and retreated inside, the knight turned his voice toward the other participants.

“Do the rest of you plan to surrender?”

“W-wait a minute! This is simply too…!”

The word unfair almost escaped their lips. Unlike them, who had been preoccupied with their own struggles and couldn’t witness the technique clearly, the smiths watching from the rear would have seen every detail. At this rate, only the men who had stayed back like cowards would stand to gain.

However, it was they themselves who had stepped forward as the first wave despite having the option to wait. They were unable to speak, paralyzed by the realization that such complaints would hold no weight now.

While the heavy silence lingered, the knight called out to the assembled smiths once more.

“I am unaware of what complications arose, but I shall grant you one final opportunity if you desire it. You may return at the very end, once all other participants have taken their turn.”

“I beg your pardon? Is—is that permitted?”

“Under normal circumstances, it would not be, but His Grace the Duke has granted a special pardon. He has authorized a second attempt exclusively for those who were brave enough to step forward first.”

“…!”

Recognizing an arrangement that seemed to have foreseen this exact outcome, the masters finally saw the truth. They had been mere background characters from the start. The artisan who had successfully tamed the Fairy Light had been in the Duke’s service all along.

Even after the truth came to light, the masters did not depart. The opening round had already demonstrated that the smelting technique for Fairy Light went against all conventional wisdom. Even if they had tried to use their original concepts, they would have experienced nothing but total failure.

In contrast, they had now seen the work of a master who held the secret from beginning to end. Though the chance of success remained slim, they at least possessed a foundational map now, unlike before when they were wandering in the dark.

So what if I wasn’t the primary master? It is a monumental honor simply to hammer a metal of legend.

Even if I take a position here as a lowly apprentice, I will be regarded as a patriarch in other lands. I cannot let this slip away.

To the void with pride—I don’t care who I serve, I just want to forge a legendary tool with my own hands!

Some hammered the Fairy Light to earn a name, some for influence, and some to satisfy their inner drive as craftsmen. Even though they had seen the perfect sequence, it had only been once, and they still lacked the deeper theory. Naturally, the majority of them ruined the Fairy Light with clumsy strikes or failed to produce a viable blade.

However, even through the struggle, there were those who managed to succeed, and they naturally became the primary candidates for Malcolm’s tutelage.

As the trial dragged on over several days, Malcolm finalized the sword made of Fairy Light and brought it before Lucian.

“Your Highness, the weapon is finished.”

“It is well made.”

Lucian tested the finished blade with a few swings before passing it to Felicia, who stood at his side. Felicia accepted the Fairy Light sword, inspected it briefly, and offered a small smile.

“It is quite excellent. Though it is somewhat short, it feels stable and the distribution of weight is superb. This will be more than adequate for live combat.”

“I beg your pardon? Live combat?”

Shocked by the sudden remark, Malcolm looked back and forth between Felicia and Lucian. He had been under the impression that the sword he crafted this time was merely a decorative piece to be handed to the Sword Saint, yet she was speaking of the battlefield.

“Your Highness, what I have produced is a ceremonial blade. It is not an instrument intended for war.”

“I believe it is more than capable of such use. You are far too modest about your own capabilities.”

“Well, it might be comparable to what you would find in a typical forge, but…”

Malcolm’s voice faded, unsure of how to voice his concern. A common sellsword might find it useful, but was Felicia not the heir to the Sword Saint? A warrior of such stature should wield a blade that matched their status. Unless it was a masterwork born from thousands of layers, a ceremonial piece like this was far below what Felicia ought to be carrying.

As if sensing Malcolm’s inner conflict, Felicia spoke.

“I understand your concerns, but do not worry. I am not the sort of warrior who is overly demanding about my steel.”

“But this blade does not complement Sir Felicia in the slightest. At the very least, I ought to have forged one with a reach that corresponds to your stature…”

“Do I appear to be a knight who would lose her edge simply because the length of her blade is off by a few inches?”

“No, certainly not! Please overlook this old man’s rudeness!”

“I was only teasing.”

Felicia, who had been maintaining a facade of irritation, softened her look when she saw how shaken Malcolm had become. Lucian, who had been holding back a chuckle while observing the interaction, eventually turned his gaze to the side.

“Brother, have you ever witnessed Sir Felicia making a joke before?”

“…”

“I thought as much. It is one of those rare occurrences that only I am privileged to see.”

Despite the silence from Tristan, Lucian provided his own answer without hesitation. His manner suggested he didn’t care in the slightest whether Tristan took offense. As Lucian started to look away again, Tristan finally spoke, his patience clearly reaching its limit.

“Your Highness, that is enough. Please, just state your true intentions.”

“Enough of what?”

“Displaying the might of Asagrim in front of me.”

By this point, Tristan could start to piece together Lucian’s plan. By implying the massive production of arms through the smithing trial and demonstrating Felicia’s heightened abilities in the coming duel, Lucian meant to broadcast that he held the Sword Saint under his banner.

Tristan was certain that Lucian would then attempt to show him exactly how massive the distance between them had become, though he wasn’t sure what method would be used.

“Your Highness wouldn’t orchestrate all of this without a purpose. You are repeating these demonstrations because you plan to demand something of me that I will find nearly impossible to grant, are you not?”

“Hahaha!”

Hearing Tristan’s deduction, Lucian broke into a loud laugh. It wasn’t a deflective laugh, but a genuine one that confirmed the suspicion. Tristan’s expression grew even more rigid.

His tolerance gone, Tristan put the question to Lucian directly.

“Just how significant is the demand you intend to place on me that you would go to such lengths?”