Chapter 759

Chapter 759
When Ghislain made his demand for Gramdir, the dwarf’s complexion turned a ghostly shade of white.
It wasn’t merely the arrogant one who had been speaking previously—every dwarf in the vicinity, including the one handling the coins, looked as though they had seen a spirit.
The dwarf faltered, “Y-You can certainly have it. But… wouldn’t 100 gold pieces be a far better choice than that hunk of junk?”
“My heart is set on that sword.”
“It isn’t a good blade. It’s complete garbage. I’m only speaking up because my conscience is bothering me.”
“It doesn’t matter. Hand it over.”
“L-Listen, what if I give you 200 gold instead? Why not take the coin and be on your way? I’m… feeling a bit under the weather.”
Ghislain let out a soft laugh and held out his palm.
“I’ll pass. I’m claiming the sword.”
Snap!
Strands of mana erupted from Ghislain’s fingers, snaring Gramdir and pulling it sharply toward him.
He rotated the weapon in his grip, scrutinizing every inch of it, and then offered a satisfied grin.
“I’m impressed. This is precisely the blade I was looking for.”
He reached for the nearby sheath, slid the metal home—
Clack!
—and fixed it to his belt as if it had belonged there for years.
The dwarf let out a shriek and scrambled toward him.
“G-Give it back! That sword belongs to me!”
“Easy there, what’s the issue? It’s mine now. We have plenty of observers. Everyone present witnessed the win.”
“I’ll offer you 500 gold! Please, I beg you!”
“No.”
“1,000 gold! I don’t have the sum on me this instant, but I, the renowned dwarf Torvalt, give you my solemn oath—I will find the funds!”
“No, there’s no need for such extremes.”
Ghislain shook his head. He was already wealthy—and possessed countless ways to grow that wealth.
After all, he held a significant share in the gold mines of the Raks Territory. A thousand gold was an insignificant amount to a man of his means.
But this weapon was a different story. It was priceless; you couldn’t acquire it for a thousand gold, or even ten thousand.
The crowd of onlookers began to whisper, sensing that something was amiss.
“What is actually happening? Wasn’t that just a piece of scrap?”
“It’s not an artifact. It hasn’t undergone any magical enhancement at all.”
“Then why is he so desperate to reclaim it?”
Everyone had observed Torvalt’s frantic behavior. This was not the conduct expected of a dignified dwarf.
That arrogant fellow had been boasting just moments ago—and now he was pleading for a single blade?
It defied logic, yet they lacked an explanation.
Eventually, a voice from the crowd asked,
“What makes that sword so special?”
“T-That… I’m not at liberty to say! It just is! It holds great meaning for me! It’s a blade with… a history!”
“Then you should never have made it a reward. You could have just pocketed the entry fees and left it out of the prize pool.”
Torvalt was struck dumb.
In truth, his current predicament was a direct result of his own conceit.
He had been certain that no person could crack the puzzle. He assumed humans were too ignorant to recognize the weapon’s true worth anyway.
He couldn’t share the full narrative, but he had also felt a perverse thrill in wagering such a prized possession. It was the sinful pride of a master builder.
But then this anomaly of a man appeared, tore through the challenge, and began walking away with the prize. He couldn’t allow it.
“No! I won’t allow it!”
Torvalt collapsed to the dirt and gripped Ghislain’s leg.
Naturally, such a display had no effect on Ghislain. He shook the dwarf off with ease and remarked,
“An agreement is an agreement. You ought to honor your word.”
“Grrrgh…! What… what trick did you use?! Why didn’t the device detonate?!”
“Perhaps I’m just in peak condition.”
“AAARGH! Stop talking rubbish!”
Torvalt flailed in frustration while Ghislain allowed himself a smirk.
In reality, it wasn’t overly complicated. Just before the explosion was set to trigger, he had channeled threads of mana into the device and sliced through the internal pathways.
Hundreds of these mana filaments had swarmed the mechanism, neutralizing the circuits and utterly dismantling the trigger structure—it was physically impossible for it to blow up after that.
Only Ghislain possessed the precision to execute such a feat, which was why Torvalt remained completely baffled.
As Ghislain turned his back to depart, Torvalt snapped back to reality.
That blade was far too vital. He couldn’t lose it.
If he could turn back the clock, he never would have offered it as a prize. That cursed arrogance…
He dashed in front of Ghislain, waving his arms,
“Wait! Let us have another go!”
“…Another what?”
Torvalt began writing feverishly onto a scrap of parchment.
This time, he poured every ounce of his dwarven expertise into a riddle that brute strength couldn’t hope to bypass. It was a devilishly intricate problem requiring the highest level of engineering genius.
With newfound confidence, he thrust the paper toward Ghislain and bellowed,
“Let’s place another bet! If you crack this, I’ll hand over another 1,000 gold! But if you fail—you return the sword!”
“Hm…”
The crowd watched with intense curiosity.
This was a challenge the dwarf had drafted with genuine gravity. No normal individual could hope to solve it.
Everyone was keen to see how Ghislain would tackle this new obstacle.
Torvalt wore a triumphant grin.
‘This time, even his bizarre tricks won’t save him! Let him be crushed against the fortress of dwarven brilliance!’
Amid the heavy silence, Ghislain slowly scanned the parchment.
Then—he casually flipped it over his shoulder.
“I’m not interested.”
“…Pardon?”
“I said I won’t do it.”
“Why not?!”
“It’s too difficult. I can’t even make sense of what’s written.”
“……”
Torvalt stood frozen, completely lost for words.
Ghislain shrugged as if to say it was out of his hands and added,
“What, do you think I have to agree just because you proposed a bet? I’m free to just walk away.”
The observers erupted into muffled chuckles and nods of approval.
He was right. If a person didn’t wish to wager, they could simply decline.
Torvalt had never even considered that possibility. The epiphany struck him like a falling hammer.
“You—You must! Why won’t you?! I offered another 1,000 gold! Have you no sense of honor?!”
“I’ve already triumphed. Why would my honor be at stake?”
“Grrgh! Do you have any idea who I am?!”
“No. And I don’t particularly care.”
“……”
It was a total rout. He couldn’t even manage to win the verbal exchange.
Thud!
Torvalt sank to his knees, utterly defeated. His gaze went vacant, and a bit of drool escaped his lips.
Ghislain turned to his companions, lifting the sword slightly.
“Let’s move. We need to clean up and find some rest.”
Leaving the shattered Torvalt in the dust, Ghislain walked away. The crowd broke into loud cheers.
“YEAH! That was brilliant!”
“That’s what you get, you arrogant dwarf!”
“What a legend!”
From their perspective, seeing the haughty dwarf brought low was immensely satisfying.
As they moved off, Ghislain kept glancing down at the weapon in his hand, his expression radiant with joy.
The others found his behavior peculiar.
Ghislain had never displayed this level of attachment to a physical object before.
Julien observed him with a questioning look and asked,
“Why choose the blade over the gold? Is it truly that exceptional?”
“Oh, absolutely. This sword… it’s magnificent. I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered one superior to it.”
“Truly? It looks quite ordinary to my eyes.”
“It is forged from meteoric iron.”
The group’s eyes went wide.
Meteoric iron—the purest form of steel, harvested only from stars that fall from the sky.
That specific iron is of a caliber so high it cannot be compared to any terrestrial metal. That is why it is occasionally referred to as the celestial metal, a substance reserved for those favored by the heavens.
While the quality varies slightly based on the specific meteorite, the total amount available is so scarce that minor variations are irrelevant.
If a dwarf had been the one to forge that meteoric iron, it wouldn’t be hyperbolic to label it a legendary blade.
Kyle spoke up from the side, his voice full of skepticism.
“But it’s covered in rust. I’ve heard that meteoric iron is immune to rust and decay.”
“It isn’t that it *never* rusts… but this corrosion is definitely artificial.”
“Artificial?”
“Correct. I’m not sure why they chose to hide it. Perhaps the dwarf was attempting some sort of deception.”
“Then how were you able to identify it, Ghislain?”
“In a time long ago… a companion of mine utilized a blade just like this one.”
Ghislain stole a glance at Julien with a subtle smirk.
In his previous life, Julien—the commander of the human alliance—had wielded a comparable weapon. Whether it was a heirloom of the Turian royal family or something he had acquired elsewhere, Ghislain wasn’t certain. The Julien of that future was a man of few words.
But he recalled how incredible that sword had been. Even someone like him, who seldom lusted after material possessions, had envied it.
Ghislain looked around at his friends and announced,
“I’ll reveal this sword’s true appearance to you.”
“Its true appearance?”
“Yes. Keep your eyes open.”
Shrring.
Ghislain unsheathed the weapon and flooded it with mana.
Wooooong…
With a deep, resonant vibration, the fake rust clinging to the metal began to crack and fall away.
And revealed beneath the grime was—
A black so profound it seemed as though even the light was afraid to touch it.
Gramdir’s surface was dark and glass-smooth, yet across its face, subtle patterns ebbed and flowed like tides—resembling stars drifting through the infinite void of space.
And all he had done was provide a gentle breath of mana. As he did, the entire weapon pulsed softly, emitting a low-frequency hum.
Everyone watching found themselves holding their breath.
“W-What on earth…”
“It really transformed like that?”
“Is it some kind of magic item?”
It appeared entirely different than it had when it was dormant.
Gazing at it created the sensation that centuries of history were flowing through the metal.
Light bent and shattered the moment it met the edge. It no longer resembled a piece of metal—it looked like a sliver carved directly from the cosmos.
In that state, Ghislain executed a light horizontal slash through the air.
PAAAK!
A bizarre energy warped the air so violently that everyone recoiled.
A gust like a razor-sharp wind brushed past their skin. A pressure that seemed to pierce right into their hearts.
He had only cut the air once, but it left everyone feeling as though they had been sliced. It was as if the line between what was real and what wasn’t had simply dissolved.
Of course, this wasn’t purely a function of the sword. It was more accurate to say the blade responded flawlessly to Ghislain’s immense power.
Saaaaa…
When Ghislain pulled back his mana, the sword faded back to its prior state. To an untrained eye, it looked completely unremarkable—a thing you wouldn’t give a second glance.
Ghislain gave the weapon a small flick and beamed.
“What do you think? Quite something, isn’t it?”
“Wow…”
The group stood with their jaws dropped, dazed. The sword Ghislain had showcased so briefly was that stunning—and that intimidating.
Ghislain went on with his explanation.
“Mind you, it isn’t as if simply dumping mana into it will produce this effect. You have to harmonize with the blade and manage its energy flow.”
Ghislain, who possessed the ability to manipulate willpower itself, could even rouse the inherent spirit of objects. More specifically, the tool reacted to Ghislain’s intent and aligned itself with his purpose.
But for those who hadn’t attained that level of mastery, the concept was incomprehensible.
Osvald rubbed the back of his neck and asked,
“What does that actually mean? Are you saying if anyone else holds it, it won’t look like what we just saw? It’s just a piece of metal—how can it change?”
Ghislain offered the hilt to Osvald.
“Try projecting your mana into it.”
Osvald gave a silly grin and channeled as much energy as he could muster.
The sword emitted a faint hum again—but it was nothing like the display Ghislain had provided.
At its best, it was merely slightly sharper and more energized, similar to any other high-quality weapon.
“Eh… what gives? It’s just a standard sword.”
Osvald asked, sounding let down. Ghislain simply shrugged.
“You didn’t become one with it.”
“What? I’m a human being—how am I supposed to become one with a sword? What, am I a monster? Do I cut off my hand and weld the sword to the stump?”
“……”
The incredibly literal and blunt question left Ghislain momentarily at a loss for words.
The others clearly shared the confusion.
Ghislain started to speak as if to clarify, but then simply shook his head. This was an experience one had to live through to truly comprehend.
After reclaiming the blade, Ghislain looked toward Julien and inquired,
“Do you want it?”
“…For me?”
“Yes. I ‘reeeeally’ want this blade, but if you have a use for it, I’ll hand it over.”
“…No.”
Julien declined with a shake of his head. As a swordsman, it wasn’t that he lacked desire for it.
But reflecting on it, Ghislain was always the one providing for everyone else. He didn’t want to be the one to take the very first thing Ghislain had ever truly expressed a desire for.
Furthermore, only Ghislain seemed capable of truly unlocking the weapon’s potential.
Ghislain asked once more, just to be certain.
“So I’m the one who will use it?”
“Yes. That is how it ought to be.”
“Hm.”
Ghislain had been prepared to part with it, however reluctantly, if Julien had asked. Certainly, it would be a useful tool for him, but Ghislain had long since moved beyond the need for physical equipment.
Still, he recognized the sentiment behind Julien’s refusal—and chose to honor it.
Then, shifting slightly, he noticed Kyle staring at the sword, practically salivating.
Ghislain addressed him.
“Hey, clean yourself up…”
“I’ll take it!”
“……”
“Hand it over!”
“……”
It was so shameless that Ghislain had to provide a firm answer.
“I’m the one using it for now.”
“Tch.”
Kyle scowled and puffed out his chest.
And it wasn’t just Kyle. Even Lionel was observing the weapon with eyes reflecting a burning hunger.
The mercenaries were the same. If it hadn’t been Ghislain holding it, someone might have already attempted a theft.
They might not have understood its value before—but once they witnessed the sword’s true form, everyone wanted a piece of it.
Ghislain clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“This is exactly why treasures lead to conflict.”
It made Julien’s previous self-restraint all the more notable. Truly a man worthy of his future as a hero.
Ghislain stowed Gramdir away in his subspace. He intended to keep it hidden for the time being and only draw it when the situation demanded.
It wasn’t just for the sake of his companions.
‘They aren’t going to give up so easily.’
Torvalt and his fellow dwarves, who had lost the blade, were currently lingering in the shadows, tracking them and waiting for an opening.
Ghislain secured rooms at a large, opulent inn. Being a major hub for trade, the city had no shortage of high-end lodgings.
The mercenaries took their ease while Ghislain and the inner circle cleaned up, changed their attire, and went immediately to seek an audience with the city’s governor.
Obtaining a meeting wasn’t difficult. They were no longer dressed in rags, and they possessed credentials proving they were under the authority of the Papacy.
The city governor greeted Ghislain and his entourage with the appropriate level of decorum. Even if the visit was unofficial, they represented the Empire. That fact alone commanded deference.
After the initial pleasantries and introductions were finished, the governor asked with caution,
“What brings agents of the Imperial Papacy to our city?”
Ghislain didn’t waste time with small talk and went straight to the heart of the matter.
“We require you to mobilize the military. Send word to the lords of all neighboring lands and include this city’s own forces.”
“……”
Despite the startling demand, the governor kept his polite smile in place. Though the muscle in his cheek twitched ever so slightly.
But the expression in his eyes as he looked at Ghislain had turned frosty—as if he were staring at a madman.