Chapter 211: The Blacksmith (3)
Dalrucahim, the Dragonslayer, was a master craftsman who had achieved transcendence. In countless playthroughs, fewer than ten characters had reached his level. Such a character, painstakingly developed, would never forget the equipment crafted during the game.
“This forge is different from the quiet one I first saw. More than half of these tools are unfamiliar.”
There was only one possibility. Unlike the previous two characters, this blacksmith must have continued honing his skills even after death.
Dalren’s curiosity was met with an answer from Dalrucahim, who didn’t even turn his head.
“In the Well of Reversal, time loses its meaning. The sensation of eternity and an instant is foreign even to the transcendent. Without crossing the wall of transcendence, enduring it without going mad is impossible.”
“You sound like a sorcerer.”
”…It means I had nothing else to do. Unlike a sage or a martial artist, I’ve never let my hands be idle.”
Clang!
The hammer struck, sending sparks flying. The holy sword, glowing red-hot, was regaining its form. The blade was slightly wider, and the handle reinforced. The hammering seemed casual, yet it swiftly balanced the sword’s edge and weight.
“So, I set up a forge in my own space within the Well of Reversal and crafted weapons. Even knowing they wouldn’t be used, my hands moved out of habit.”
Perhaps that’s why the forge was filled with so many weapons. Maybe that’s also why, unlike the other two characters, he hadn’t appeared in the backyard of the cabin—he was still running his forge even after death.
Rumble!
As Dalren’s thoughts drifted, the work neared completion. The final steps involved cooling the remaining heat and sharpening the blade. A device resembling a bellows released a blast of cold air, causing the red-hot sword to shiver.
The blacksmith’s eyes gleamed with interest.
”…The sword holds the power of the Frost Throne.”
He examined the trembling blade, his thick eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.
“That’s not a power one acquires easily… Did you know Charina?”
”…I wonder.”
Could that be called friendship? They had fought together against the evil god on the same battlefield, but calling them friends seemed a stretch. They had known each other for barely a week, meeting only a few times, mostly during strategy meetings. They had spoken alone just twice.
“Right before the battle began… and as it was ending.”
The brief conversation atop the towering spire of the Eclahim Palace had become a monumental turning point. The ruler of the great empire and a transcendent of the sixth rank had sacrificed her life to buy time—a pivotal decision.
”…”
The bloodied face amidst the clash of heavens remained etched in his mind. What had she believed in to make such a choice? How could she greet him so peacefully in the afterlife?
Even after witnessing the world’s flow hundreds of times, it was a choice and decision he couldn’t easily comprehend.
”…My apologies. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Did he read something in Dalren’s somber eyes? The blacksmith sighed softly, holding the holy sword.
“But it’s hard to believe. That cold empress willingly gave away the royal power. And seeing your face, even her own safety…”
“It’s in the past. The one-eyed master grieved greatly.”
“Byorn? Is that glass-eyed fellow still alive?”
Clang!
The hammer fell to the ground. The blacksmith’s eyes widened in surprise.
Byorn Kaladrakum, the one-eyed master. Alongside Reberon, he was one of the finest craftsmen in the labyrinth city, yet he met a tragic end in most playthroughs. Dalren, who knew most hero-level NPCs inside out, had little knowledge of Byorn for that reason.
“Come to think of it, he died tragically even in the playthrough where I was Dalrucahim.”
They had maintained a cordial relationship, if not a full-fledged partnership. Dalren had thought they might collaborate someday, but imperial assassins killed Byorn, shattering that plan. Dalrucahim, who had been training in the mountains to craft dragonbone weapons, only heard the news a year later when he returned to the city.
“I can’t believe it… Byorn is alive…”
Perhaps the admiration between craftsmen was stronger than he realized. The blacksmith’s rough voice trembled, on the verge of tears.
“What about Reberon?”
“Now that you mention it, the craftsmen NPCs had a bit of bad luck in that playthrough.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s alive and well. He’s probably receiving large orders from the Gallios Trading Company by now.”
Dalren shared the story of his encounters with the two craftsmen. How he had met Reberon’s niece during a sewer mission, introduced her to the forge, and helped her clear her debts by connecting her with the Gallios Trading Company. He also recounted how Reberon had sought his help when Sienna went missing, leading to their journey across the northern continent.
”…I see. So that’s what happened.”
The blacksmith’s trembling shoulders gradually calmed as the story unfolded. By the end, he had regained his composure, letting out a deep sigh and burying his face in his hands.
”…So the prophecy is true.”
The blacksmith suddenly stood, placing the holy sword on the anvil. He led Dalren toward the forge’s door with determined strides.
“Come. There’s something else I want to give you.”
Dalrucahim’s domain, the forge where the dragon’s breath scattered. From the outside, it appeared as a massive, streamlined chimney, a facility dozens of times larger than the quiet forge he had first seen. The spacious clearing between the forge and the forest was equally packed, leaving little room to step.
Screeeech…
A grinding wheel spun rapidly, sending sparks flying as it met the blade.
Hissss…
Molten metal poured into a mold, steam rising, while a sophisticated machine twisted half-heated wires nearby. Automated equipment crafted and refined weapons on its own, churning out dozens of swords in an instant, reminiscent of Earth’s automated factories.
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
It seemed the reverse was also true.
Reflecting on thoughts he’d had many times since arriving in this world, Dalren followed the blacksmith to the center of the clearing.
“I spent my life hammering and gathering materials. I lived buried in work, rarely sleeping, and even less often spending time with friends and comrades.”
The blacksmith gestured lightly toward the machines as he walked ahead. Instantly, dozens of devices ceased operation and retreated, creating space.
“I reached the limits of what I could forge. After returning to the city, I defended humanity’s bastion with all my might, a penance for the time I had neglected.”
”…”
“But only then did I realize. Time carelessly passed and relationships betrayed don’t return. Facing the end, the old life was an unattainable illusion. Only after losing it…”
“Do you realize what’s truly precious.”
The blacksmith nodded.
“To be honest, I expected the protagonist of the prophecy to be an arrogant fool, living for himself. Like I once was.”
The countless machines had vanished into the forge’s depths. Dalrucahim stopped in the middle of the spacious clearing.
“But you’re different. You aim high, yet you see those around you and even beneath your feet.”
“As I said, I just realized what’s important.”
“Hahaha! You talk like an old man on his deathbed, yet you’re just a young lad. Have you lived life twice over?”
The blacksmith’s hearty laughter echoed through the clearing. Dalren shrugged silently.
“You haven’t reached the sixth rank yet, have you?”
The blacksmith asked, his laughter subsiding.
“That’s right.”
“To transcend the past, reshape the present, and seize the future. The clues left by our predecessors are vague, aren’t they?”
His beard twitched lightly. He looked up at the sky, heavy with dark clouds, and continued.
“There are two markers of the sixth rank: the ability to twist the mystical and the power to fully open one’s domain.”
”…”
“The latter will take some time. You possess a mind far too expansive to be confined by mere hierarchical numbers. It’s likely because you’ve absorbed countless possibilities from the Well of Reversal. And it will continue to be so.”
Rumble…
A deep resonance echoed from somewhere, not the thunder beyond the storm clouds, but a sound much closer.
The blacksmith had already reached toward the sky. A flash of silver magic glinted in his eyes, and a distant intent shimmered between his outstretched fingers.
“It was only after death that I could touch the will of the sword. Thanks to the secret techniques I learned in life. Amusingly, it seems you’ve mastered the same.”
As his silver-tinged eyes slowly closed, the blacksmith’s rough hand clenched the air.
“Because of that, I can pass on this final revelation to you.”
Boom!
A fountain of silver burst forth.
Thousands upon thousands of weapons cascaded over the wide chimney of the forge.
Spears, swords, banners, breastplates, maces, longbows and arrows, greaves, and tower shields.
Swords and spears flew like waves, painting a galaxy beneath the storm clouds.
Armor and barding assembled in the sky, forming a silent legion of knights.
“The Forge Where the Dragon’s Breath Scatters”
“Master of Ten Thousand Weapons”
The armaments crafted in the forge beyond the artisan’s imagination could easily arm an army of thousands.
The overwhelming sight of the army arrayed overhead left even Dalen momentarily agape.
The adversary who had approached from behind also showed rare admiration.
“This isn’t mere telekinesis. You’ve bound every weapon with your own intent. Each one is as if wielded by your own hand… Truly, it could be called a superhuman army.”
“It’s an honor to hear that from the renowned Red Spear, known as the strongest among the dragonkin. However, my intention is to aid the prophesied one in bearing their mission, so I ask you to step back for a moment.”
“Your eloquence is reminiscent of someone I know. Very well, I won’t interfere this time.”
With a wave of his hand, the Red Spear disappeared into the forest. Only then did Dalen sense something amiss.
Typically, a character’s abilities were naturally inherited upon retrieving their remains.
Even for transcendents, it was only a matter of gaining consent or subjugating their will, with little difference in the outcome.
The issue was that, according to the blacksmith, this ability was acquired posthumously.
It was uncertain whether the system, which inherited abilities through the remains of the deceased, could include posthumous events.
“I don’t know what principle allows the Well of Reversal to perform such miracles. But I doubt it will work.”
The blacksmith seemed skeptical for the same reason. Dalen raised an eyebrow.
“Then what?”
“We’ll have to resort to a more traditional method.”
A smile peeked through his beard. Instinctively, Dalen reached for his waist.
Clang!
His hastily swung axe met with heavy resistance, revealing a crimson spear that had emerged at his feet.
“Isn’t the essence of martial arts to learn through taking hits? I won’t aim to kill, so learn well.”
”…”
“Fortunately, this is a space of intent. We have plenty of time.”
With those words, the weapons that had densely filled the sky began to rain down.
Watching the tens of thousands of silver flashes, Dalen felt a headache coming on.
Damn it. There’s never an easy way out, is there?