The Devil’s Sacred Sword (3)
Just because the axe craved demon blood didn’t mean Dalen could charge into battle with just that weapon alone.
The labyrinth was a perilous place, even for a gold-ranked mercenary.
Of course, Dalen wasn’t your average gold-ranked mercenary, but preparation was still essential.
Clang— Clang—
The morning after accepting the mission.
Dalen found himself at Laveron Ahakim’s forge, a place he hadn’t visited in a while.
The sign that once read “Vero’s Smithy” now bore the name “Mithril Refinery.”
The relentless sound of hammering filled the air. Merchants and mercenaries browsed the goods displayed on the stands.
It seemed they had hired some help, as two employees scurried around, attending to customers and tidying up the shop.
“If you’re looking for an easy-to-handle weapon, may I suggest the maces over here…”
“You’re here for armor? Just a moment, please. How about this sturdy cowhide armor that just came in?”
A boy, who seemed to be a bit stocky for his height, handed a mace to a mercenary, showering him with compliments on how well it suited him.
Beside him, a girl polished the displayed weapons and armor, recommending a leather armor to a woman dressed as a hunter.
Dalen watched the scene unfold, taking in the lively atmosphere of the shop run by the two teenagers.
They looked about sixteen or seventeen.
In this world, it wasn’t uncommon for teenagers to be experienced newcomers in the workforce.
“Welcome! Is there something you’re looking for? Here at Mithril Refinery, we only craft and sell top-quality goods certified by the Gallios Trading Company. If you’re not sure what you want, feel free to browse around!”
As Dalen lingered near the entrance, the boy who had just sold the mace to the mercenary dashed over to greet him.
Dalen chuckled softly and asked, “Is the owner busy?”
“The boss? Well… he’s a bit tied up, but…”
The boy, caught off guard by the question, hesitated, his earlier confidence wavering.
Dalen glanced inside the shop. It seemed he didn’t need further guidance.
The loud hammering had just ceased.
“Dalen! How long has it been?”
A booming voice erupted from within the shop.
The surprise and joy in the voice made Dalen’s lips curl into a smile.
A man, short but with shoulders and arms as thick as Dalen’s, emerged wearing a heavy apron.
Laveron Ahakim, destined to be known as the master of mithril, beamed as he greeted Dalen.
“My niece told me you stopped by. I can’t believe I missed seeing you! Do you know how disappointed I was?”
“You seemed deeply focused. It’s not right to interrupt a craftsman at work, is it?”
“You’re different. You’re the one who allowed me to remain a craftsman! But tell me, is it true? Did you really leap across rooftops to take down that notorious assassin group?”
Laveron asked, his eyes gleaming. It seemed the chatty merchant had been spreading tales again.
Dalen chuckled and changed the subject.
“Enough with the stories. How about showing me what I left with you? I noticed the shop was closed, so I left them inside.”
“The armor and weapons you left a week ago? They’re all ready. Come on in!”
Laveron swung his hammer, still glowing red-hot, and led the way inside.
Dalen followed, careful to avoid the swinging hammer.
The intense heat inside the shop was just as he remembered. Dalen took a deep breath, taking in the familiar scents.
The smell of fire. The metallic tang. The acrid scent of smoke and the musty odor of tanned leather.
And mingling with it all, the faint, comforting aroma of beer wafting from the back of the shop.
The shop was cluttered with leather and metal sheets, leaving little room to move.
Customers seemed to be coming in non-stop, indicating business was thriving.
‘Perhaps the prime location helped spread the word quickly. Or maybe the Gallios Trading Company did some heavy promotion.’
Either way, it was good news. Laveron’s skills and reputation would grow even faster.
Soon, Dalen might see the mithril weapons he’d only ever seen on a monitor in real life.
“Here we go!”
Meanwhile, Laveron rummaged through a corner of the shop and pulled out a large box.
Thud.
He placed the hefty wooden box on the table.
Inside, Dalen found neatly repaired armor and a shield, along with a sword that looked brand new.
“Here you go. I reinforced the armor and shield with carapace wolf leather, and the sword… well, it was beyond repair, so I made a new one.”
“A new one?”
“I got the request to repair it, but… it was impossible. How do you reforge a sword that’s been snapped in two?”
Dalen tilted his head. In movies, they seemed to manage just fine.
“Upon inspection, the blade and crossguard were nearly separated. This time, I forged it as a single piece, so it should feel much sturdier.”
Swish—
Dalen lifted the sword. As Laveron described, the entire sword was a single piece of metal.
A few swings confirmed it was of even higher quality than before.
‘A masterpiece.’
The leather-wrapped handle fit perfectly in his grip, and the weight and balance were optimal.
Typically, forging a sword from a single piece of metal would cause balance issues.
But Laveron, destined to be a legendary blacksmith, seemed to have resolved that with his exceptional craftsmanship.
“Excellent. How much do I owe you?”
Dalen asked as he donned the repaired armor, tightening the straps.
The armor fit comfortably, a testament to its superior quality. It was hard to believe it had been shattered and repaired.
It was worth a few gold coins, and thanks to the payment from Gawain, Dalen’s purse was comfortably full.
But as Dalen reached for his coin pouch, Laveron shook his head firmly.
“No need for payment. Until you’ve used up the gold coins I received last time, don’t even think about paying.”
Ah, the twenty-six gold coins meant to settle a debt.
They were coins that had nowhere to go after the Telia Trading Company went under.
Since it wasn’t money from Dalen’s own pocket, it had been a distant memory.
‘Considering it as the cost of recruiting the master of mithril, a handful of gold coins is practically a bargain.’
But perhaps the heart of someone who had been desperate was different.
Laveron seemed to have remembered and cherished the gold coins he received back then.
With his firm refusal, Dalen had no choice but to tie his coin pouch back up.
“Then I’ll make good use of it.”
No need to refuse a gift.
Dalen slung the shield over his back, sheathed the sword, and secured it to his belt.
As he was about to leave the shop, Laveron spoke up.
“Leaving already?”
“The client is waiting.”
Dalen glanced out the window.
It was still early morning. The client, a holy knight, was staying at an inn in the Silver District.
By now, Siena would have reached out, and the knight would be waiting for Dalen’s arrival.
In this vast city, it would take hours to travel from the city gates to the Silver District, even by carriage.
He didn’t want to keep another potential ally, another hero NPC, waiting too long.
“That’s a shame. I thought we could share a beer since it’s been a while.”
Laveron muttered.
At those words, Dalen paused at the door.
“The diner across the street serves amazing ham sandwiches. If you buy them fresh in the morning and pair them with beer, it’s perfect for brunch. Next time, maybe…”
“On second thought, the client might prefer to meet after lunch.”
Ham sandwiches and beer.
How could he resist?
It was late afternoon by the time Dalen reached the Silver Gate.
A long line had already formed in front of the gate.
The Silver Wall, known for being the thickest in the city.
Unlike the Bronze District, where inspections were merely formalities, entering the Silver District required a thorough check.
There were two checkpoints, one on each side of the gate.
Fortunately, merchants with carts or wagons had to undergo separate inspections.
With only a single bag, Dalen quickly reached the guards at the checkpoint.
“May I see your pass?”
“Could you issue one for me?”
The guard briefly scrutinized Dalen with a slightly furrowed brow. Then he spoke.
“We advise against wandering the streets of the Silver District in a state of excessive intoxication.”
Dalen nodded absentmindedly. All this fuss over a bit of alcohol on his breath.
The guard resumed his professional demeanor and asked, “Your name?”
“Dalen.”
“And your occupation?”
“Mercenary.”
Dalen presented his gold badge. The guard examined it front and back before returning it.
“What is your purpose here?”
“I’m heading into the labyrinth.”
“The fee for a new entry pass is 15 florins. If you don’t have a carriage or horse, the toll is 10 shillings, but if you’re a gold-ranked mercenary, you get a discount and only need to pay 8 shillings.”
“Here you go.”
The guard counted the gold and silver coins Dalen handed over, even weighing them for good measure, before nodding in approval.
With that, the soldiers guarding the gate with their halberds stepped aside, creating a path for him to pass through.
“Please wait a moment while we issue your entry pass. You can wait just inside the gate.”
“Thank you.”
Dalen walked through the outer gate along the path the soldiers had cleared.
As he waited between the two gates, a different guard approached him.
“If it’s lost or stolen, you’ll need to get a new one. The cost is still 15 florins.”
The guard handed him a thin, rectangular metal pass, adding a few more words.
What a hassle. It’s just a piece of metal with a name and rank stamped on it. How much effort could it possibly take?
Without a word, Dalen accepted the pass and showed it to the soldiers guarding the inner gate. A quick glance inside his bag was enough to satisfy them, and the inspection was over in no time.
Dalen passed through the inner gate.
Whoosh—
The winter wind tousled his hair.
Just a wall apart, yet the air felt entirely different.
The seven walls of Falcion. He was now inside the second, thickest, and tallest wall.
The entrance to the labyrinth, where countless adventurers had come seeking treasure, only to end up settling down.
‘The land of adventurers and their descendants.’
Finally, he had reached the Silver District.
“Phew.”
He exhaled deeply and looked up.
Tall buildings, about ten stories high, lined the straight boulevard.
In the distance, at the end of the boulevard, a wide plaza came into view, with a spire rising proudly at its center.
The wide plaza was the central square where all the main roads of the Silver District converged.
And the towering spire in the middle was—
“The Barrier Tower of the Labyrinth City. It’s the entrance to the labyrinth.”
An old man chuckled as he spoke to him.
“Judging by the way you’re staring, this must be your first time in the Silver District, young man.”
“Yes, it is.”
Though he’d seen it countless times on a monitor, this was his first time here in person.
“I was the same once. The entry fee might be steep, but it’s a decent place to settle. My children and grandchildren have made a good life here. Having lived their whole lives in the city, they don’t realize how well-ordered and safe it is.”
Spoiled brats. The old man clicked his tongue.
Dalen half-listened to the old man’s grumbling as he slowly took in his surroundings.
Horses and carriages moved in orderly lines down the center of the road, while people walked along the sidewalks.
Their expressions were busy, yet there was a hint of leisure in most of them.
At least it wasn’t like the Bronze District, where you never knew when a pickpocket might strike.
It was bustling with people, yet there was a sense of order and security.
In that scene, Dalen couldn’t help but think of Earth once more.
“So, are you here to try your luck in the labyrinth?”
When Dalen remained silent, the old man spoke again.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I see. Then I wish you luck, warrior favored by the gods.”
Favored by the gods?
The old man’s laughter tickled his ears, and Dalen turned his head quickly.
”…Damn. He’s gone.”
The white-bearded old man with the staff had vanished without a trace.
Not even the sound of his staff tapping on the ground remained, suggesting he was no ordinary old man.
‘A warrior favored by the gods.’
The words of the grand apostle suddenly came to mind.
Dalen stared at the spot where the old man had disappeared, then blended into the crowd and moved on.
The inn wasn’t far from the central plaza.
The first floor, a tavern, was filled with the smell of alcohol and food, and the warmth of people and a roaring fire.
“Welcome. Let me show you to your seat.”
Following the waitress, Dalen walked through the bustling tavern, glancing at the throng of people.
‘The request came from Lucia herself, didn’t it?’
Lucia Castachald, a high-ranking knight.
A woman of firm conviction and will, merciless to demons but endlessly compassionate to people.
Having fought alongside her countless times from behind a monitor, Dalen knew her character well.
‘At this point, she must still be a squire. She rose quickly to high knight by slaying many demons.’
In the game, she appeared around the mid-point as an NPC.
A hero emerging during the chaotic times when demons began to rampage across the continent and war was constant.
Like most hero NPCs of that era, recruiting her was no easy task.
But even without recruiting her, maintaining a friendly relationship was highly beneficial.
Given her quiet demeanor, finding her in such a noisy inn wouldn’t be easy…
“You filthy, worm-like bastard!”
Screech!
At the sound of a sword being drawn and a string of colorful curses, Dalen felt his brain momentarily freeze.
Long, flowing blonde hair.
Eyes as blue and clear as the sea.
The gleaming plate armor with the emblem of the Holy Knights peeking through her rough robe.
Lucia Castachald, the demon slayer, was brandishing her sword at a group of mercenaries, her eyes blazing with fury.
“You rat-sized bastards, you’d better be ready for what you just said. Today, the god of war will take either your smashed heads or your crushed balls!”
…What the hell is going on here?