Chapter 126: The Sword of Swords (1)

“That’s absurd! That’s unfair!”

The Dwarves burst out in a chorus of protest.

I ignored them all and lowered my gaze to the sword.

The blade was covered in thick, stubborn rust.

It was so heavily coated that there wasn’t the slightest trace of an edge to be found.

It was, in every sense, a sword befitting the expression ‘dead’.

“That’s the legendary sword passed down through generations of our White Anvil Clan! Don’t you dare touch it!”

The Dwarf Chieftain exploded in anger.

Looking at his flushed face, I couldn’t help but smirk.

“I know. I’m aware that this is a precious sword.”

The holy sword, ‘Tempest’.

The sword of the tenth Hero who fought in the Grand War of Saints and Demons.

The only genuine Saint Relic I’ve managed to find in this world where the gods have vanished.

Though its appearance was now utterly wretched, I didn’t mind.

I had more than enough materials, and a master craftsman to rely on.

“So, my proposal is…”

I was just about to speak to the Chieftain when a faint noise echoed in my mind.

「 This light……… this」

The voice sounded as if it would flicker out at any moment.

Once again, I gazed at the holy sword.

The blade, caked with rust, seemed to weep.

Of course, it goes without saying—a holy sword cannot actually speak.

Yet I sensed it.

That voice flowed from the sword itself.

「 Ah… Hor…」

「 Is this person the Hero of this age…?」

A mournful voice swirled within my mind.

“Human, why are you standing there, lost in thought?”

I focused my gaze on the holy sword.

Even then, the sword’s murmur continued.

「I am Albert Figgius, the tenth Hero chosen by Hor.」

“All our meeting here is the will of Hor.”

The sword’s tremor grew more intense.

My brow furrowed unconsciously.

Albert Figgius.

He was the Hero who fought in the Grand War of Saints and Demons, and the owner of this holy sword.

“Could it be that man’s soul is sealed inside this sword?”

This was something I had never expected.

Why would someone from a thousand years ago appear now?

“Why is a Hero’s soul trapped inside a sword?”

There was no answer to my question.

Perhaps the power within the sword was exhausted, as if some connection had been severed.

Even when I tried to imbue Tempest with faith, it remained silent.

I raised my head to look at the Dwarves.

They gazed at me as if I’d gone mad for suddenly talking to myself.

For some reason, I found their expressions oddly endearing.

***

“You’re a real swindler, aren’t you?!”

“Saint, my foot! Even a common thug wouldn’t act like this!”

The Dwarves of the White Anvil Clan were in an uproar.

But it was all just grumbling behind my back.

The deal with Richard von Bartenberg was already signed.

“Tsk… I wasn’t trying to pull any tricks…”

The Chieftain clutched his head in frustration.

He’d tried to make a fool out of me, only to get played himself—no wonder he was so flustered.

One restored ‘Sword of Swords’.

A ‘fine sword’—one.

A ‘decent sword’—ten.

On top of that, Richard’s demand to repair the city walls and build additional structures was nothing short of wicked.

“In truth, it’s nothing special. I can handle that much. Even putting aside the legendary sword, really.”

“The real issue is that we lost the power struggle. If this continues, we’ll be at a disadvantage every time we trade.”

The Dwarves had no intention of ending their dealings with the Hor Church here.

For those whose very existence revolved around creating fine arms, Richard’s debt was the only lifeline.

But if this kind of situation happened every time they tried to collect debts from the Hor Church, they’d be in trouble.

“We’ll worry about that later. Once the humans see our work, they won’t dare to look down on us again.”

At Hurkeum’s words, the Dwarves nodded vigorously.

Determination burned in their clenched fists.

Soon after, guided by the Temple Knights, we visited the royal city’s smithy.

We planned to start by crafting weapons as per the contract.

“Damn it.”

But even that didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped.

“It’s too cramped. Is this supposed to be an outhouse?”

“And why is the fire so lukewarm?”

“By the gods, what do they expect us to make in such a shabby place?!”

Born with a unique craftsman’s spirit, the Dwarves were particular even about their smithy.

Some even pretended to gouge out their eyes, as if they’d seen something unspeakable.

Clang! Ka-ang!

Even the hammering, which should have sounded like birdsong, was nothing but a grating racket here.

In the end, they fled the smithy as if escaping disaster.

“Hey, human! Isn’t there another smithy? We wouldn’t even make a ‘decent’ weapon in a place like this. It’s an insult to weaponry itself!”

At Hurkeum’s words, Jack of the Temple Knights scratched his head.

“There is, but it’s not much different, you know.”

The Dwarves prodded Jack impatiently, urging him onward.

So, we searched the smithy in the west as well, but even that failed to meet the Dwarves’ standards.

Jack looked at them with a troubled expression.

“What’s wrong with it? The Baren smithy is quite respectable, you know.”

“Ha! Respectable, you say? These facilities look like something we used before we were even weaned. No, this won’t do. We’ll have to negotiate again with that so-called ‘Lantern’ of a human.”

In the end, they left empty-handed.

***

I looked at the scene unfolding before my eyes.

Trantis Marquess, along with the Baren Delegation, was delivering a lengthy speech.

Their audience was none other than the Prot Kingdom’s royal family and nobles.

“Suspicion hangs heavy here.”

Trantis Marquess was radiating charisma, but the Prot royal family seemed unconvinced.

Had he acquired some strange power somewhere?

Were they trying to use religion as a façade to manipulate the Marquess?

I could practically read their thoughts.

“Hang in there a bit longer, Marquess.”

What goes around comes around, as they say.

For Trantis Marquess, who once vehemently opposed the acceptance of the Hor Church, it was a fitting lesson.

Watching this amusing spectacle, I released my divine perception.

There would be challenges, but I believed the Marquess would eventually overcome their distrust.

Now, my real concern was Tempest.

Specifically, the soul of the Hero within.

Tap, tap—

I drummed my fingers as I pondered.

Honestly, I wanted to try communicating again, but Hurkeum’s firm refusal forced me to restrain myself.

“He told me not to mess with it, or I might break it…”

That worried me too, so I obediently handed it back.

“Albert Figgius, Albert Figgius…”

I repeated the Hero’s name over and over.

Naturally, I knew quite a lot about him.

He was stubborn, possessed an indomitable will, and had a just nature.

The quintessential image of a Hero.

If I had to mention a peculiarity, it would be that he sometimes showed unnecessary mercy to his enemies.

“In the end, that mercy cost him his life at the close of the Grand War of Saints and Demons.”

Back then, even the other heroes judged Albert unfit to be a Hero.

Even I, in those days, agreed to some extent.

Because the person he showed mercy to was none other than Kalgos.

What a twist of fate.

“Hey, human!”

Lost deep in thought, I was suddenly surrounded by a horde of Dwarves.

Their faces were full of dissatisfaction.

“The smithy didn’t suit your tastes, I see.”

“That’s right! Just thinking of being forced to work in such squalor is a crime in itself, you human!”

Hurkeum deliberately raised his voice, as if aiming to seize the initiative.

But what could they do? I was the one owed the debt, after all.

I sank back into my chair and spoke.

“They say a true craftsman is not bound by his tools. Does that not apply to Dwarves?”

“A good tool makes a good weapon in a craftsman’s hands. That line was invented by ignorant worms who don’t even know the value of good tools.”

Thunk!

Hurkeum’s short, thick finger jabbed toward me.

His bearded face was filled with determination.

“Therefore, we request a revision to the terms of the deal.”

“How so?”

“We’ll build our own smithy near the royal capital. In return, considering our extra effort, we’d like to adjust the terms to ‘fine weapons’—fifty and ‘decent weapons’—five hundred.”

Hoo.

I stroked my chin.

“So, not inside the capital, but nearby. I can see right through your motives.”

Baren and the Hor Church couldn’t afford to let this deal slip by.

These Dwarves knew it too, and they needed my debt as well.

No doubt they wanted to maintain regular trade going forward.

What mattered most was who held the initiative in the deal—clearly, they were trying to raise their own value now.

“If you’re building your own smithy for your benefit, why should we take the loss?”

“What—what are you talking about?! Our village already has a splendid smithy. This is only to facilitate this trade!”

A few more rounds of heated debate followed.

Hurkeum and the Dwarves seemed determined not to back down this time, raising their voices in their thick dialects.

“Maybe I should start pulling the reins.”

The atmosphere was getting nicely ripe.

Feigning contemplation, I furrowed my brow and spoke.

“Then how about this. I’ll give you a material you lot have always wanted.”

“Hmph! What we want from you is a debt. Nothing else!”

“How about a mail shirt made from the World Tree?”

There was a palpable, silent shock in the air.

Long, long ago.

Among the races who constantly fought against the Elves, one was the Dwarves.

All to obtain the miraculous works of the World Tree.

“Adele, thank you for allowing this.”

She was resting in another room.

Even before the Dwarves arrived, I had asked her permission, and Adele had granted it more easily than expected.

“A… a mail shirt from the World Tree…?”

“By the gods! Is that really here?!”

The Dwarves huddled together, whispering excitedly.

The odd, quivering light in their eyes belonged to those possessed by longing.

“I’m not finished. If we’re adding a mail shirt from the World Tree, the deal as it stands is a loss for me.”

Gulp—the sound of simultaneous swallowing filled the room.

They seemed tense, worried about how much more I would demand.

But this time, it wasn’t anything excessive.

Thunk.

I placed a wooden box on the table.

I untied the thickly knotted vines one by one and said,

“I want you to combine the ‘Sword of Swords’ with this sword into one.”