Chapter 127: The Sword of Swords (2)

“Fuse…the swords…?”

Hurkeum’s face stiffened.

His trembling fingertip pointed at the White Ghost.

“You want to merge this sword and the ‘Legendary Sword among Legendary Swords’?”

I nodded.

“Puhahaha!”

Hurkeum burst into raucous laughter.

It was as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Human, do you even know what you’re asking for? That’s no different from mixing pure gold with Black Iron.”

“The White Ghost isn’t a sword on the level of Black Iron, is it?”

“True. Judging purely by performance, it’s a ‘rather good weapon.’ But it’s tainted with madness and demonic energy. Severely so, at that.”

They immediately saw through the White Ghost’s true nature.

It was, after all, a Cursed Sword harboring the soul of none other than a Legion Commander from the Demon Realm.

‘Certainly, it would be hard to accept mixing such a cursed object with a Sacred Sword.’

I understood how Hurkeum must feel.

Still, to deal with the troublesome lump that was the Soul of Kalgos, this was the best option.

“So even the Dwarf Chieftain known as a Master Smith has tasks he hesitates to attempt.”

“It’s not that I lack the skill. It’s just that attempting it would only result in a harmful outcome. I don’t bother with pointless undertakings.”

“Pointless, you say?”

I rose from my seat and approached Hurkeum.

“Hurkeum, how much do you know of your clan’s legend?”

“…Not in detail. Only that our distant ancestor forged a sword of light.”

“So you don’t know who wielded it, or what became of it.”

I glanced around at the assembly and continued.

“The name of that sword is Tempest. It is the Sacred Sword wielded by the tenth Hero chosen by Hor. Your White Anvil Clan forged that sword by Hor’s revelation.”

“What…?”

“And just now, I spoke with the soul of the Hero trapped within Tempest.”

The dwarves’ eyes widened in shock.

Normally, they’d have called me insane, but now, their deepening faith in Hor made them more willing to believe.

“That Hero was one of the legends from the Grand War of Saints and Demons a thousand years ago.”

I briefly explained about Albert Figgius.

How he became tied to the White Anvil Clan, and the fate that befell him.

“So…you’re saying that the nemesis of the Hero is sealed within that White Ghost?”

“Exactly. Wouldn’t it be proper to soothe the Hero’s soul as well?”

Hurkeum wiped his face repeatedly, as if in disbelief.

He deliberated for quite some time, drawing the attention of all the dwarves.

Hurkeum tightly shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, a resolute determination burned within.

“…Human, you must help me with certainty. I cannot stand to see this sword’s dignity diminished.”

I smiled.

I was immensely curious to see what sort of harmony would arise from merging a Cursed Sword with a Sacred Sword.

***

As soon as our conversation ended, the dwarves constructed a smithy not far from the royal capital.

As expected of the people of earth and iron, it took them only a week to erect a splendid forge.

“Heheh. Behold our might.”

“No matter how skilled you humans may be, you can never match us in construction or smithing.”

The dwarves boasted as they showed me around the forge.

“Wow, truly impressive. So, please handle the repairs for Riot Castle and maybe even build us a magnificent new structure. I can entrust it to you without worry.”

“Aram! Of course! If you can’t trust us, there’s not a soul in this world worth trusting!”

Dwarves were a prideful lot.

If you scratched their itch just right, they’d be delighted to no end.

After a round of showing off, the dwarves each took their seats.

“Hurry, sprinkle the Blessing!”

“It’s been ages since I’ve gripped a hammer! My whole body’s tingling!”

Following the eager voices of the dwarves, I sprinkled the forge with blessings.

The damp miasma retreated, replaced by a surge of radiant faith.

That alone was not enough—the light began to be absorbed into the anvil, hammer, and every tool of the smithy.

The dwarves, at first amazed, soon wore determined expressions.

Fwoooosh—

The furnace blazed to life, and as the smiths burned with passion, the air in the smithy grew scorching in an instant.

***

Hurkeum, who had been watching in awe, reached out his hand.

I placed a wooden box and a bundle of firewood atop it.

“Let us begin the work.”

In the center of the smithy, before the largest furnace.

Hurkeum settled down in front of it.

“Take it as a great honor. You’ll be the only Dwarf ever to use a branch of the World Tree as firewood.”

“Hmph. You’ll soon see who should feel honored.”

He stacked the firewood inside the furnace.

His tone was nonchalant, but his hands trembled as he lit the flame.

Fwoosh—!

Soon, a small spark caught the firewood, and to my surprise, deep emerald flames began to blaze.

“O-oh…”

Hurkeum rejoiced like a worshipper witnessing a miracle.

But I couldn’t help but frown.

…it was just too hot. Far too hot.

‘Now I see why dwarves go crazy for the World Tree.’

While I marveled inwardly, Hurkeum pulled out Tempest.

His hands moved with utmost care as he inspected the rusted blade.

I, too, untied the vines around the box and took out the White Ghost.

“We’ll melt down both blades at once. The hilts will be newly crafted.”

“Alright.”

“Is there a particular design you want? Since we’re doing this, I’ll try to match your request as best I can.”

Unexpectedly good service.

Pouring my faith into the emerald flames, I replied,

“Hor’s will shall be with you. Just follow your heart.”

“Simple and good.”

Hurkeum reached toward the furnace.

Satisfied, he nodded and picked up both swords with tongs.

My gaze fixed on the White Ghost among them.

Within that pristine blade, Kalgos was lurking.

I wondered what he must be feeling now.

‘Bask in the pit of fire.’

***

The atmosphere in the smithy was blazing hot.

The dwarves, gripping their hammers for the first time in a while, brimmed with enthusiasm.

Kaang, kaang—!

The constant ring of hammers filled the air.

The wails of reborn iron never ceased.

In the center, Hurkeum stared intently at the mystical flames, eyes wide open.

“They refuse to melt…”

Though the heat was enough to melt a body in moments, the two swords inside refused to give way.

“Hmph… It’s one thing for the Sacred Sword, but what is that Cursed Sword made of? If it was only ‘rather good,’ it wouldn’t survive this heat.”

“I told you. The nemesis of a Hero is trapped within. That alone makes it more than enough to be called a ‘Demon Sword.’”

Hurkeum laughed at Richard’s calm reply.

He thought he was mixing gold with Black Iron.

But now, he saw that wasn’t quite the case.

“To combine a Sacred Sword and a Demon Sword into something even greater… What a tale for a new legend.”

His ambition to relive legend was already forgotten.

Now, only the grand hope of surpassing that legend remained.

Kaang, kaang—!

The center of the smithy felt like the heart of a molten volcano.

Holding out against the fierce heat that would vaporize the earth before it could even settle.

Finally, the two blades, glowing red-hot, began to melt bit by bit.

Drip—

Through a pipe connected to the furnace, the molten metal flowed down.

Strangely, both a sacred aura and a wicked energy emanated from that metal.

And Richard did not let the moment pass.

Flaaash—!

Each time the crucible filled, Richard’s faith pressed down upon the evil energy.

Once the blades were completely melted and became one, it was Hurkeum’s turn.

Kaaang!

He took up the hammer and began forging.

Each strike rang out with a beautiful sound.

It was a song of iron, distinctly different from the other dwarves’ work.

The sound was so captivating that the other dwarves had to pause their tasks to listen.

“This… This isn’t even my true skill…”

A question rose in Hurkeum’s eyes as he hammered, as if possessed.

Then, ecstasy overtook him.

Transcending Master Smith, reaching the realm of the Enlightened Smith.

Such an experience was a blessing for any blacksmith.

Kaang—!

With each strike, a sacred light burst forth.

His muscular body shimmered with heat haze.

『A touch of divinity upon Hurkeum.』

Richard stood silently behind him, simply watching his back.

***

“I’ve already heard about the events.”

“…Father.”

After the Plague War ended.

Allan Marks immediately returned to his family’s main estate.

As if waiting for him, his father, Bafel Marks, summoned him.

Bafel’s gentle eyes gazed upon Allan.

“They say you achieved great merit.”

“That’s…”

“I heard those Northern Continent fools got on their knees and begged for help.”

Grit—

Allan bit his tongue.

Bitterness roiled within his chest.

“Isn’t that so…”

His father’s gentle inquiry made him feel all the more bitter.

Those wizards who glorified his exploits.

His father, pretending to believe a lie.

None of it sat well with him.

“Thanks to you, we now have an excellent pretext, my son.”

“A pretext, you say?”

“Indeed. Now we can finally crush that so-called Kingdom, the Shield of the Northern Continent!”

Allan’s face twisted.

He knew well what his father wanted.

War.

‘Not yet…’

What Allan wanted was peace.

Peace, free from turmoil, under absolute strength.

But war now would only bring mutual sacrifice.

“Father. It’s too soon. Even if Baren’s influence has waned, that doesn’t mean the Northern Continent is weakened.”

“…That sounds as if you fear the Northern Continent. Is that true?”

Bafel’s voice grew cold.

His once affectionate gaze now glinted with sharpness.

But Allan was no less steadfast.

Rumble—

The main estate’s fortress trembled.

At some point, father and son’s mana clashed in the air.

‘I must prevent war at all costs.’

Allan thought of Richard and Riot Castle’s forces.

He disliked them, but they too were followers of Hor.

If the Marks Family started a war, they’d only be swept away before Bafel’s might.

If that happened, it would surely sadden Hor.

“…Son. I know what you’re worried about.”

At that moment, Bafel withdrew his mana with a sigh.

His expression softened once more as he looked at his son.

“I admit it. The Northern Continent, including Bartenberg, is no easy foe. There’s no guarantee of victory.”

“But that’s an old story now.”

Bafel stepped forward.

Allan unconsciously retreated.

He couldn’t help it.

A deeply unsettling aura emanated from Bafel.

“This father has been chosen by the gods!”