It was the established wisdom that crafting a precise, excellent sword took more than half a year, but Aetri shortened that time.
It wasn't a miracle. It was because he'd done his "preparation" well.
There were other reasons too, but if he had to name the most important besides preparation, it would be that a certain Dwarf had dropped by several times of late.
It was a Dwarf he already knew, and the Dwarf's purpose was plain.
"Put in a good word for me later, eh? I'm not a bad Dwarf. It's just a trait of the Clan of Iron that we start things without thinking before and after."
He mostly came to ask favors, and in the midst of it he passed along smelting and forging techniques.
He even added Dwarven ideas to it.
"Do we have to assume what's handed down by tradition is necessarily best? The right thing is to pull out everything excellent from that traditional method and innovate into a new form!"
Dwarves always dreamed of advancement. They were people without hesitation in accepting, learning, and using new techniques. That much, they purely yearned for craft.
And for that very reason, among all the intelligent races, Dwarves were the most vulnerable to swindles.
"Mm, new technique, good, right? Good. Teach me."
Even Aetri could picture a Dwarf saying that as if it were only natural.
If you had to name the race humans swindled most often, it would surely be the Dwarves.
And if a Dwarf entangled himself too deeply with humans, he could learn to do similar things too.
At any rate, Aetri learned smelting methods and gained from that philosophy.
'Innovation is the new thing—then add everything I know on top of it.'
On top of that, he also gained experience handling several precious metals. Fortune no smith anywhere on the continent would have.
Such was the experience of handling several precious metals at random.
Besides that, Enkrid had, between times, brought him inscribed weapons as well. All of it became study, and Aetri looked at and learned and absorbed whatever came his way.
Research and study. He stacked identical days one on another.
In the midst of it, a rough picture came together.
'Layer three irons.'
It was a technique called pattern welding.
Then what irons to use? The three most famous irons on the continent were these:
Valeri Blue Steel, Lewis Silver Steel, and Uber Gold Steel.
These three, called Blue Steel, Silver Steel, and Gold Steel, sometimes came with precious metals from the same lodes: True-Iron, True-Silver, and Black Gold.
Aetri had also obtained some of those precious three and some Meteorite Iron.
Wasn't the blade made that way Tri-Iron?
There were other gems and special metals too, but—
'Exclude cursed metal.'
That didn't suit an inscribed weapon. The cursed metal had been gotten by melting down armor taken after killing some cultist.
Even while Enkrid was away, Aetri swung his hammer.
He refined and refined True-Iron, True-Silver, and Black Gold. Then, through the company, he received a peculiar iron.
The metal itself wasn't especially hard or flexible. Yet the moment he saw it, he felt like it could become something. His intuition roiled. After that, he moved as if spellbound.
He added innovation to the technique of piling and welding layers of iron.
'It's a mystery.'
He didn't know the principle. If told to do it again, he couldn't promise he could repeat it. It felt like a man without the knack had walked a tightrope and crossed a cliff. No—he was still on the tightrope.
The odd thing was, even as Aetri perceived the process, a part of him stood a step back and watched himself.
The concentrating self only hammered, added True-Iron, hammered again, stacked True-Silver, hammered again, and added Black Gold.
'He'll ruin it like that.'
Ordinarily he would. The self watching from outside sensed danger. The way to make those three metals match was to keep each in its place.
Tri-Iron had been the result of that research, and now he ignored even that. He mixed them. He fused them with heat.
'It won't work.'
The worry was brief. He forgot even that.
He forgot time. Even the time he met Enkrid grew blurry.
When he received Enkrid's Will and put it into the metal, when they talked, he seemed focused; but when Enkrid left, it felt like it had been months ago.
Aetri's apprentice watched with worried eyes, thinking his master would collapse any day now.
He was getting thinner with each passing day; it wasn't normal.
'Will he be all right?'
It was one of those days of anxious watching.
Sssshhh.
The wind blew hard; a wooden shutter clattered. Soon the door hinges screeched—creak, creak—and then there came a thunk as the door opened.
'Did the latch not catch well?'
Of late, the Border Guard's security had been very high. Moreover, four soldiers took shifts on perimeter watch around the master's forge, so there was no chance of a robber at night.
The apprentice took up a lamp, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and went outside.
Though it was early summer, he felt goosebumps and a strange chill.
Walking to shut the outer door, he suddenly stopped dead. Beyond the open door was black—too pitch black.
No matter how late, could it be this dark?
On top of that, a prickling dread came up his back. He felt like something was beyond that darkness. It wasn't his imagination. A white hand reached out of the dark. The apprentice was so startled he couldn't even scream.
So when people are truly startled, no sound comes out.
This was the first time he learned that.
The white hand went up and raised only the index finger, then stopped at the place where a face would be.
Two blue lights showed beyond the dark, and a voice came.
"Shh."
Only then did the apprentice realize he'd been holding his breath, and he exhaled—hooof. From the darkness, a person popped out and stepped inside the house.
"Quiet."
A Witch. Anyone could tell she was a Witch. She wore a conical hat, and whatever she'd done to her clothes, her pitch-black robe seemed to drink up all the light from the lamp.
With each step she took, darkness scattered.
The Black Flower—that was the nickname of the Captain's woman.
"I've been waiting."
So said the master, who had appeared at some point. He was behind the apprentice. Not having sensed him, the apprentice startled and turned to see the bright eyes gleaming between the master's gaunt cheeks.
Just as he'd looked these past several days.
"I thought you'd need my help."
Saying that, the Witch came straight in, and the apprentice never quite grasped what was going on; he didn't even remember how he fell asleep and met the next day.
In a dream, it seemed not only the Black Flower but also the Gold Witch had dropped by the forge.
Which was why he couldn't tell if it had been dream or waking.
And he couldn't well ask his master, even if he was curious.
Since the sound of his master's hammer had woken him, it was only natural he couldn't get in a word. Of late, once the master gripped the hammer, his pupils went vague, and like a ghost he only worked the bellows and struck and struck.
Like a man drunk on the light of the hearth.
The apprentice did as he always did: set aside water to drink and something to eat, then went out.
Leaving the forge's heat, cold air bored up his nasal passages and raked his lungs as it passed.
'Was it a dream?'
Yet for a dream, it had been too vivid.
That afternoon, the apprentice went to the Mad Knight Order drill yard and delivered his master's words.
"It's done."
[* * *]
Enkrid walked to the forge at an unhurried pace. Slower than usual.
If you asked whether he was excited, he'd of course nod. But did his heart pound? No.
It only felt natural.
Aetri had promised, and he would keep that promise. He had never doubted that proposition.
You could say it was a trust as weighty as a Knight's oath.
"You've come."
Aetri, who looked like he'd lost half his body weight, greeted him. Gaunt cheeks, and hands with bone seeming to stick out—that was what he saw.
The forge, by contrast, was quiet and snug. Not scorching—only pleasantly warm. There was no heat to dry the sweat from your skin. The hearth only breathed residual warmth. It meant the heat had died long ago.
"So it's done?"
Enkrid came inside with a casual air. Aetri likewise held out the sword.
There was no scabbard. The grip was simple, and its form was like Tri-Iron and yet unlike it.
'It looks the same on the outside.'
Subtly different. If asked where, it would be hard to answer, and so subtle it was.
Should he have felt a tingle the instant he gripped it? No—that wasn't something you could force.
With such idle thoughts, he took the sword. Then he cut the air a couple of times.
Swish, swish.
Enkrid was honest. He wasn't moved.
"Nothing special."
"Yes. That's just right."
"Duller than True-Silver, not as weighty as Black Gold. Doesn't seem as tough as Tri-Iron."
He had gripped more than a few famed blades so far. Even compared to Tri-Iron, wasn't there a gap? He didn't even have to go as far as Tri-Iron—this was duller than Penna.
If he had to name one merit—
'The balance is a work of art.'
He set it upright, perpendicular to the ground, then held it level. The way it fit his hand was the real thing.
"It lacks nothing to be called a famed sword."
As for calling it an inscribed weapon—what to say. Hard to tell.
"Name it."
Oara's inscribed weapon had been named Smile. Her smile had been as beautiful as that sword.
"Dawnforge."
The name was Dawn-Forged—or, because it opened the dawn, Dawn-Opener.
Why had he wanted to become a Knight?
Because he had dreamed of a world not studded with monsters and magical beasts, but another world.
The name arose from that origin.
In the process of making the weapon, Shinar had asked what he thought of the name Kirrheis.
Esther had asked what he thought of Night Sky—or Stars.
Others hadn't said much, but Rem had made a surprisingly earnest suggestion.
"Urkiora—how about Dusky Sky?"
He'd been a little tempted, but he didn't change the name.
"Dawn-Forged is good. It'll take time to break in."
So saying, Aetri toppled over.
Startled, the apprentice rushed in and caught his master in his arms.
"Master!"
Did an inscribed weapon have to be astonishing the moment you gripped it? He didn't know. But he knew one thing.
Enkrid saw a smile on Aetri's face.
'I entrusted it to Aetri, and Aetri was satisfied.'
Then that was enough.
Had he poured his soul into each strike of the hammer? Perhaps he had.
And so, Aetri, who had finished everything—
"Dead?"
Enkrid asked. Had this blade become a final work? Perhaps. He had likely poured out that much strength. Only then could he wear such a smile.
"No—why would he die?"
The apprentice said in alarm.
Looking closely, a faint breath continued. He'd collapsed from overwork, but he wasn't dead.
He'd asked knowing it inside. He'd just wanted something dramatic. The reality was plain.
The inscribed weapon didn't speak the moment he gripped it; it didn't blaze with light; and the smith named Aetri hadn't burned up his soul to leave a posthumous work.
"The scabbard is over there."
The scabbard was ordinary, and the pommel and guard nothing special. Only the blade had a faint blue sheen.
It wasn't the same color as Valeri Blue Steel; it leaned a little closer to the color of the sky.
'Should I have named it Skyblade?'
It would have suited it well. A subtle fragrance came off the blade—a strange thing, like the scent of a cloudless sky. That was how clear it was.
'No—finer still.'
It was the night sky's scent, and the scents of flowers and trees, mingled. Together, they smelled like a clear sky.
"I'll use it well, Aetri."
After a brief faint, Aetri woke and answered.
"Yes."
Leaving the forge, Enkrid showed the sword to everyone he met on his way back.
"Aetri's not the sort who would skim off some rare thing for himself, is he? Somehow that's the feeling I get."
That was Krais's impression, who knew nothing, and the rest just took it as it was.
"Is that the Captain's?"
"Yeah."
If you had to pick, that was all Rem asked and Enkrid answered.
Meanwhile, Enkrid kept getting the feeling of a perfect fit in his hand even though it was a sword with nothing particularly special.
He spent a day that way, then set out at once. He'd long since finished preparations while waiting for the inscribed weapon.
"Come back safe."
Krais came out to see him off, and Shinar walked right beside him.
They had gone a few steps when Enkrid began to mutter to himself.
"Yes—we're walking the road. You'd like something interesting to happen? Me too."
That was about the gist.
Rem, seeing Shinar beside him with her mouth closed, asked:
"Who's the Captain talking to now?"
Enkrid answered. So casually it was unreal.
"Our baby."
Rem blinked a few times.
He dug a finger in his ear and gauged Shinar's complexion. There was no joy at all.
Naturally, it wasn't something to say to a Fairy. Her age was many times Enkrid's. There was no way he meant a line like that for her.
Then for whom?
Ragna, piqued as well, listened in stillness, and Jaxen, who had silently come along, listened in silence too.
Prrrff.
Odd-Eyes, who had come along as if to see them off, shook his head side to side. This superb wild horse understood human speech.
"No way."
Rem asked, and Enkrid introduced, entirely naturally, formally.
"We didn't say hello, did we? Say hello. This is Duskforge."
Rem did not curse. This was well within the expected range of behavior.
"May peace rest upon Brother's head."
Audin spoke a prayer.