Chapter 52: The Blade of Temeria
The villagers of Big Black Tree were naturally displeased that Grey Dog Village had gotten ahead.
However, since they were currently asking for favors, they dared not trouble Arthur's group. They could only watch the caravan drive off to the left, shouting loudly to remind Arthur not to forget about the monster in their village.
In the center of Grey Dog Village, beneath a large tree, Dandelion was thoroughly drunk. Mara was painstakingly trying to get Young Everett to eat more vegetables, while a nearby iron pot emanated the aroma of roasting meat.
After confirming that Arthur truly wasn't charging money, the villagers of Grey Dog were astonishingly generous, even bringing out the village's moonshine. Kolgrim was right; the Witcher profession was quite profitable in Temeria.
"Why did you choose to come here first? The monster in Big Black Tree Village is clearly more dangerous, isn't it?"
Kolgrim swallowed the apple in his mouth and replied: "The people in Big Black Tree Village are not trustworthy."
Not trustworthy? Arthur's gaze sharpened. Just as he was about to understand, he heard Mara speak:
"According to what the Big Black Tree villagers said, that Hanna must have encountered a very powerful monster to meet such a tragic end. Yet, her husband actually believes it was the work of wolves."
She was right. Wolves might tear a corpse to shreds, but they certainly don't have the ability to shatter bones. If a timber merchant's wife could figure out something was wrong, how could Niren, a hunter, not see it?
There must be something hidden here.
That was why Kolgrim had made the decision for Arthur to go to Grey Dog Village first they would definitely slay the monster, but they also needed to avoid stepping into a trap.
Arthur sighed. Slaying monsters for free was meant to benefit both him and the villagers, yet there were always those who fancied themselves clever, trying to use others as tools.
Full and satisfied, he pulled Zoltan towards the blacksmith's forge. Normally, confronting a pathetic monster like a nekker didn't require much preparation. But Arthur still borrowed the forge from the village chief: the constant high-intensity combat had left the once gleaming Temerian Silver Blade with multiple nicks and rolled edges, urgently needing repair.
Besides, although Zoltan claimed his forging skill wasn't great, who would complain about having too little skill mastery?
"Hey, this forge is pathetic." Zoltan grumbled, pulling the bellows.
The Grey Dog forge lacked a proper furnace; the only hearth that could be used to heat steel was smaller than a kitchen stove. Trying to heat the sword to the necessary temperature using this would likely take until nightfall.
"I have a way Igni!"
Arthur raised his left hand, but the Sign was not directed at the greatsword. Instead, it was aimed at the air intake of the bellows.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" Zoltan jumped, nearly letting go of the bellows handle.
But he immediately realized that no flames were shooting from Arthur's palm; only distorted air signaled that the area in front was intensely hot.
Arthur explained: "Using the Sign directly to heat the greatsword consumes too much magic, and the temperature is hard to control. In contrast, heating the air inside the bellows is a much more efficient way to increase the furnace temperature."
Arthur blinked, recalling that he had learned the trick of heating the bellows' air to boost the furnace temperature while drinking with Zoltan.
As he spoke, the flames in the furnace instantly brightened considerably, and the edge of the greatsword finally began to faintly glow red.
"Ha! This magic stuff is truly useful! The heat from this broken hearth is almost as good as the great furnaces of Mahakam!" Zoltan yelled excitedly: "That's it! Now we can start hammering the blade!"
Arthur picked up the iron hammer, a sense of familiarity washing over him. While it wasn't as profound as holding a sword, it was much stronger than the feeling he got from alchemy.
It seems the Nords' passion for forging is not inferior to that of the Dwarves after all.
A moment later, accompanied by the hiss and steam of the quench, familiar text appeared in the white vapor above the water trough:
[Forging Proficiency increased, current level: Apprentice]
[You can craft and refine Common quality weapons now]
Gripping the freshly renewed Temerian Silver Blade, a surge of excitement and satisfaction swelled within Arthur. Although the visible appearance hadn't drastically changed, he could feel its quality had improved.
Hmm, the blade has gone from silvery-white to dark blue. Calling it the Silver Blade isn't quite fitting anymore. I'll call it the Blade of Temeria.
"Don't get excited too soon," Zoltan tossed cold water on Arthur's enthusiasm. "Even if you performed better than I expected for a novice, we still have to test if the new blade is sturdy enough."
The Dwarf then hauled over a thick log, ready to be split. This kind of wood was usually reserved for axes; it was far too unfriendly to a light sword blade. If the force was even slightly misaligned, it would either bind the blade or, worse, break the sword.
Arthur raised the greatsword high, feeling a rhythm emanating from the hilt it seemed to be anticipating the performance of the new edge.
Swish.
The greatsword descended, not only cleaving the thigh-thick log in two but also biting viciously half an inch deep into the wooden block underneath.
"Ha! Not a scratch on the blade! You've got a real knack for this forging business, too!" Zoltan pounced on it, inspecting it carefully, and shouted excitedly: "We don't even need a sharpness test! I dare say it's stronger than it was before!"
Arthur forcibly pulled out the greatsword, examining the dark blue edge, and nodded in satisfaction: "Waaq."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just a saying from my homeland. You stay put in the village and don't wander off. I'm going to go hack some nekkers."
Arthur, in high spirits, even cracked a joke at the Dwarf's expense.
...
The task of slaughtering the nekkers was even easier than Arthur had imagined.
Carrying the newly mixed bait, Arthur hadn't ventured far from the village when he attracted dozens of nekkers. Perhaps because Arthur was alone, these cowardly, pitiful creatures didn't flee. Instead, they actively lunged at him.
And then, there was no 'then.'
The nekkers' fragile bodies were no tougher than a block of cheese before the Blade of Temeria. Where the dark blue edge passed, it left behind only a mess of severed limbs and foul blood.
The remaining nekkers finally realized they needed to run, yet they couldn't even graze the faint, yellow shield flickering around Arthur.
"Hmph, finally decided to run, have you?" Arthur sneered, stepping forward to pursue them.
Behind him, on the dirt moistened by foul blood, a line of text slowly dissolved:
[Unrelenting Force: 52/100, decimals not displayed]
"Kolgrim's method really is effective; that was easy to find."
After following the nekker tracks for about ten minutes, Arthur was pleased to see a clearing abruptly appear in the forest.
In the center of the clearing was a massive mound of dirt, like an ant hill magnified many times over. The nekker that had run away earlier now lay dead, sprawled silently in front of the mound.
Arthur's eyes grew cold. Although nekkers were trash, they still provided 0.1 of a progression point. And this one had just died!
Who did this?
Arthur scrutinized the nekker corpse from a distance. Aside from the sword wounds he had inflicted, the creature had no other obvious injuries on its body.
Surely it didn't just bleed out?
As he pondered, Arthur felt the ground beneath his feet tremble slightly. A thick, red arm stretched out from the top of the dirt mound.
.........
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