Chapter 75

The blacksmith shop’s size was rather ordinary.

The inside was cramped but seemed to have everything necessary.

The third tier, which also served as the residential area of the village, had this place on its outskirts. It included shops, street stalls, convenience facilities, and various trading posts at the village entrance, named the first tier, exuding a completely different atmosphere.

“Are you a customer?”

“Yes.”

Carriel handed over her sword in its sheath and asked.

“Can it be repaired?”

“Hmm.”

The middle-aged man took the sword, skillfully drew the blade bent out of shape from its sheath. His face, charred by flames with burn scars, stood out. Despite his short hair and overall thin appearance, his sturdy muscles suggested no room for laziness, only firm determination.

“Do you want me to reforge it entirely or just fix the bend?”

“…Which would be better?”

“It’s your choice.”

Sometimes people throw tantrums asking to fix what can’t be fixed.

“If you intend to use it, reforging is the way to go. If you’re holding onto it for sentimental reasons… straightening it isn’t hard. You could use it for training, though not in actual combat.”

“…”

Surprisingly meticulous.

Despite his stubborn gaze, his detailed explanations were unexpected.

“Well then, if it can’t be used in real combat, there’s no point in carrying it around.”

“I see.”

The middle-aged man nodded understandingly and set the sword aside.

“Come back in two days. Payment upfront.”

After paying, Carriel glanced around briefly but couldn’t spot any immediately usable weapons despite seeing plenty of tools.

“Do you only take orders or commissions before making anything?”

“Yeah.”

Next to the blacksmith shop, near its entrance, a boy was carefully cutting leather into small pieces with metal scissors.

The yard was small, but the presence of a separate small building used as a warehouse suggested things weren’t too bad financially.

“The grip looks fine to me. However, the thickness seems uniform both at the top and bottom—Is that intentional? Most grips are thicker towards the top. Judging by the guard and pommel, it’s a perfect imperial sword. In your region, they’re obsessed with cross-shaped designs and maintain uniform grip thickness for balance, right?”

“Yes. Precisely observed.”

I don’t particularly care either way.

The shape of the hilt—whether oval or flat—and how it angles affects how you hold and use it. Wrapping it in leather or wire changes its functionality too. Sure, you can force it to work, but depending on the structure, there are differences when thrusting versus swinging.

Not knowing these details might make it seem trivial, but each aspect matters immensely. It’s not like people process monster skins or sea creature hides unnecessarily to create special materials for hilts and scabbards. Every tiny difference impacts tool efficiency and personal skill development.

When someone has such refined sensitivity, it indicates something significant. Starting with high-quality gear makes switching to cheaper options jarring, naturally leading one back to higher quality items.

“…”

In that sense, I don’t pick favorites in this regard. Whatever works best is good enough.

“Thank you for your help.”

With that, he left.

I’d instructed Louilin to stock up on enough food for herself. By now, the chapel must be in an uproar preparing meals for a big eater.

And…

Having stirred up trouble while rescuing a kid, even with Leo and Luciri present, it still felt uneasy. My intention was partly to keep Louilin nearby. Half-hearted goodwill often leads to terrible retaliation or revenge, which isn’t rational.

Those who claim to be predators, strong ones, and aggressors instead of victims never overlook offenses.

They will never tolerate being pushed aside or ignored.

This is their basic lifestyle and attitude when exercising violence and oppression.

Living this way all their lives, the moment they let go of fear, all that remains is either being devoured by another predator or facing horrifying vengeance from those who’ve waited patiently for revenge. Commonly known as “getting what they deserve.”

“…”

Also…

While pretending to look around, I checked if anyone was tailing me. Additionally, I wanted to gauge the current rumors.

For now, no signs of surveillance or pursuit were detected.

As the sun set, I headed toward the chapel.

“Did you go to get your sword repaired or remade?”

Louilin complained.

“…”

What exactly is bothering her?

Six children under Louines’ care, plus Leo, Luciri, Louilin, and myself made the kitchen-cum-dining area of the chapel lively and bustling.

The chapel building itself had living quarters integrated, which was somewhat surprising since smaller churches usually separate these areas.

The meal was abundant in quantity but simple in content—hard bread and vegetable soup, along with milk and jam made from mountain strawberries and grapes to liven up the bland taste.

As Carriel soaked her bread in the soup, waiting for it to soften, conversations naturally flowed to his ears.

“Is there no one specifically in charge here?”

“There was a nun, but she went on a missionary journey.”

Leo’s question prompted Louines to answer vaguely… missionary journey? That’s uncommon terminology within the empire, so it momentarily confused me.

“Irene’s Doctrine followers and shepherds are quite diligent in that aspect.”

Luciri confirmed, and Leo agreed.

“Our village regularly welcomes different Irene’s Doctrine believers every season.”

“Speaking of villages… didn’t you mention you’re from another kingdom, Leo?”

“Yes. Though calling it a kingdom might be generous—it’s not much different in scale from Lord Lutengar’s territory here. Our king himself told me it exists because Metran is our neighbor.”

“Is that so?”

Luciri provided a brief explanation.

“The Serf Kingdom, where humans, aquarians, and dwarves coexist. Due to the rugged terrain full of mountains and highlands, other nations deemed it unprofitable to conquer, allowing various groups to unite and form a nation. After discovering iron ore post-establishment, the dwarves joined forces, eventually becoming royalty through unanimous member consent under the guise of protecting and managing the kingdom’s finances.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

Louilin chimed in knowingly.

“…”

Though Carriel had merely heard of it, he wasn’t clear on specifics.

“So, meeting the king means you’re of high status, Leo?”

“No. Our king is just kind. And we don’t call our king ‘Konungr’ like the Vikingru do. We simply refer to him as ‘Your Majesty,’ though foreigners call him king.”

Understanding that the term ‘Konungr’ refers to the ice sea-sand people, also known as the Vikingru kings, explained their origins. Some minor kingdoms or specific lords mimic this title, but generally, they settle for ‘Jarl.’

However, historically speaking, most of their culture and traditions have long been absorbed into the continent’s mainstream.

“And I was summoned as a witness regarding a tragedy that occurred in my village.”

“Tragedy? What tragedy?”

Luciri gave a hint, but Louilin tilted her head in confusion.

“Kids, stop spilling and eat.”

Louines was busy tending to the children.

“It’s okay, Luciri. There’s nothing special to hide.”

Leo looked troubled for a moment, noticing Louilin’s unease, then forced a smile.

“The village I lived in, Tedeo, is now… everyone except me is asleep.”

“Huh? Asleep? Why?”

Clang!

A wooden bowl fell, and a child burst into tears, unsure of what to do.

“Oh no! It’s alright! These things happen!”

Louines anxiously comforted the crying child.

“What a waste.”

“Louilin…”

Catching Louilin muttering under her breath, Luciri shot her a sharp glare, causing her to shrink back.

“…”

Carriel quietly observed the scene, finishing his meal.

The conversation trailed off.

Louilin’s incredible appetite astonished everyone. Initially, Louines and Luciri tried to calm her down, thinking she’d prepared too much food.

“You sure can eat.”

Her eating style is robust, which is fine, but moderation exists for a reason.

It took quite some time to finish washing the dishes by the well after carrying them there.

With night falling, grabbing lanterns to go out together turned unexpectedly noisy.

Given Louines’ leg issues, she reluctantly stayed behind, suggesting Leo stay too.

“Isn’t there a teacher with nothing to do around here?”

“??”

Why?

Under the pretense of covering food expenses, they insisted he rest.

Ultimately, Leo ended up sitting across from Louines by candlelight.

“Today… thank you very much.”

“…”

It was something I could do, so I did.

If expressing gratitude feels natural to the other party, then accepting it without refusal keeps their mind at ease.

“Things haven’t been this chaotic recently… the kids seem really happy.”

“Is that so?”

Carriel listened attentively to her words.

He had none of his own to add.

“…”

Yet, something seemed to bother her, her expression remaining tense.

“Is there something worrying you?”

“Well… no. It’s a personal matter…”

Then, looking directly at Carriel, she suddenly asked.

“Do you, Leil, also have interest in Grandeous’ Sword?”

“Interest as in?”

“You aim to draw it, don’t you?”

“…”

“Because I’ve seen many people. Those who come merely to pray or seek blessings differ greatly in gaze and expression from those who visit with intentions to claim it.”

“…”

Carriel neither nodded nor responded further.

Such questions aren’t asked to seek answers.

“Do you think it’s possible?”

“…I don’t know.”

I don’t know.

There’s no position from which I can approach something with certainty.

I do it because I must.

…Because it’s necessary, I pursue it.

That’s all.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that… um, would you like some water?”

“It’s fine.”

Was it because facing him felt awkward?

She attempted to rise using her cane.

“Eh?!”

Perhaps missing her grip, her upper body tilted sharply.

At that instant, Carriel reacted instantly.

Had his attention wavered, he might have missed this moment, but even in moments of relaxation, his spirit remained razor-sharp.

Every blink, every breath, represented reality and battle to him.

If the ceiling collapses randomly and kills me, whose fault is it?

An act of God?

The malice of someone staging an ambush?

Or just plain bad luck due to an aging building collapsing?

No.

It’s my fault for not preparing.

My fault for accepting the absurdity without resistance.

“…”

At the moment of catching her before she fell, something appeared.

Not just one or two visions.

Countless.

First,

A girl sprawled on the floor sobbing came into view.

Then,

A young girl collapsed in the rain, crying amidst chaos.

Even as her golden hair faded with time, resembling the heavens, and her blue eyes whitened,

Her tear-streaked face gradually hardened.

Perhaps this was a form of resignation.

One day, the girl reunited with her family.

But she couldn’t call her father “Father.”

Because he commanded it.

[Remember this. Never reveal to anyone that you are my daughter. If this fact comes to light, I will expel you from here. No, expulsion won’t suffice; I’ll impose harsher punishment. Remember this.]

The girl took on the role of attending to a younger boy.

Her half-brother.

At first, she hated and resented him.

What makes us different?

Why do you have everything from the start?

In truth, the boy was cruel, arrogant, disrespectful.

He whined incessantly and had an insurmountable stubborn streak.

The only difference from other children was that

He limped on one leg.

There was no misfortune or tragic accident.

A congenital disability.

Simply put, not being born healthy constituted the greatest tragedy for him.

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