Chapter 181

Chapter 181

Jugend was the kingdom of the dwarves, the race that was famed as the blacksmith race. From birth, they preferred metal over milk, blessed with resistance to heat and robust physiques. Though they had the makings of excellent warriors, out of ten dwarves, ten became blacksmiths, and out of a hundred, ninety-nine.

Just as elves instinctively sought forests and conversed with spirits, dwarves were driven by instinct to seek hidden ore veins and bend metal to their will.

Possessing both talent and aptitude in abundance, it was only natural that Jugend’s metallurgy outstripped every other race. Even the average smith of Jugend would be hailed as a master once outside the kingdom, and that was a widely accepted truth.

Thus, to be called a true master in Jugend, one had to meet certain conditions. They had to possess a forge in Area 1.

The heart of Jugend, the so-called “Iron Heart,” was a district where only a few hundred among hundreds of thousands of dwarves could maintain their own forges. Each year, fierce competition erupted for the limited spots, and holding onto one’s forge was no easier than earning it.

A smith who had a forge in Area 1, and kept it for years or decades, could only be exceptional. Otherwise, they would have been displaced long ago.

“This city hasn’t changed a bit in ten years. Some of the signs are different, but the people still do the same stuff they were doing ten years ago,” muttered Cedric, Swordmaster and the Sword Demon, as he passed through an alleyway, invited here as Leon’s examiner.

The sound of hammers striking iron. The heat tickled his skin. Along with those, the city gleamed with light as if to burn away the darkness; the harsh breath of blacksmiths who knew no day or night scattered the chill of evening. Cedric did not dislike the noisy atmosphere.

“There’s no more fulfilling life than being madly devoted to what you love. The dwarves are lucky. Their entire race shares the same ideal, with the foundation already laid.”

Most humans, even after decades of life, never discover their true talents or aptitudes. Even twins raised under the same roof often found themselves walking different paths.

Some praised that diversity was proof that humanity was the “kind of possibility.” Yet the truth remained: their average was far lower than that of other races.

“Well, if the world were filled with people like me, that would be a problem too.”

Cedric pictured such chaos and chuckled, for he saw only scenes of slaughter. He knew, even without anyone telling him, that he was far from normal. That was precisely why he was able to live the life he had been living.

He never forgot the first moment he held a sword. Straight and razor-sharp, the first blade he saw was so beautiful he staked his life upon it.

A blade existed to cut. So, its worth must be judged by what, and how much, it can cut. From the moment he understood that, Cedric’s goal was set.

I want to wield a blade that can cut anything.

That single desire drove his life. No teacher guided him, nor did he ever seek one. He simply drowned himself in the act of cutting things.

Faster than before. Easier than before. More powerfully than before.

Each improvement he discovered made him stronger. He followed his instincts, cutting down any foe who stood before him.

He had no friends or companions. However, he did find someone who understood.

Arriving at his destination, Cedric blinked and muttered, “

Hm.

Feels even more depressing than it did ten years ago.”

The forge before him bore no lights, its yard unkempt. There wasn’t even a sign to tell what was made within. For a smith in Area 1 not to hang a sign was quite unusual, especially for dwarves, who were notorious for their pride.

“Dain! It’s Cedric! Open the door!”

Not giving a single care to the lights that were clearly turned off, Cedric had sensed the presence inside. He shouted without restraint, his voice carrying easily a hundred meters.

With a bang, the iron doors of the darkened forge swung open, and a dwarf came storming out. Naturally, he was angry.

“Shut your trap, you sword-swinging bastard! Who the hell yells like that in the middle of the night?! Ever heard of manners?!”

The dwarf, his black beard braided into four strands, was apparently Dain. To curse at the Sword Demon, infamous as a man with an otherworldly temper—did he value his life so little?

However, Cedric’s response was even more surprising.

“Don’t know. I lost them a long time ago.”

“Well, aren’t you proud of that! Get inside already!”

“Excuse me, then.”

Unfazed by the insults, Cedric stepped into the forge and glanced around. Even without light, his vision was clear.

Inside, there were only swords. Dozens, perhaps over a hundred types, strewn everywhere: bastard swords, claymores, sabers, scimitars, rapiers, spathas, flamberges, and more.

This was Dain’s forge, unique in Area 1 for being so utterly devoted to the sword alone.

“Not bad,” Cedric remarked.

“What! ‘Not bad’? You sword-phile, have you gone blind in the last ten years?!” Dain roared, bristling at Cedric’s offhand remark. “More than half of these are better than the one you took ten years ago! Don’t tell me you’ve grown so dull you can’t even see it!”

“Come on, now.”

Instead of arguing, Cedric drew the remains of his broken sword. The sight of it made Dain’s eyes bulge. His lips clamped shut.

Minutes passed before a hoarse voice, like something worn out, slipped from his lips, “It broke even with your Aura Blade?”

“Yup.”

“You could cut adamantium to pieces with a copper blade imbued with your Aura Blade, but my sword snapped? And the enemy’s weapon?”

“A great sword. Nothing unusual in appearance.”

“It can’t even be Jugend Steel. Then, it can only be...”

Muttering, Dain left the thought unfinished. Jugend Steel was certainly powerful, but every one of its properties was publicly known throughout the kingdom.

If Cedric’s Aura Blade could be resisted by such a weapon, he would have recognized it the instant it was revealed. The fact that he hadn’t meant only one thing: the sword’s innate durability had been overwhelming, nothing more.

“I’d like to see it for myself, but I already know that breaking that greatsword with my work would be impossible. In the last ten years, I’ve added plenty of refinements here and there, but in terms of pure functionality, I’ve already hit the limit. If your Aura Blade couldn’t cut it, then no matter what masterpiece I forge, it wouldn’t matter.”

“I see...” Cedric responded in slight disappointment.

“But,” Dain added, with his rough face twisting into a grin. “I can at least show you a possibility.”

“Show me.”

“Follow me.”

The two of them moved into the back of the forge, a space no craftsman ever shared. Inside lay hundreds of swords, failed and successful works all jumbled together, yet even beyond that, Dain opened a hidden chamber. There, Cedric saw it.

“What is that sword...?”

A zweihander, sealed tightly in chains of white silver, was radiating a sinister crimson glow. As if waiting for the question, Dain explained.

“It’s a cursed sword.”

“What?!”

“I would have entered it into the Jugend Steel contest, but contaminated ore got mixed in. Couldn’t risk it. Still, it was too fine a piece to smash, so I sealed it away instead.”

Even Cedric was momentarily at a loss for words before he managed to say, “If the Holy Church finds out, you’ll end up on a pyre.”

“Whatever. Let them hang me all they want. Dwarves don’t catch fire that well anyway.”

“

Hah

!”

It was no wonder Dain was the only one in the world with whom Cedric got along. The dwarf, too, was tainted by madness as a blacksmith, and though they walked different paths, they shared that common ground.

Dain said, “You’ll have to handle the consequences. I don’t expect you’ll be swayed by the curse, but people will look for any excuse to accuse.”

“I don’t care. Just explain the sword.”

“Crazy bastard. Fine. What you see is a zweihander. Weighs about five kilograms. Whether because it’s cursed or because I forged it well, its durability and edge are three times what you broke before. And its true nature is even more terrifying.”

“The true nature of a cursed sword?”

“Yes,” Dain said and nodded, chuckling. “A cursed sword feeds on blood—on life. It devours and grows. It actually suits you pretty well. Cut down thousands, tens of thousands, and one day it might match the blade you couldn’t cut through.”

“So again, just talk of possibilities.”

“I can’t swear to it without seeing the two swords myself.”

As soon as he finished, Cedric stepped forward. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached out to the sealed blade.

The chains etched with wards against evil snapped loose like threads, and his hand closed around the zweihander’s grip. At that moment, the dim crimson light flared explosively, opening its maw to engulf Cedric’s entire body.

Cedric muttered, “Shut up.”

At a single low command, it dissipated like mist with what sounded almost like a whimper.

A Swordmaster, taken literally, was the master of the sword. No young weapon, not yet drunk on enough blood, could ever invade the madness-steeped spirit of Cedric. Quelled with a word, the cursed sword meekly slid into its scabbard.

“Not bad,” Cedric remarked as he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

He had never felt attachment to a single blade before, but this one he thought he might raise like a pet. A cursed sword, what the Evil Order had once scattered to sow chaos, and failed—now, by a twist of fate, had fallen into Cedric’s hands.

***

The jarring sound of metal clashing rattled his eardrums as Leon’s body was flung back several meters. Even though he had blocked properly, the force behind it was tremendous. He barely managed to recover his balance.

Gripping his sword hilt tightly, Leon looked at his opponent: the silver-haired, golden-eyed girl twirling a two-meter staff above her head like a whirlwind was looking at him with her eyes ablaze. It was Elahan, the Holy Church’s most powerful Saintess in history.

“Well done, Hero Leon! At that time, I was certain I’d gotten you, but you used your wings’ thrust to flip yourself over!”

“It was still a close call,” Leon replied, catching his breath.

“You’ll do it more smoothly next time! Now, one more time!”

As she spoke, Elahan lowered the tip of her staff, raised her arms and shoulders, and sank into a low guard. Unlike with swords, the low stance of a staff or spear was far more threatening. It could shut down the enemy’s low attacks, make distance hard to judge by eye, and could quickly transition into unpredictable strikes at mid or high levels.

Leon, still catching his ragged breath, said, “I didn’t know you were so skilled with the staff. You’re really good.”

At his compliment, Elahan lost her composure, grinning sheepishly.

“

Ah

!

Hehe

, r-really? My mother told me that to master the Holy Iron Breaker, I had to learn staff techniques too.”

“The Holy Iron Breaker with staff techniques?”

“Well, think about it—the shaft is long, isn’t it? Looks a bit like a staff with a hammerhead stuck on one end. Practicing staff work actually helped me quite a bit.”

Their chatter ended there. Leon, restored by the Stigmata’s power after only a few breaths, raised his sword again. Elahan’s eyes sharpened, and the tip of her staff flickered, blurring the hit point.

The instant Leon took half a step forward, Elahan’s staff shot straight out. Like a spear, the staff’s strength was its reach. Simply waiting for an enemy to step in and countering was enough to give her the advantage.

Leon deflected the shaft with his blade and pushed inside her guard, only for Elahan to whirl the staff, shaking his sword loose.

Though it didn’t flow as smoothly as Eastern spear arts like Lannachal [1], the Aura spiraling around the iron shaft produced even greater recoil.

Two steps. The distance a swordsman had to conquer against a spear was dauntingly far.

Many dismissed the staff because it lacked a blade, but that very absence gave it more freedom. It could thrust, strike, push, coil, and rebound.

Grip short, and it could batter at close range. Grip long, and it became a spear. Swing down the end with full force, and it was a bludgeon. With its consistent length and balance, it excelled even in contests of strength.

Still, if I can break through once, I’ll have the advantage!

With a full step, he knocked aside the shaft’s flank for a fleeting opening and fired the Icarus Wing at maximum output. The flames roared from his back, propelling him forward.

The sonic boom swept the space ahead as his sword slammed down at an angle against Elahan’s staff, pinning her. If he only knocked it aside again, she would just reset the distance, so he drove it down as if to nail her legs to the ground.

Then, the staff split in two, the clash collapsing in an instant. Leon staggered.

He caught his balance at once, but in that heartbeat, Elahan surged in close and smashed her fist into his solar plexus.

“

Guhk

!”

Leon made a strangled sound as he was flung back, skipping across the floor like a stone on water, all the way to where he had first stepped forward.

Once again, their spar ended in Elahan’s victory.

“You really do lean too much on brute force. You need to consider what happens if your opponent refuses that contest. Otherwise, you’ll end up countered like just now.”

“

Urgh

, I didn’t expect you to just drop your weapon.”

“There might be backup arms, or someone could keep hand-to-hand combat as their trump card. Even Holy Iron Inquisitors are trained to handle at least three types of armaments.”

One specialty was enough, but relying on only that was a mistake. Even Leon, with his Holy Sword, might need to fight barehanded, use his feet, or use a spare weapon.

Of course, if he fully unleashed the Aura Blade, the Sun Sword, he could patch over most of those weaknesses. He had Prominence for range, Eclipse for concentrated firepower, and last but not least, Icarus Wing for high-speed maneuvers.

However, that still didn’t solve the root problem. Against someone like Cedric, whose Aura Blade simply ignored the scale of power, all he would do is bloat his attacks and leave his vitals open.’

If it were an ability that simply couldn’t be blocked, like Cedric’s sword, then he had to be able to evade. If it were one that couldn’t be evaded, then he had to be able to block.

Martial skill had always advanced from desperation, from defeating the undefeatable and surviving the impossible. Turning away from his weaknesses would only mean paying for them later, and Leon was not so foolish as to throw away his future.

“Saintess,” Irexana called out, having arrived at the training ground without either Leon or Elahan noticing.

“

Ah

, Cardinal Irexana! Already finished with your work?”

Elahan spoke with visible disappointment to Irexana, who only nodded firmly.

“Yes. Now, it is your turn, Saintess.”

“

Aw

.”

Pouting, Elahan gave Leon a bow and left the hall. Even as he watched her go, Leon couldn’t smile. How could he?

“So, you trained with the Saintess using the staff, did you?”

Clad not in priestly robes but in light armor, the towering Irexana rummaged through the armory for weapons. After days of training together, Leon had learned something new about Irexana, the Holy Church’s Cardinal, Jugend’s Grand Meister, and the warrior who had slain even a bishop of the Evil Order with his twin axes.

Selecting three weapons, Irexana smiled warmly and said, “Today, shall I try the trident, the chain-sickle, and throwing axes?”

Seeing it made Leon shudder without even realizing it. This man was Jugend’s greatest blacksmith, and behind that, a man who possessed mastery that exceeded even Leon’s imagination.

He’s a Weaponmaster...

When he held a spear, he was a Spearmaster. A sword, and he was a Swordmaster. An axe, and he was an Axemaster.

Normally, an Aura Master specialized in a single weapon. However, there was one who had shattered that convention. A blacksmith who had spent more than a century honing not only weapons, but also how to wield them.

Born with the best of two races, refined through overwhelming talent and effort until his potential was unlocked to the limit.

“Five more minutes of rest, and then we begin, Hero Leon.”

Before that mountain of presence, Leon could not help but let out a long, weary sigh.

1. In China, Lannachal is considered the basis of spearmanship. ☜