Chapter 184: The Eternal Fire (2)

“I didn’t expect ‘Slayer Maker’ to come here.” Rastard, the old dwarf guarding the Eternal Smithy, said smiling as he stroked his long beard.

“How is Solardo of the Golden Anvil tribe doing?”

𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

“He is striking on iron as usual.”

“Did Solardo allow you to come here?” Rastard asked.

“...” Jakiro smiled.

“I see. You came here on our own will.”

“That’s right.”

“Any young blacksmith will end up coming here at least once. And the Slayer Maker is more than qualified to enter.”

“That’s overpraising.”

“I’ve seen the Wizard Slayer you made before.”

Clank! Clank!

Rastard looked in the direction where the sound came from. A dwarf was hammering on iron in the corner. The red-hot iron was struck by his hammer and slowly changed shape little by little. The dwarf’s hammering speeded up.

“It was a fast and sharp sword.”

“You don’t need a big weapon to kill a wizard.”

“Yes. It was excellent. Do you know who is using that sword now?”

“I don’t know.”

“As expected, you’re just like Solardo.” Rastard smiled bitterly.

“Wizard Slayer is now in the hands of a madman who loathes wizards. Countless innocent wizards have died in his hands.”

“Is that so?” Jakiro shrugged.

“It has nothing to do with me.”

“As expected of Solardo’s kinsfolk.” Rastard laughed out loud.

“Fine, Slayer Maker. What kind of monster are you going to make here in the Eternal Smithy? Are you going to make a weapon that can kill something like ogres?”

“I’ve already made that.”

“Hooo, is that so? I don’t know who the owner holding the anti-ogre weapon is, but he must be going through a hard time.”

Jakiro shrugged at Rastard’s comment. He recalled the orc warrior using the Ogre Slayer he made. He also witnessed the orc slaughtering an ogre. It was an unsophisticated and huge greatsword, but when he held it in his hands, it fit perfectly, like it was made for him.

A smile spread across Jakiro’s face.

“Since you have crafted an Ogre Slayer, will you be crafting something like a Dragon Slayer now?”

“A Dragon Slayer, huh...”

Dragons were a forgotten species, they were no longer seen. There was once a time when they roamed the valleys and flew over the mountain ranges, but it had been a long time since they stood out in the eyes of others.

Some say they all died, and others say they were still hiding somewhere. Either way, it was certain that they would not be able to restore their former dominance.

“If I make something like that, my sword will not have an opponent.”

“That’s true, it would be useless to make a sword that can take on a dragon. Then, how about a second version of the Ogre Slayer? Ogres are causing troubles these days.”

“I’m not sure.” Jakrio’s face darkened as he answered.

“I’ll think about it.”

That was why he left the Golden Anvil tribe to come here. He surpassed the level of a young craftsman. He had already reached the status of a master craftsman at a young age, and the Slayer Series he made were masterpieces that everyone wanted. Countless warriors and knights requested him to craft them a weapon.

However, he did not have a blueprint for his next masterpiece. There wasn’t any design that could make him passionately hammer on iron again. In the past, he could clearly see the real characteristics and worth hidden behind an iron lump.

However, now he could not see anything. He shaped the blade several times and ended up breaking it. He hammered on iron and melted it again. As a result, his slump persisted.

“You’re young.” Rastard tapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t be hasty, take your time and think. I’ll tell them to keep your accommodation at the blacksmith’s lodge.”

“Thank you.”

“This place is the Eternal Smithy, it is a place where you can hammer on iron as long as the sun lights up. Hahaha. I have to go look after someone now.”

Rastard approached a blacksmith hammering on iron. He was a dwarf younger than Jakiro. He was still not skillful enough, but he had passion and was still hammering on iron even when everyone had left for the day.

Jakiro watched them for a while and then left the Eternal Smithy. The Temple of the Sun God’s dwarf priest noticed him and bowed. Jakiro also greeted him politely.

***

When he left the Temple of the Sun God, it was already dark.

It was quiet in Geherard, and there was only the occasional noise from the pubs and bars. The lights of other places were extinguished, perhaps because they wanted the night to pass quickly.

It was the land where the Temple of the Sun God was located. Rather than staying up late at night, they went to bed early looking forward to the sunrise.

It was then. Clank. A sound resonated.

Jakiro turned around. It was a sound that he, a master craftsman, knew for certain. It was the sound of weapons clashing. There was a fight happening somewhere. Moreover, the explosive sound of iron clashing was strangely familiar.

Yes, it was the sound he had been hearing for days, to the point that he was sick of it. It was the shattering sound of Ogre Slayer, smashing the rusty blades of monsters.

Somewhere, Crockta was fighting. Jakiro started running. The sound was coming from a corner of Geherard, a deserted place. His vision was dark, but he ran after the sound while relying on the dim moonlight.

As he approached, he could see iron blades causing sparks in the dark.

“...!”

A group of people surrounded Crockta and a man. In the midst of all that, the two exchanged sword blows.

As he got closer, he saw Tiyo and Anor. The two of them discovered Jakiro and waved. Jakiro stood beside them.

“What is happening right now-...”

“Some weird guys picked a fight with us,” Tiyo said.

“They said something about punishing Crockta according to the oracle... They’re weird bastards.” Tiyo continued.

“...!”

Jakiro was also aware of the oracle. All the Gods ordered the deaths of Crockta and the orcs. If so, those people were probably zealots worshiping the Gods. God’s commands were absolute to those kinds of people.

Indeed, a chain of groups, armed and hooded, were surrounding and watching the fight between Crockta and the man as if they were holding a sacred ceremony.

“It’s amazing. He is fighting neck-and-neck against Crockta.” Tiyo murmured.

However, Jakiro couldn’t tell. Most of their exchanges were too fast and indistinguishable to him, even though his visibility improved as he got used to the darkness. Every time the moonlight flashed off the surface of their swords, one of them was wounded and took a step back.

Crockta was the man who conquered the north and stopped the empire. One of the strongest warriors of his era, the man who killed the chieftain of the north and defeated Adantadore, the genius of the empire.

However, an unknown zealot was engaged in an evenly-matched fight with him. The two of them stepped back for a moment and took a breath. Crockta tilted his head and glared at the man. His eyes were filled with suspicions about his opponent. His expression seemed to imply that the fight did not go as he wanted.

Jakiro followed Crockta’s eyes and looked at the opponent. The man’s hood was torn off, and they could now see his face. He was a middle-aged man.

He looked at Crockta with a calm face before speaking, “You cannot resist God’s power. Accept your fate, Crockta.”

Jakiro realized at that moment. There was a faint band of light on the man’s sword. Swords imbued with magic were able to exert such power. However, in Jakiro’s eyes, it did not look like a magic sword. It was a divine weapon.

The opponent that Crockta was fighting against was not just a warrior who was good at handling blades. It was the power of God itself.

The power of God was granted to the man through the sword itself. Even if its innate power was not manifested in full, it was a divine power that could not be countered by mortals living under the constraints of the current Gods. That power was now aiming for Crockta’s neck.

The man swung his sword again, and a ray of light flashed. Crockta raised Ogre Slayer, clashing against the sword, but he was pushed back.

“Kugh.”

“In the name of God!”

Jakiro could see it. Crockta’s sword, Ogre Slayer, was shaking.

He was a blacksmith. He was a master craftsman who could hear the voice of iron and see a sword’s expression. Just as how warriors could see the gaps in their opponent and the trajectories of death, Jakiro had an eye that could see through iron and weapons inside out.

Now, in his eyes, Ogre Slayer looked like a boxer who could barely raise his fist, in a state of utter disrepair.

The greatsword had overcome many fights, but the damages accumulated because it was not treated properly. The broken bones were not reattached properly, and pus was leaking through its wounded eyes. There was repeated damage to its head, and both its hands were shaking in a punch-drunk state[1].

Nonetheless, it looked directly at the opponent. That was because, in the current battle situation, the enemy was still standing in the ring. A fighter looking so wretched that it wouldn’t be weird if it collapsed, that was the Ogre Slayer and Jakiro was the father who crafted the Ogre Slayer.

“Bultarrrr──────!” Crockta’s roar shook the peaceful Geherard.

Crockta sped up. As if Crockta was finally giving it his all, the man stepped back every time Crockta took a step toward him. A sword principle, unknown to Jakiro, was imbued into the sword. Ogre Slayer embodied the unknown power throughout its entire sword body.

The man’s divine weapon was deflected, and Ogre Slayer’s strike flew toward the gap that formed. However, it was blocked.

God’s power was not so easy to defeat. Opportunities were equally given. As Crockta’s attack was rendered futile, the enemy unleashed a counterattack. A white wave of heat scattered, and the divine weapon swung wildly.

Crockta raised the Ogre Slayer and blocked it. For a moment, Jakiro thought the Ogre Slayer was going to break. However, it held out.

After blocking the attack once, Crockta kicked the man in the elbow. For a moment, the man lost his grip on his sword. Then, Crockta turned one round and swung his greatsword at the man.

He thought the fight would end like this. However, the man’s sword swiveled back to him, as if there was a thread connected to it. Then, he positioned himself to block Crockta’s sword. The man stood strong and stopped the attack with his feet supporting him.

The two swords collided again. The man was pushed back. It was truly a well-matched fight. The faint light from the man’s sword expanded to surround his body. The man’s eyes shone white. The power of God was now encroaching on his body. His sword movement sped up. He was now aiming at Crockta from multiple directions. His attack was as swift and powerful as God’s hammer.

“...!”

Be that as it may, Crockta’s Ogre Slayer fended off all those attacks, although it barely held on. It was a reaction that was no different from a divine skill. Crockta’s movement was as if both body and sword synergized into one.

“Is that really the sword I made...” Jakiro murmured.

It was beautiful swordsmanship. It was nothing like the kind of beauty seen from smooth movements or drawing a beautiful trajectory. The sword and the user became one.

He embodied all kinds of movements doable with a huge greatsword without any unnecessary movements. It was impossible to tell whether he was guiding the sword, or the sword was guiding him. The body and sword were connected, and it moved as if it were one living organism.

Crockta approached and shoulder-charged the enemy’s abdomen.

“Kuhk!”

Then, he immediately swung his greatsword at his opponent, who was pushed back. The enemy’s sword was hit and flew through the air. It fell to the ground and rolled for quite some time before stopping at Jakiro’s foot. The sword, which was scattering a faint light, soon turned dark. It was a sign that God had left.

Jakiro picked up the sword. It wasn’t a bad sword, but it wasn’t a weapon crafted by an outstanding master craftsman. It was just a decently made sword.

Jakiro looked up and saw Crockta and the man. Crockta was standing in front of the man, with his greatsword on the man’s neck. The man closed his eyes tightly and then slowly opened his eyes. He saw Crockta, and he saw the blade pointing at his neck. He looked at his wit’s end.

“Tell me about the oracle,” Crockta said.

The man murmured.

Jakiro felt a strange feeling as he watched the scene transpiring in front of him. The man wasn’t an outstanding warrior. He was just a fanatic. The sword he wielded wasn’t a famed blade or the like either. It was just a decent sword. It was just a decently skilled man and a decent sword.

That man was like a grain of sand compared to the fame that Crockta had built up.

However, with the power of God in him, he was able to fight evenly with the ‘Northern Conqueror’. That was the power of God. Crockta was victorious, but they would eventually topple him. All the Gods wanted his death.

What would happen if this power was granted to an even stronger man, to an even greater sword? Crockta and Ogre Slayer. Their beautiful dance would end soon. It was inevitable. The opponents they were about to face weren’t Ogres. It was God.

No matter how amazing of a sword Ogre Slayer was, it wasn’t able to cut God. However...

“I want to keep watching.”

As long as the sun was burning, the Eternal Smithy would never be extinguished. Similar to that, Jakiro hoped that Crockta and Ogre Slayer’s beautiful dance would not end. He hoped that it would last forever, that the sword he created would become more than just a sword and create miracles with its owner.

He hoped for that to happen.

“Is this also fate?”

A warrior was a fighter. For a warrior to live a long life, he must kill instead of being killed. To kill, he would need a weapon capable of killing.

1. Punch-drunk usually refers to a boxer suffering from brain injury from repeated blows to the head. ?