Brother's Sword

Richard's sword had not been sharpened. He had simply made a crude scabbard from bamboo strips and pigskin and hung it at his waist, replacing his old wooden sword. But when he excitedly drew it before the other children, he did not receive the expected cries of amazement.

"Richard, why has your wooden sword been burned black?"

"Yeah, and it's bent from the fire too. Hahaha."

To be fair, it was an ugly sword. Its blackened blade had an awkward curve, its hilt was too long, and its balance was poor. But in Richard's eyes, this was a gift his brother had spent months making for him. He would not allow anyone to insult his brother's work.

So he slashed even harder than usual. The iron sword could easily knock aside the children's wooden swords, but it was heavy and not nimble enough. As the children noisily struck back, they actually hit Richard more often. They were used to playing together and did not hit hard, but their laughing, playful expressions enraged Richard. His face reddened as he swung his sword stubbornly.

"Just watch. This is a treasured sword. I'll use it in the Knight Selection!"

"A treasured sword? Looks to me like Richard has a fire poker from the blacksmith's shop tucked into his belt."

"What do you know? My brother forged this for me. It's not some fire poker!"

"Haha, when did your mute brother learn to forge swords? And he forged a mute sword too, a mute charcoal-black sword..."

Richard had inherited his father's quiet nature. After being mocked, he stopped arguing and rushed forward again, waving his iron sword. The children scattered with a roar of laughter. After several rounds, his strength finally ran out, and the others stopped provoking him. They were playmates who spent every day together, after all, and all carefree boys. Before long, they were sitting together again, passing Richard's sword around to inspect it.

"It really is iron. It's so heavy, even heavier than Turner's sword."

"Who are you trying to fool? When has Turner ever been willing to let you touch his treasure? Kelly said he even hugs it when he sleeps." Kelly was Turner's younger sister, the tavern owner's daughter, and a famous little beauty in town.

"If it were me, I'd rather hug Kelly to sleep..."

"Keep dreaming. Kelly likes Richard's brother."

The pretty daughter of the tavern owner liked the mute son of the blacksmith's family. It was a secret every child in town knew. In the Small Town, girls of fifteen or sixteen were as bold and free as the boys. Some had already slipped into the dense Redwood Forest beside town with boys they knew well. Donald had never entered those woods, but when passing by, he would sometimes hear a girl's breathless moans. If one listened closely, one might even recognize which family's daughter it was.

If those bold girls accidentally ended up with swollen bellies, they would blush as their parents took them to the boy's home to find the one responsible. Quite a few married couples in the Small Town had come together this way. Occasionally, they even found the wrong man. Old Jim's son did not resemble him in the slightest, but looked exactly like the grain shop owner. Anyone with eyes could see it.

Kelly had once lived in Dorn City with her mother for a time and had seen the ways of a big city. She did not like wearing elaborate floral dresses, nor did she have the rosy cheeks of the island girls. Her voice was soft and gentle, yet it made the island boys' hearts itch.

Kelly was already fourteen. There was no shortage of boys who wanted to take her into the Redwood Forest, but none had succeeded. No one had even held her hand. At some point, people began saying she liked Donald, saying that she blushed whenever she spoke to him. When people said so in front of her, she did not deny it, only smiled shyly. Some also urged Donald to take Kelly into the Redwood Forest, but Donald pretended not to hear. He was only the mute son of a blacksmith. The tavern owner would never be willing to marry his precious daughter to him.

After several months of training, Donald had grown somewhat stronger. After helping Richard forge that sword, he still spent two hours every day at the forge. Richard occasionally brought home a wild rabbit or several sea fish, so the blacksmith family's table no longer held only black bread.

Kelly came to the blacksmith's shop every few days. Sometimes she brought business to Old Tom, and sometimes she merely came to talk with Donald. She spoke of what she had seen in Dorn City: the endless ancient City Wall, the grand City Lord's residence, the lively Knight School, the chaotic Wharf. As she spoke slowly, Donald listened with a smile. Kelly felt that Donald, like her, did not belong on this little island. Perhaps it was because his features were too delicate, or perhaps because of his restrained smile and slightly curved lips, which resembled the portraits of nobles she had seen.

Donald knew he would not marry the daughter of the town's most prominent family. The tavern owner also ran a weapons shop and was the richest man in town. His wife was the daughter of a wealthy merchant in Dorn City, one of the few women who had married in from outside the island. Donald's mother also seemed not to have been born on Lant Island, but his father was extremely secretive about it.

Donald also enjoyed listening to the stories of sailors and bards. Yet the tales that made other children burn with excitement stirred only a deep curiosity in him. He knew those supernatural phenomena could not all be fabricated. This world had Battle Qi and magic, but where exactly was the boundary between truth and fiction in those stories? He did not know. Knights whose strength completely surpassed that of ordinary people probably truly existed, but what about Mages? If magic was real, then what about dragons? Were those towering magic towers and Magic Arrays stretching for hundreds of miles also real? And what did the phrase every bard repeated mean: knights go north, mages go south?

During those late nights spent around campfires listening to stories, he often felt an illusion arise within him. It was as though Lant Island were a refuge, a place untouched by the raging waves and dangers of the outside world. Of course, he was not afraid, nor was he timid. Given the chance, he would gladly travel the continent. He simply did not possess the fervor and impulsiveness of ordinary boys. Counting the age from his previous life, he was not much younger than his father Tom.

Donald knew every street on the island and every person on those streets, but only he knew that he was merely playing the role of Donald. The island seemed like a beautiful story, and he lived within that story, trying hard to make expressions that suited his role. Yet he had always felt like an observer. He loved his father and younger brother, even everyone on this island, but he could not help wondering whether everything before him might vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving him in another completely unfamiliar world.

So he did not speak, only smiled calmly.

Since fate had swept him here, he might as well wait quietly, waiting to see where the invisible hand of fate would push him next. Having experienced one inexplicable transmigration already, Donald could not help feeling powerless before destiny.

The simple islanders merely thought Donald smiled bashfully and was an introverted child. His father and younger brother saw nothing wrong with it either. It was no big deal if he did not speak. He never made the strange babbling noises common to mute people. If a stranger ever saw him, they would not think he was mute.

The late-summer sunlight shone through the entrance of the blacksmith's shop. The shadows slowly slanted away, and the wind grew cooler by the day. It was such a simple, wonderful life.

A slender figure ran in from the sunlight. Only after entering the blacksmith's shop could one see that it was Kelly. Unlike usual, she was not quiet. Panting, she said to Donald, "Quick, go look! Richard and my brother are fighting. My uncle... my uncle..." Donald had not yet understood what she was trying to say when Old Tom dropped his hammer and rushed outside, muttering, "What trouble has that brat gotten me into now?"

Donald ran toward the tavern with Kelly. It took her some time to explain the situation in broken fragments.

It was still related to that Black Iron Sword.

The tavern owner, Paul, was a perpetually cheerful fat man. Whenever he stood beside Kelly's mother, people could not help worrying for the frail woman. Today, her older brother had come to visit his younger sister. Since she had returned to Lant Island with her daughter, the siblings had not seen each other for years. When Turner and Kelly stood before him, he could not recognize them at all.

This distinguished guest from the city wore light, thin leather armor, and his face carried a heroic air. Many people gathered outside the open doors and windows. The simple people of Lant Island never bothered to hide their curiosity and directly asked who he was.

"My uncle is the chief steward of the Knight Academy," Turner proudly introduced him.

"Amazing! So he's a Knight!" cries of surprise rose from the crowd.

Merkel truly was a Knight, a Knight Level 1. He was also the Logistics Officer of the Knight Academy, managing the students' food, lodging, and equipment. To ordinary islanders, he was indeed an extraordinary figure.

The siblings' conversation shifted from their concerns since parting, their elderly parents' health, and the latest news about neighbors to their children. Turner then volunteered that he would also take part in the Talent Selection next spring. He drew his longsword and swung it a few times, showing his uncle the results of several years of practice.

"Knights are selected through actual sparring. How can I tell anything from the way you swing your sword? Still, your stance is decent enough, and you're fast." Merkel tried his best to find kind words for the nephew he had not seen in years.

That only stirred Turner's enthusiasm further, and he began looking for someone to spar with.

The island boys rarely saw strangers and shyly retreated. Besides, their wooden swords against Turner's Standard Longsword would make the result obvious before they even fought. After much shoving and pushing, someone shouted, "Richard! Richard has an iron sword too! Let Richard spar with you!"

Richard was unwillingly pushed out by the other children. He did not want an important man from the city to see his black sword. Though he treasured it dearly, the children's discussions over the past few days had made him clearly realize that his sword was not pretty... all right, it was very ugly.

Once Turner saw Richard chosen, how could he let him go? He immediately drew his sword and shouted, "Come on, Richard! Let us have a fair duel!" The knightly slogan, picked up from some drunken sailor, made all the adults burst into laughter.

Richard also drew his sword, but instead of blocking or counterattacking, he only dodged. He was afraid Turner's gleaming longsword would chip his black sword and make it look even worse.

As a Formal Knight, Merkel naturally had a keen eye. Turner's footing was unsteady and his sword forms were a mess, while the other child, though doing nothing but evade, was not panicked. His breathing remained steady. The black sword in his hand was somewhat strange: a slightly curved blade with an overly rough surface, like a half-finished product.

"Will they be all right?" he asked his smiling brother-in-law. "Kids don't know their own strength."

"Hehe, it's fine. Neither sword has been sharpened."

And so one child kept chasing and attacking, while the other kept dodging. Waves of laughter rose from the crowd.

Seeing Richard did not dare strike back, Turner wanted even more to show off before his uncle. He shouted, "Richard, are you a coward? Where's your courage?"

Richard felt his face burn. At that moment, he wished he held his old wooden sword. Then he could have met Turner's attacks without hesitation, and with his strength, he could have driven Turner back. But he could not bear to offer the black sword his brother had given him to Turner's chopping blows. He could not bear to ruin his brother's months of hard work himself. Yet he could not stand being called a coward. He dreamed of becoming a Knight. Every time he dodged, the laughter around him seemed to mock that dream.

I'm sorry, Brother. Fourteen-year-old Richard finally could not endure it any longer and raised his sword to block Turner's chop. Once, twice, three times. The scene he had expected did not happen. The black sword showed no sign of damage, and Richard's courage surged. He gathered all his strength and clashed swords with Turner.

Bang! Something broke.

Something had indeed broken. Richard's face instantly fell, and the surroundings went silent. He looked up at Turner, whose face was even more devastated than his own. Turner looked ready to cry. Only then did Richard realize the weight in his hand had not changed. The black sword was completely unharmed! What had broken was Turner's shining longsword. Only half of it remained in Turner's hand, and even the edge at the break had curled.

This really was a treasured sword?! Richard stared at the black sword in his hand, still shaken.

Turner finally burst into tears, and Kelly turned and ran toward the blacksmith's shop.

By the time Donald and his father arrived, tear tracks still marked Turner's face. Richard had lowered his head with the expression of someone who had made a mistake. His black sword was now in Merkel's hand.

"Did you forge this sword?" Merkel asked with a smile, approval on his face. The tavern owner still wore his usual cheerful expression, apparently with no intention of demanding an explanation.

Donald nodded. Richard had surely explained where the sword came from.

"Can you tell me how you forged it?"

Donald shook his head.

"This child can't speak," Old Tom answered for him.

"That's right, he's mute," the children added, afraid the knight had not understood.

"Mute?" Merkel looked at Donald curiously and said with a smile, "If you can tell me how you forged this sword, then we can forget about breaking Turner's sword."

Donald knew he was joking. How could someone be required to compensate the other party for breaking their sword during a sparring match? But Richard was clearly frightened, and Old Tom looked anxiously at him, wanting to answer for him but not knowing where to begin. He could hardly say, "My son pounds wrought iron every day until it looks like an iron basin, and then somehow it turns into a treasured sword."

As usual, Donald said nothing. He reached out, took the black sword, rubbed it several times against a flat stone beside him, then handed it back to Merkel.

Merkel smiled knowingly and gave the fat tavern owner a few instructions. Before long, a tavern worker brought over a whetstone and water, then began polishing the black sword. Merkel leaned in for a look, pushed the worker aside, and began doing it himself. As a Knight, he was much stronger than ordinary people and familiar with weapons. Before long, he had ground away the ugly black layer on the blade. Then he rinsed it in clean water and gently wiped from the hilt toward the tip with a cloth.

Everyone watched his movements closely. What a beautiful sword it was. Fine, dense patterns covered the blade, like flowing water and Flame, yet more splendid and mysterious.

This really was a treasured sword? Richard could scarcely believe his eyes.

Donald smiled at his younger brother. The Damascus Sword he had spent three months imitating had not been a waste of effort after all. Others had only seen him repeatedly fold and forge the metal. No one had noticed that he repeatedly heated it in the charcoal furnace before hammering it, in order to pound steels with different carbon contents into layers. The interwoven layers of different properties were what gave it both hardness and resilience.

Many years later, after undergoing several transformations, this strange sword would earn a fearsome reputation that shook all directions. Countless legends about it would spread throughout the world. But now, in the hands of its first owner, Richard, it had a simple name: Brother's Sword.