Blacksmith's Son

It was already dark. In the blacksmith's shop, the father and his two sons sat around a battered dining table by the furnace. Dinner was still black bread and vegetable soup. The fire burned listlessly, casting their shadows onto the mottled walls in its dim yellow glow. As the flames flickered, the shadows swayed with them. Old Tom glared furiously at Richard, who kept his head down and gnawed at his bread. Several times, his father seemed about to say something, but in the end, he merely shook his head and turned to Donald. "Lord Merkel really is a good man!"

Donald did not understand why his father had suddenly said that, but he still put on a sincere expression and nodded vigorously.

"Your brother doesn't know his place, and you went along with his nonsense. A knight? Since when does a blacksmith's son become a knight? Have you ever heard of a blacksmith's son becoming a knight?"

Donald continued nodding, then realized what his father meant and shook his head instead. He truly had never heard of a blacksmith's son becoming a knight. In fact, other than his father, he did not know any other blacksmiths, much less their sons.

When his father got up to ladle out the soup, Donald kicked Richard under the table. Then, when Richard looked up at him, he pulled a face. Richard buried his head and gnawed even harder on his bread to keep from laughing, as if the black bread before him were what stood in the way of his path to knighthood.

"Lord Merkel said he'll come by tomorrow morning. Explain to him properly how you made that sword... If you can't remember, just say so."

Donald nodded again. His father seemed to have forgotten that he did not speak.

Although Merkel was only a Knight Level 1, he held an office at the Knight School and was responsible for managing its weapons. He had also been a mercenary in his youth, so he could be considered well-traveled and knowledgeable. Yet when he saw the strange patterns on Richard's sword, he was no less astonished than everyone else.

Such a strange sword had actually come from the hands of a boy who had never once left Lant Island. And supposedly, it was his first creation. Before that, he had never forged a single piece of iron. Clearly, luck or coincidence could not explain it. To satisfy his curiosity, he asked Richard and his father to let him keep the sword overnight, saying that he would personally visit the blacksmith's shop the next morning. Old Tom looked at the broken half of the Standard Longsword on the ground and still felt shaken, so naturally, he agreed at once.

In the guest room prepared by Fat Brother-in-Law, the strange longsword lay across the desk. On a sheet of writing paper spread beside it, Lord Merkel of Dorn City was writing a letter.

My dear Victor,

I hope that by the time you read this letter, those wild and fanciful ideas of yours haven't fried your brain yet.

Well, you surely remember my sister Jennifer, don't you? Jennifer the tagalong, Jennifer the crybaby! She is already the mother of two children now.

She married and moved to Lant Island in the south of the Empire. It is such a tiny island that you cannot even find it on an Imperial map, but I encountered something strange here that I think may interest you as well.

I witnessed a fourteen-year-old boy use a strange sword to chop through a Standard Longsword of the Empire. And the sword he used was actually the first work of his brother, a blacksmith's son and an inexperienced beginner.

What astonishes me even more is that the sword is covered in strange patterns. I have never seen patterns so peculiar. They are unlike the decorative patterns on the Fine Steel Swords made by those northern Gnomes. They are far more intricate, and far more... mysterious. I have a feeling that these patterns are what make the sword so sharp and tough. I even wonder whether they have something to do with magic.

I tried questioning the boy, but it was difficult to get any useful information from him. Oh, I may have forgotten to mention that he is mute.

So, have I successfully piqued a Naturalist's interest?

I will remain on Lant Island until the end of September. If you plan to come in search of curiosities, you can find me at the tavern on the island.

Your old friend, Merkel

Life on the small island was simple and orderly. At daybreak, the streets and alleys gradually came to life. Richard unexpectedly woke earlier than both his father and brother that day. As soon as sunlight touched the threshold, he was already carrying water and cleaning up.

The spring plowing season had long passed, while the autumn harvest had yet to arrive. Summer brought no work repairing farm tools, making it the blacksmith shop's slow season. Thus, when Merkel entered, Old Tom had only just begun preparing to light the furnace. The moment he saw the knight lord, he immediately had his eldest son bring over a chair and wiped it clean himself. Richard stood behind his father with his head lowered, still looking like a child who had done something wrong and was waiting to be punished.

"You should sit as well, Mr. Tom."

Being addressed as "Mr." and even told "please" by a distinguished knight lord left the old blacksmith at a loss. He hurriedly found a small stool and sat down. His burly body perched on the tiny stool looked rather out of place.

"Richard is fourteen this year, isn't he? I think he could be sent to the Knight School. Even at the school, I rarely see children as sturdy as he is." Richard unconsciously straightened his back, then secretly glanced at Lord Merkel's expression to make sure he was not joking.

His youngest son had been praised by a lord from the city. Old Tom grinned broadly, but halfway through his smile, he seemed to remember something and suddenly grew dejected. His expression became rather strange. "A blacksmith, a blacksmith's son... Heh heh..."

Donald suddenly felt that the scene looked very much like an official visiting the countryside and chatting with an old farmer from the village.

"What is wrong with a blacksmith's son? In my eyes, both your sons are remarkable." As Merkel spoke, he drew the Damascus Sword. "Though I am somewhat reluctant to admit it, I must be honest: I have never seen such a miraculous sword. And I heard this sword was forged from ordinary wrought iron. Is that true?" The question was directed at Donald.

Donald nodded.

"Then may I know how you did it?"

Donald looked somewhat hesitant. If even one-tenth of those stories were true, Damascus Steel was nothing compared to the truly divine weapons of this world. Perhaps its only advantage was that the material cost was lower. He had never planned to get rich from it, but he was unwilling to simply hand it over so casually.

"Donald, think carefully!" his father urged.

Donald put on a troubled expression, then lowered his head like Richard, wearing the look of someone awaiting punishment.

"It's all right, it's all right. Let the child think about it some more." Merkel had already been mentally prepared. He knew the mystery would not be solved so easily. He stayed and chatted with Old Tom for a while longer before leaving. When he left, although he was reluctant, he still left the sword behind.

After that, Merkel came to sit in the blacksmith's shop every day. Occasionally, he asked Donald about it again, but as usual, got no answer. From his conversations with Old Tom, he quickly concluded that the man really was just an ordinary Country Blacksmith.

Donald stopped forging every day. Sometimes Kelly came to sit with her uncle. Richard resumed his habit of running wild outside for half the day.

When Old Tom spoke with Merkel, he was no longer so reserved. He even began to like this knight who put on no airs. However, in his eyes, Lord Merkel had to be an exception. True nobles should still be lofty and untouchable.

That belief was completely overturned on the day Victor arrived on the island.