Hand of Fate

From that day on, Merkel came to the blacksmith shop punctually every morning. After several months of training, Donald was no longer so frail. With the experience from the previous forging, ten days later, the second Thousand-Tempered Sword in the world appeared before Merkel.

Throughout the process—how thin to hammer the wrought iron, how to heat it, how to control the carbon content, how to anneal it afterward, and not to quench it—Donald paused at every critical stage to gesture or explain to Merkel. The latter carefully recorded everything in a small notebook. Donald did not explain the principles to Merkel. It was inconvenient to discuss them, and even if he did, the man would not understand, which would only cause more trouble. Fortunately, weapons of divine quality in this world were also forged through experience, so aside from recording the detailed process, Merkel did not ask a single question.

The sword was more regular in shape than the first one, though it was still blackened. Once polished, the expected beautiful patterns immediately emerged. Merkel closed his notebook with satisfaction. His intuition had not been wrong; that sword had not been a coincidence.

At the end of September, Merkel returned to the city, with Richard accompanying him. It was Richard's first time leaving Lant Island. As the beautiful sailing ship slowly glided out of the harbor and his distant family was about to disappear from sight, Richard suddenly waved with all his strength and shouted, "Father, Brother, I will definitely become a knight!"

Richard set off for a new world carrying his dream of knighthood, while Merkel embarked on his return journey with hopes of reviving his family. As for our dear naturalist, Victor, he remained behind. More than ten days had passed, yet he was still mired in a difficult problem, completely at a loss. Thus, the blacksmith shop did not become as quiet as expected. Victor took the place of his old friend and arrived punctually each day. Without Merkel watching from the side, he completely abandoned his reserve and began "discussing" the Graphics problems that interested him with Donald.

Calling what happened daily in the blacksmith shop a "discussion" was quite inappropriate, because discussion presupposed that the two participants were on equal footing. Yet in Donald's eyes, Victor's foundation in Graphics—geometry—was truly unbearable to behold. Still, considering how badly the man had been tormented by his age-old problem lately, Donald felt somewhat guilty. So this was what happened in the blacksmith shop: Victor would speak animatedly for half the day, spattering saliva as he covered the floor with diagrams. Then Donald would step up and casually add a few strokes. Victor would ponder those strokes for quite a while before suddenly understanding, his face lighting up, after which he would draw another pile of diagrams... and the cycle repeated. Yes, it looked very much like after-class tutoring at a university, except the teacher was far too young compared to the student.

As for the Angle Trisection problem, Donald shook his head and gave no answer. He could not answer it either: the problem had no solution, and as for how to prove it, he did not know.

Such days continued for three full days. Three days later, rather than discussing problems with Donald as usual, Victor put on a more serious expression and proposed hiring Donald as his assistant.

Donald refused.

That evening, the dining table with only father and son seemed somewhat lonely.

"Why not agree to Mr. Victor's offer?"

Donald shook his head, the quiet smile still on his face.

"I know. You're worried about me, worried that I'll become a lonely old man. Richard has left, so you think you have to stay behind."

"When your mother left, you didn't shed a single tear. People said that this child had hidden all his tears in his heart. Ah... my boy, all these things, one after another... you've been wronged..."

Donald did not feel wronged. There was a misunderstanding here, of course, but it was not something he could explain.

"You have talent. The people in town only think you're mute. They're all wrong. They can't see your abilities either... But Lord Merkel and Lord Victor saw them. They saw them at a glance. That sword you forged, those diagrams you drew—I've never seen them before, and I can't understand them. I thought, these must be things this child has hidden in his heart."

"But you used all those abilities to help your younger brother—I know, you raised Richard, didn't you? You only planned for him and never thought of yourself."

The old blacksmith continued speaking to himself without even looking at Donald.

"You're still worried about me. What's there to worry about? I've lived in this town all my life. Who doesn't know Old Tom? What could possibly happen to me?"

"Before your mother left, what worried her most was the two of you. Now that you've both grown up, she can finally rest easy..."

At this point, the old blacksmith slowly rose to his feet, went into the bedroom, and brought out a small iron box. He opened it, took out a letter, and handed it to Donald.

"When your mother left, she left something for you boys. She said that when you grew up... if you could read, I should let you see it. If you couldn't... then forget it..."

"I thought, how could Blacksmith's Son know how to read? Now I understand. Your mother had anticipated this day long ago... If only I could read too. Your mother would surely have left me a letter as well..."

His voice suddenly stopped. Donald looked up to see his father covering his face with both hands, weeping silently.

"Go, Donald. Go with Mr. Victor... One blacksmith is enough for Lant Island."

That night, Donald did not sleep well.

His mother truly had not been from Lant Island. What exactly had she written in her letter? Why had she said to forget it if they could not read? Besides the letter, the iron box also contained his mother's keepsake, the Silver Iris. What did it mean? So this was the hand of fate he had been waiting for, guiding him in a direction?

The next day, Donald accepted Victor's invitation—to become his assistant.

On the first day of October, Donald left Lant Island with Victor. Only Old Tom came to see him off.

As the small boat left the harbor, Donald waved to his father. Just like Richard, though of course, he did not shout.

"First time on a boat?" Victor asked.

Donald nodded, then seemed to recall something and gave a slight shake of his head.

As the boat passed through the bay, someone stood on the island's jutting cliff. It was Kelly.

On that cliff, on the grassy ground where his mother rested, Donald often sat alone and gazed at the coastline opposite. Now Kelly stood there in a long white dress, made even more slender by the autumn sea breeze. Facing the small boat, she waved with all her strength.

"What a beautiful girl. Even more beautiful than her mother was back then!"

Donald waved back as well. She saw him, lowered her hand, and stood quietly. They simply looked at each other from afar until the other became a tiny speck and disappeared beyond the horizon.

The white sail filled with wind, and the boat continued eastward. At last, Lant Island vanished from sight.

That day, the boy left his homeland for the first time.