When Haruto was five, one of his regular chores was taking the bamboo basket hanging by the door to the village entrance and hauling back charcoal cinders for the furnace.
Godogawa had originally forbidden Haruto from doing these chores, but he was, after all, an adult in his twenties on the inside. Haruto did not want to spend every day waiting to be fed like an actual five-year-old.
Besides, he ate a lot and was strong. As long as he did not fill the bamboo basket to the brim, he could carry it back and forth a few times.
"You've found yourself a fine little helper."
The man who lived next door to the Godogawa Family often said that to Godogawa.
The artisans of the Swordsmith Village devoted themselves wholeheartedly to studying their forging techniques, and few married or had children. So everyone always teased Godogawa about picking up a grandson out of nowhere.
They never spoke of anything else, leaving Haruto unaware of why he was supposed to call Master Goto Grandpa, or of the grief-stricken generation that had once stood between them.
Being transported to another world was not hard to accept. What was hard to accept was ending up somewhere that was not particularly safe, with no way to protect himself.
More than once, five-year-old Haruto had stared at a Nichirin Blade forged by Master Goto and grabbed it with all his strength.
The tip shook wildly. Godogawa would solemnly take it from him, wipe off the fingerprints with a velvet cloth, and put it in its box.
"This blade belongs to... He's a powerfully built Swordsman, so the blade needs to be heavy. That lets him make better use of his size."
Godogawa taught him the techniques of sword forging little by little, but soon discovered