Weapon complete!

Ever since his parents had passed away one after the other, Gordon had lived alone.

He enjoyed the freedom, but living in a house by himself could get lonely. Now that Porkchop was here, things would probably liven up.

After working with Porkchop to clear out a small room for his bedroom, Gordon told him to rest for a while and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Having lived alone for years, Gordon considered himself a fairly good cook.

Before long, two enormous fried pork chops were on the dining table, accompanied by a fresh lettuce salad and slices of dried bread-a simple but generous meal.

To Gordon's surprise, although Porkchop was named "Porkchop," this was his first time tasting the food he shared a name with.

Tenderized and marinated, the tender, juicy pork loin was coated in breadcrumbs, fried twice until golden, then topped with a thick, sweet-and-savory sauce. Crisp outside and tender within, it won Porkchop over at once.

Only after asking did Gordon learn that Porkchop's name had nothing to do with his favorite food. Instead, it came from the oval patch of golden fur on his belly, which resembled a fried pork chop.

That inevitably made Gordon think of the name "Beefsteak."

He asked, and sure enough, Beefsteak also had an oval patch on his belly, though his was the dark brown of grilled beef. That was where his name came from.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Gordon asked Porkchop what his mother's name was.

Let me guess-Chicken Cutlet?

But Porkchop said his mother was named "Chichiya," leaving Gordon with a quip stuck in his throat that he could neither spit out nor swallow. He could only hastily end the conversation.

The next day, at first light.

Gordon got out of bed on schedule. After washing up, he went to wake Porkchop, only to discover that Porkchop had risen even earlier than he had.

Fully equipped, Porkchop was already in the little yard outside the front door, swinging his Felyne Pickaxe as he practiced his combat skills.

Gordon was surprised, but also quite pleased. Porkchop might be a little timid, but he worked hard.

Courage could be trained and nurtured, but hard work and perseverance would determine how far he could go.

Gordon walked over and greeted Porkchop, then found his gaze drawn to the equipment he was wearing.

It was clearly armor designed and made specifically for a Felyne's build, probably using leather and some kind of hard nutshell as its main materials.

This was what Porkchop had been carrying in that large bundle.

After asking, Gordon learned that it was called "Acorn Felyne Armor." Its protection was nothing exceptional, but it was light and allowed easy movement, making it a common choice for novice hunting cats.

In that respect, it was much like the Hunter's armor Gordon was currently using.

With Porkchop working so hard, Gordon could hardly slack off. He took off his shirt, grabbed an enormous stone block, and began training his strength.

Porkchop gaped as Gordon lifted and tossed around a stone block that weighed three or four times as much as he did.

He shook his little head and began swinging his Felyne Pickaxe even faster.

The instructor happened to pass Gordon's house. He greeted Gordon, then looked at Porkchop in surprise.

"Is this little fellow your hunting cat?"

"Yes, his name's Porkchop. We only signed our contract yesterday," Gordon said with a smile, setting down the stone block.

"You brat, your luck really knows no bounds."

Ernest chuckled as he scolded him. "Do you know how many hunters can't find a good partner no matter how hard they look? Yet here you are, barely an official hunter, without a single quest under your belt, and you already have a hunting cat partner?"

"H-hello, meow. My name is Porkchop, meow." Porkchop seemed a little nervous around the instructor, but still bowed politely in greeting.

The instructor waved a hand cheerfully. "No need to be so formal. Gordon's always rushing headlong into things, so I'll be counting on you to look after him."

Then he turned back to Gordon. "Oh, right, Gordon. I just ran into the Blacksmith. He asked me to tell you that your Buster Sword is finished. Don't forget to pick it up later."

"Really?!" Gordon's eyes lit up. Thrilled, he said, "I'm going right now!"

With that, he hastily pulled on a shirt, vaulted over the yard wall like a monkey, and ran toward the smithy.

"Meow, meow?!"

Still struggling to catch up with what had happened, Porkchop let out a cry and hurried after him.

Watching the man and cat race away, the instructor shook his head in amusement. "Still rushing about as always. But if a hunter didn't even care about his own new weapon-ha! Could you really call him a hunter?"

Clang, clang, clink! Gordon lifted the cloth curtain at the smithy's entrance and stepped inside, where scorching air and the ringing of metal engulfed him at once.

He wiped away the beads of sweat that the sudden rise in temperature had brought to his forehead and grinned foolishly, unable to contain his excitement.

He could hardly wait.

Ever since his Hunter's Knife had been destroyed, he had felt as though something was missing from his life. Now, that missing piece was about to be restored.

"Oh, Gordon, you're here! Everything's ready. I personally put my heart into forging this one!" boomed the Blacksmith, his face broad and heavy.

Porkchop, following behind Gordon, instinctively ducked his head.

This was the man who scared me yesterday, meow!

As though trying to prove his courage, Porkchop forced himself to raise his head and look straight at the Blacksmith's broad face. But when the Blacksmith looked his way, he couldn't help retreating behind Gordon again.

"Well, well, isn't this the little kitten from yesterday? So you're Gordon's partner!" the Blacksmith said in his booming voice.

Without waiting for Porkchop's reply, he strode over to Gordon and gave his shoulder a heavy pat with the right hand he had spent years using to swing a weighty hammer.

Gordon felt as though a large bear had just swatted him. Anyone less sturdy would probably have been knocked flat.

"Not bad! You're a sturdy lad, worthy of the Great Sword I worked so hard to forge!"

The Blacksmith nodded in satisfaction and said heartily, "Come with me. It can hardly wait, either."

With that, the Blacksmith led the way into the back room, and Gordon and Porkchop hurried after him.

Inside the smithy's back room, a massive, fearsome-looking silver-gray blade lay on a thick, solid wooden worktable, quietly reflecting the cold gleam unique to steel in the furnace's glow.

This Great Sword, called the "Buster Sword," overturned Gordon's understanding of what a "sword" was.

No wonder it was called the Buster Sword. It looked more like an enormous cleaver than a sword.

Its blade was broad and thick, practically a shield. The spine curved sharply, and instead of a pointed tip, its end bent downward into a huge hook.

Yet what surprised Gordon most was not that hooked tip, but the cutting edge-this Great Sword had no edge at all?!

Had the smith forgotten to sharpen the Buster Sword? That was clearly impossible. No one would make a mistake so foolish that calling it amateurish would be giving it too much credit.

Soon, Gordon noticed that the Buster Sword's cutting edge was "hollow"-some kind of mechanism seemed to be concealed inside the blade.

"Starting to see how it works?" the Blacksmith asked, folding his arms with a proud expression.