Kays Translations

Chapter 155

It was the fifteenth day since the start of the smithing tournament.

My work had entered its climax.

Thinly processed alloys of different colors and hardness were stacked, layer by layer, fixed in place as I imagined the final design.

Once secured, the stacked metal plates were thrust into the roaring furnace, only to be pulled out immediately and hammered.

A moment’s hesitation, a moment’s delay, would ruin everything. The plates had to be struck before they fused completely.

Thrust in. Pull out. Hammer. Repeat. Only after this countless cycle did the alloy stabilize into a single mass.

Then more hammering. Stretch it out. Stretch it out. Fold it back, increase the layers.

While carefully keeping track of the sequence of differently colored alloys forming layers, I repeated the process.

The extended metal sheet was then cut. This time, it was folded in mirror symmetry, stacked again, and hammered.

All of it, just to bring out the ideal pattern—unceasing battle in front of the flames.

The furnace’s heat scorched my face without exaggeration, and the sweat dripping down turned the floor into a mirror.

At the end of it, I finished two slabs of metal—just one step away from becoming a sword. Extinguishing the furnace, I gazed at them in silence.

“…It’s already night, huh. Bass hasn’t been back lately.”

Yesterday, I had explained to Melt that my work was entering its final stages.

I told her I wouldn’t be able to return to the bus for a while longer, and in response she had said: 

“Got it, can’t be helped! I’ll look forward to the finished product!”

She’s growing…! Her mental age is steadily catching up to her physical age…!

Just yesterday, she had firmly refused another recruitment attempt. Surely, by going out into the world and meeting others, her personality was maturing at an accelerated pace.

“…Feeling a little lonely about it, though, is probably just my own selfishness.”

Like a daughter—or maybe a little sister—I couldn’t deny that I’d been watching her with such feelings.

But now, Melt had grown into my true partner, in name and in reality.

“…For such a partner, I’ll forge the finest sword. I’ll get that Heart-Silver, no matter what.”

As I looked at the still-glowing short slabs of metal, I renewed my resolve.

The next day, I visited the Blacksmiths’ Guild.

Today, I would finish shaping the weapon and move on to sharpening.

And finally, for the last step, I would need to accelerate the alloy bonding with a reactive solution, trigger its discoloration effect, and polish it to completion. For that, I needed to borrow some special equipment.

Ordinary workshops did have vats to immerse swords in oil for cooling, but—

What I needed was a tank capable of holding magical reagents strong enough to withstand use on a magic sword.

Since I would be experimenting with different solutions and materials with various effects, I needed equipment that leaned closer to the domain of alchemy than blacksmithing.

“…And that’s why I need a vat capable of handling highly magic reagents. Can you prepare one?”

“Shijima… never thought you were the kind of smith who could craft magic swords. Alright, there’s an old vat used in the past, left in an abandoned workshop. I can’t leave my station, so I’ll just give you the key. Go grab it yourself.”

“My thanks. What about the key? Shall I trouble myself to return it?”

“What kind of talk is that? Nah, just bring it back when you submit your contest entry.”

“Got it.”

At this point, no blacksmith in the guild or the workshop district would bother me anymore.

Just like Melt had become famous in this city, I too had—because of the incident when Shijima’s persona surfaced—become well-known.

“A true old-school craftsman has joined the contest.”

Apparently, many craftsmen treated this competition as a chance to rise in status or show off new techniques.

Of course, most participants simply wanted to test their best work, but outsiders often treated it as a kind of exhibition, which had made the local smiths wary.

Leaving the guild, I made my way to the deepest part of the workshop district.

The stone pavement grew cracked, weeds sprouting through the gaps as if reclaiming civilization.

At the end of the alley stood an old workshop, abandoned, forgotten by time.

“…This place is ancient. Must’ve been abandoned for decades, maybe longer.”

Still, the lock held firm, dutiful in its role even after all those years.

I turned the key. The lock seemed almost to rejoice, ringing with delight as it opened.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the forgotten workshop—

And in that instant, Shijima’s deep experience and knowledge awakened something.

The tools, the traces of work left behind—they projected themselves as vivid visions into my mind, no, before my very eyes, as if I were reading their memories through some kind of psychic power.

“…These are… the memories of a craftsman?”

Like an illusion, overlapping with reality, the workshop’s past appeared.

Inside the sunlit forge, the light caught golden hair that shimmered as it swayed—a woman’s figure.

Her movements—hammering a sword, chiseling armor—were dazzlingly beautiful.

So graceful it felt like a sacred ritual, something precious.

She set down her hammer, stretched—and in that motion, a single golden strand of hair, along with a jet-black feather fallen from a wing, drifted to the floor.

For she had wings sprouting from both shoulders, from her shoulder blades.

Such a race must exist in this world, I thought, mysterious and beautiful, as I gazed at the vision.

Soon, the vision faded, the past overlapping reality was overwritten by the dust and ruin of the present.

“…Thank you, for quietly watching—”

Just before it vanished, I definitely heard it. That voice… the past vision had spoken directly to me, here and now—

“Was that just now… the memory of this place…?”

The old workshop, covered in dust, its furnace long since extinguished, countless years gone by.

I couldn’t quite explain what I had just witnessed.

Then, within the thick dust, I picked up strands of long golden hair that still shimmered faintly, along with a jet-black feather as if it had fallen straight out of the darkness.

“…That must have been… the ‘Golden-Thread Maiden’, right?”

I understood instinctively. She must have been the supreme master, the one reigning at the very pinnacle of all craftsmen.

So it seems… my guess had been wrong.

“…So she wasn’t actually a giant Syrian hamster… this ‘Golden-Thread Maiden’…”

Well, I had heard she lived in Hamsterdam, after all.

Back at my own workshop, I carefully washed the vat I had retrieved.

It must have been made of some special material, because despite the long years, it hadn’t rusted or chipped. Just washing it was enough to make it shine as if brand-new.

“All the tools are ready… Now all that’s left is to cut the metal into the shape of a sword.”

If it were a katana, it would be forged into shape by hammering.

But this time, I had formed the layers using a special method. To avoid warping them, I would cut it into shape instead.

The furnace burned hot, softening the long, tempered alloy slabs.

I pulled one out at just the right moment, and with a single breath, cut into the slightly softened metal with a chisel.

Repeating the process, I ended up with two slabs that faintly resembled the target shape of a sword.

Now, I just had to refine the form, shape the blade, sharpen, polish, and immerse it in the solution.

Alright… this was the final stretch.

Resolved to stay up all night, I lost myself once more in the craft of smithing.

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

Melt, who had taken on a protection job that day, was being treated to dinner at a tavern by the blacksmith she had guarded during his mining expedition.

They were all dwarves, brawny beastmen, and other races proud of their strength.

“A toast to Melt, the young lady! Hah, it’s been ages since I could gather materials without having to worry about danger!”

“Ain’t that the truth! Out in the countryside, there’s barely any adventurers strong enough for real subjugations. Even if you hired one as a guard, the best they could do was run with you or stall for time. But you wiped out everything in sight! Can’t thank you enough!”

“Exactly! Now we just need to keep things under control so nothing else sneaks in. It won’t be perfect, but from here on, the city’s adventurers should be able to handle things just fine.”

“Heehee, I’m glad you’re all so happy.”

Melt happily munched on roasted duck.

Tonight, not just duck meat, but also a fluffy omelette made with duck eggs was set before her. Completely satisfied, she filled her belly, smiling brightly.

Her adorable and hearty way of eating, coupled with the fact that she was much younger than them, made the seasoned craftsmen dote on her like a daughter.

“So, are you all entering the smithing tournament too?”

“Among us, I’m the only one. These two are strictly material makers.”

“Yeah, we usually make building materials for castles or tools for other craftsmen. But just for this season, we’re working on side jobs making alloy ingots.”

“Materials sell high this time of year. It’s good money. And hey, you’re the only one of us entering, so you better at least make some kind of showing, eh?”

“Hah, that might be a tall order. Still, I take pride in crafting solid, sturdy, and affordable gear. I’m sure some adventurer out there will become a fan of my work again this time.”

With that, the laughter and the meal carried on warmly.

Melt, deeply impressed, thought to herself: “So there are people who join for reasons like that too, to use the tournament that way.”

Same profession, same event—but with so many different motivations and perspectives.

Little by little, she grew wiser again, absorbing the emotions, motives, and ways of thinking of others.

“Hey, you guys hear? Last year’s winners, the ‘Golhar Workshop,’ apparently they’ve started buying up all the materials. For me, I don’t mind since it means prices are up, but as a craftsman of this city, honestly, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Yeah, I heard. Thanks to that, the sword I’m working on now—I have to make it my best piece ever. There won’t be a next chance.”

“So that means… this year’s champion will be Golhar Workshop again, huh? Every year they drag some noble brat all the way from Lindblum, rent out a giant shared workshop, and who knows how many people they have working together on a single piece.”

It was a lively night of drinking, but that comment cast a small shadow over the atmosphere.

Even Melt understood now that this “Golhar Workshop” operated in a way that was practically breaking the rules.
But—she just laughed confidently.

“It’s fine! This year’s winner will definitely be Shijima!”

“What’s this? You got a friend competing too, missy?”

“Yep! I don’t even know what kind of sword he’s made before, but I believe he’ll create something amazing! That’s why—he won’t lose to anyone!”

“Hahaha! Well, if he’s your friend, then maybe it’s possible.”

They only half-believed her words, but still, everyone chuckled in good spirits.

“…It’s done. All that’s left is to immerse it in the reactive solution.”

Night. No light filtering in from the windows—only the glow of the furnace illuminated the workshop.

In my hands were two daggers, their shaping and sharpening complete. I examined them closely.

“…Right now, they’re just gold-infused Damascus daggers… Beautiful enough as they are, but… this is where the real work begins.”

I’d already tested the alloy with trial runs and finished the preparations for the reactive solution.

What remained was to decide what powerful, mystical material I would steep alongside them. That would enhance the daggers’ quality, strengthen their affinity for magic, and, at the same time, stain their blades pitch black with the chemical reaction.

That final process ought to be done in the light of day. With that decision, I called an end to tonight’s work.

“Once they’re done tomorrow, I need to call Melt right away. The grips still need adjusting too.”

Only the blades were complete. With barely two weeks left until the tournament, every moment mattered.

For the finishing touches, I resigned myself to another night in the workshop.

“…Guess I’ll have to hit the public baths first thing in the morning tomorrow.”

“First thing in the morning, the public baths—”

Behind Shijima’s workshop, a shadowy figure pressed a strange device against the wall, eavesdropping on the inside.

This was the craftsman from outside who had been making waves lately.
The spy had come to gauge his skills—and to wait for the right moment to strike.

“Tomorrow morning… huh.”

Muttering to himself, he melted back into the darkness.

And the night deepened—

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