Ch#67
It took several months to complete the weapon. The blade was made much longer and wider than a typical greatsword. The edges were forged into perfect symmetry on both sides. To keep the sword from becoming too heavy, I even grooved the center. It was a new technique I'd just perfected around then."
Pain flickered briefly in Berugon's eyes.
“Once the scabbard was finished, I even named it Soul of Iron Blood. Hoping that sword would become a masterpiece for the ages.”
The knight who received the sword was delighted.
Berugon was a rising star in the Popullosa Weapon District at the time.
Even at his young age, rumors swirled that he had already surpassed the factory chief's skills.
“Not long after, I heard the news. That knight, with my sword, had…….”
Berugon held his breath.
Like a man who had uttered words too horrific to speak.
Tie rushed to Berugon's side at his pained expression.
And grasped his trembling hand tightly, just as a kindergarten teacher would comfort a crying child.
“Factowy Chief……”
Berugon shook his head as if to say he was fine, then continued.
“I despised myself. Because I never imagined the weapon I made, the sword born from my hands, would be used that way.”
Berugon knew it too.
By the nature of weapons, blood was bound to stain their blades.
But he never dreamed it would be the blood of the innocent.
He never imagined one of his weapons could burn down a village and a hospital.
Was that why?
At the time, as he read the letter about the tragedy, visions of his hometown fields flickered before Berugon's eyes.
His mother lying wounded in a hospital bed.
His father already in a coma.
His siblings, who withered away no matter how much food he brought.
The fields of his hometown, where they all left one by one, leaving only nine lonely graves.
“For a while, I couldn't even set foot in the smelting zone. Finally, on the day of that demon's execution, I went blindly to Hederdel.”
Tie gripped Berugon's now trembling hand even tighter, her face scrunched in worry.
“He was laughing from one side of the execution platform. I confronted him in anger. How a human could commit such demonic acts. How he could do such things with my sword……”
She poured out many questions.
But the reply was just two sentences.
‘Blacksmith, you're just the one who made the sword.’
‘How it's used is my business.’
“I remember the road back to Popullosa vividly.”
Berugon had staggered out of the execution grounds that day.
When he boarded the carriage, the square where the execution was underway stood empty.
The village had lost so many that there weren't enough people to witness it.
As the wheels began rolling over the road, something caught the eye of the dazed Berugon.
The cemetery overflowing from prolonged civil war long ago.
The victims' graves stretching endlessly along the roadside forest boundary due to lack of space.
The graves continued on forever. Until Berugon raged and wept, finally giving up everything.
Upon his return, he set aside smithing for a time.
Weapons no longer felt like glorious tools.
Elder blacksmiths and colleagues visited countless times to encourage him, but Berugon just said he needed time.
He shut himself in his lodging for days, agonizing over and over.
What is a weapon?
And what is the hand that wields it?
When he finally emerged after a long time, a new conviction had taken deep root in his mind.
“Weapons are clean and honest.”
But the hands that hold them are always dirty and greedy.
It could be called a deep-seated disgust toward humanity.
Not long after, he began forging weapons again.
But he never named them again.
A blacksmith naming a weapon meant he had melted his soul into it.
Berugon's soul to pour into weapons had already been torn to shreds and vanished.
Along with the ‘Soul of Iron Blood,’ his masterpiece whose whereabouts were now unknown.
“Still, I was a blacksmith. Once I decided to live as one, there were things I couldn't avoid.”
Berugon still had to let others use the weapons he made.
So even if he hated people, he had to deal with them and keep smelting.
“I felt pathetic. Fearing inside that my weapons might kill someone again. Yet having to hide it and continue smithing.”
“…….”
“Well…… that must be my punishment.”
It was then that Berugon turned his gaze to empty air.
A small sniffle came from below.
Looking down, the Sovereign King was crying with a bright red nose.
She was sobbing so pitifully that tear stains marked his knee.
“Factowy Chief did nothing wwong! That knight was bad!”
Berugon furrowed his brow, then thought inwardly.
‘……Strange one.’
The Sovereign King was the monster who had annihilated Krazar while he briefly lost his mind.
She must have seen all sorts of ugly sides of him to reach that point.
Why cry so sadly over someone else's past?
He could hardly believe she led a mercenary group with such a fragile heart.
But still.
His gaze drifted lower, to the small hand clutching his own.
The warmth from the Sovereign King's hand felt strangely unpleasant.
“Ahem!”
Berugon shook his head abruptly.
He felt embarrassed realizing he was being comforted by a mercenary he'd just met today.
He yanked his hand from Astie and added hastily.
“Anyway! I, I have some flaws!”
The Sovereign King looked at him pitifully.
“Fwaws?”
“Flaws, I said! Shortcomings!”
“Showtcomings……?”
“Right! Why do you think I'm notorious across the continent as a bad-tempered blacksmith? It's because of this past of mine—I've been snapping at customers day and night, that's how it turned out.”
Tie widened her eyes, then nodded.
‘So that's how it was.’
Honestly, even Tie had thought the factory chief was a really grumpy person.
From the Armory to now trapped in the subspace, Berugon had mostly been grumpy, angry, or prickly.
Except when he shared his heartbreaking past just now and looked sad.
“But it wasn't always this bad before! I didn't chase away visiting customers outright or anything!”
Tie nodded vigorously to show she was listening.
Berugon let out a “tsk” and continued.
“But starting when I stored Krazar's armament in my lodging, my nerves kept getting sharper……”
Just seeing mercenaries visiting the Armory made his mood plummet.
Even the weapons they brought for repair—once he took them, strange thoughts kept circling his mind.
“Somehow, I felt like the weapons I fixed would harm innocents or something…… Ahem!”
“Factowy Chief twauma?”
“Trauma?”
“Yes!”
Berugon furrowed his brow, then nodded as if it didn't matter.
“I don't know what that is, but anyway, I definitely felt my twisted thoughts leaning in a bad direction more and more.”
Especially after losing his reason and nearly dying after mouthing off to the emperor.
Tie unwittingly parted her lips slightly.
Looking down, Ppuppu had slipped into her cape pocket unnoticed.
From earlier, Ppuppu had been holding its breath, utterly still.
Without the slightest movement, as if it had much to hide.
