Bölüm

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Showers of sparks fly, red beams of light flash.

Flakes of burned metal are launched from the horn with every blow. And yet they all just flow harmlessly off of Mr. Welf’s black coat and to the floor. I wonder if it has some of the same qualities as adventurer’s armor…

Wait, that’s it.

His black coat is in such rough shape because it’s his work clothes.

Its black color and worn condition are all proof of how hard he’s worked, how many pieces he’s made.

“I absolutely despise magic swords. That kind of power rots people’s souls. The user, the smith’s pride—anyone and everyone. At the very least, Crozzo’s Magic Swords do.”

The all-powerful magic swords that corrupted their creators.

“Cursed magic swordsmiths.”

I think I finally understand what those words mean.

“I won’t make a magic sword. And even if I did, I’d never put it up for sale.”

Sweat dripping down to his chin, Mr. Welf raises the hammer again.

Another round of echoes rings out. The workshop is drowned out in a fierce melody of impacts.

I’ve been so wrapped up in the spectacle that I forgot to wipe the sweat from my face.

The metallic smell that hit me when I first walked in.

It was so strong that I wanted to cover my nose. But now it seems so far away.

I continue to watch Mr. Welf strike the horn over and over again.

I take a look outside the shutters and see an evening sky. It’s almost nighttime.

At last, Mr. Welf is almost finished.

“…That should do it.”

“Whoa…!”

Mr. Welf emerges from the corner of the workshop carrying a shallow box in his hands. He places it on his workbench.

I lean over the bench to get a good look and see a dark red blade inside.

The cutting edge of the blade is so thin I can almost see through it. It’s just a little bit shorter than the Divine Knife. The blade color matches the Minotaur Horn almost perfectly.

The hilt is a reddish maroon color and is probably shaped to fit my hand.

“T-this…this is…really, really good…!”

“I had good material. Out of all my work so far, this has gotta be my best.”

Mr. Welf smiles from ear to ear with the satisfaction of a job well done.

He’s being modest, but I can tell by the look in his eye he’s very proud of this one. He wouldn’t use the word “best” if he wasn’t.

I bow my head over and over to show my gratitude.

“Ah—sorry. Didn’t have time to make a sheath. I’ll have a custom one ready by tomorrow, so can you put up with a generic one for tonight?”

“S-sure, of course! Actually, it doesn’t have to be tomorrow…It’s already late.”

“Nah, it’s better to finish everything when it’s still warm.

“That’s how metal is,” he says while rotating his right shoulder.

That’s just what a smith would say. Hang on, he actuallyisa smith.I grimace at my own train of thought.

I wonder if all smiths are people like Mr. Welf.Images of their daily life pass through my head as I space out for a moment.

“Now, this guy needs a name.”

He leans over in front of me and takes a long, hard look at the dark red blade.

His eyes narrow as he scratches his chin with his right hand.

I’ve never seen someone focus so hard on something before…He slowly opens his mouth to speak.

“The Young Bull, Ushiwakamaru……No, the Bull Dagger, Minotan.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT! Isn’t the first one so much better?!”

“Huh? You like Ushiwakamaru better, Bell?”

“I don’t even have to think about it!”

I speak so vigorously that spit flies out of my mouth and toward Mr. Welf.

I do my best to convince him to go with the first name. “Okay then…” he says with a very sad look in his eyes, but he accepts it.

“All right, take it.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Welf!”

I grab a sheath from his weapon shelf as he holds the dagger out to me.

I say one more thank-you and reach out to take it from him…Woosh!Suddenly the blade is pointed right at my chest!

“Ehhh?” My jaw slacks in surprise.

“That’s it.”

“Wh-what’s it?”

“That’s the last time you call me that uptight name.”

His words just add to my dumbfounded shock as my eyes peel back.

“We haven’t known each other for long, and I can’t say we completely trust each other, either, but call me something like I call Li’l E.

“Something like friends,” adds Mr. Welf—no, Welf—with a grin.

A smile floats to my lips as I respond.

“Gotcha, Welf.”

He flips the hilt of the blade forward and I grab hold.