Following my goddess's orders, I bought around five swords and spears made in the distinctive style of the City of Sword Emperors. When I returned to the hotel... there was some little kid there?
"Who are you?"
"..."
"I asked you. Who are you?"
"..."
"I'll ask one last time. If you do not answer, I'll consider you an illegal intruder and throw you out."
"...Welf."
"Your surname?"
He frowned, apparently hating the idea of giving his name. But when I dropped Ghal Maraz, Skull-Splitter from my shoulder to the floor with a thud, he flinched for a moment before obediently spitting it out.
"Crozzo... My name is Welf Crozzo."
Hmm... Come to think of it, the original story said that seven years before its starting point, Lady Hephaestus had come to Joringham, the City of Sword Emperors, met Welf Crozzo after he ran away from his family, and taken him in.
It had been almost three years since I fell into this world, so the timeline checked out.
"Nice to meet you. Lady Hephaestus probably brought you here to accept you as a Familia member. Have you received a Falna yet?"
"...Not yet. I'll get a conversion later."
"I see. I'm Smith, a High Smith from Orario. My title is Homeros, the Keeper of Illusions. If you formally join the Familia, we will probably be seeing a lot of each other."
"...Aren't you a battle smith?"
"I am a battle smith too. But my main profession will always be High Smith."
"What do you mean, we'll be seeing a lot of each other?"
"You're a Crozzo, aren't you?"
Welf's face immediately crumpled. Well... ah, right. Once I remembered why Welf refused to make magic swords, it felt as though my face was rotting beneath my helm.
"...I won't make magic swords!"
"...Why not?"
"...Magic swords aren't weapons. A weapon is something that passes through the battlefield alongside its owner, brightly illuminating their life and will—that's what I think.
A magic sword gains easy power and cuts down countless lives meaninglessly, then in the end, it abandons its corrupted owner and leaves first because of that same easily gained power. That isn't a weapon. It's just a consumable used to cast magic easily.
If someone wants this kind of power, a power that does nothing but create consumables, then I'd gladly hand it over.
A weapon is not simply for killing. It is a partner that never betrays its user, that remains with them and protects them until the very end, even if it must stand alone.
Compared to that, magic swords are nothing but foul things that always leave their users behind first, corrupting the worth of people and making the smith who created them forget their pride!
I won't become a blacksmith with the power of this filthy blood! I want to throw away this blood altogether! Without the power of this blood, with nothing but my own strength and will, I'll reach the supreme realm!"
He grew more impassioned as he spoke, and by the end, his emotions must have exploded; he was outright shouting and panting for breath.
"Huff... huff..."
"Are you finished?"
"...Yeah."
"Lady Hephaestus, for the moment, I would like to set aside the name Talos, your escort, and return to being Smith, a blacksmith of Orario. Will you permit it?"
"...Go ahead. But... no, never mind."
My goddess, who had been listening from behind us since midway through the conversation, gave her permission. I removed my helm and, for the first time in a while, showed my bare face to someone other than Lady Hephaestus.
"Yes. From this moment on, I will deal with you not as Talos, an escort, but as Smith, a blacksmith."
"..."
"You have no right to bear the calling of a blacksmith. I do not recognize you as a blacksmith."
"What the...!"
"Shut up and listen, brat."
Though he had neither yelled nor raised his voice, Smith's words struck Welf's ears harder than any sound possibly could.
"..."
"If you even tried imitating a blacksmith, you would understand. You would understand just how lofty the supreme realm you speak of is, and how arduous the journey leading to it has been paved.
And yet, because you don't like your blood, despite possessing sufficient talent, you say, [I won't become a blacksmith with the power of this filthy blood.]
Ha... Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Ahahahahahahahahahahaha!
A masterpiece! A true masterpiece! I cannot hold back my laughter! With that rotten mindset, you call yourself a blacksmith and claim you will aim for the supreme realm?"
In an instant, Smith's face twisted as though he had been possessed by a demon.
"Enough!
All blacksmiths temper themselves with the supreme realm attained by the smithing gods as their goal. That is why we know that goal leads onward through a grueling path.
We devote everything we possess—or wring it out of ourselves even if we do not possess it—to reach the supreme realm.
Blood, talent, eyes, Skills manifested through Falna, magic—we hold nothing back. We devote everything and press onward.
And what are you?
Magic swords aren't weapons, they're consumables that merely spit out magic, they're nothing more than easily gained power... You spout nothing but that shit, throw away the talent you possess, and say you'll reach that realm through everything else? Ha. What a joke.
I'm not condemning you for refusing to make magic swords. Whether you make them is your choice; it is not my place to say otherwise.
But I cannot possibly overlook that rotten ideology of yours.
To begin with, weapons are tools. They are consumables. Once something is made, it is inevitable that the day will come when it reaches its end.
When a mother gives birth to a child, does she say, [This child will die someday, so I simply won't give birth to them]?
Tools exist to be used in the first place. From the moment they are made, weapons are [born] to protect their owners and cut down enemies; magic tools are born to enact simple magic; magic swords are born to fire magic.
Have you ever seen an adventurer slaughter pigs with a greatsword made to cut down monsters?
Have you ever seen a mage try to freeze water with a spell meant to burn things?
No! A tool can only be said to be properly used when it is used in accordance with the purpose for which it was born!
Magic swords are merely consumables for firing magic? That's right. So what the hell about it?
They are easily gained power? The ordinary iron swords we make are also easy power, meant to substitute for ordinary hands and feet!
If you were truly a blacksmith who wanted to create weapons, then you should embrace even magic swords as your children! What kind of parent discriminates against their own child?"
There was no need for him to catch his breath, but he paused for a moment before looking straight at Welf, who was glaring at him, and speaking again.
"And what am I supposed to say when I see a goose that has wings it can spread itself, yet insists on flying through the sky using only the webbing on its feet?
You refuse to use the talent dwelling within you, calling it a talent for making foul things, and yet you call yourself a blacksmith while aiming for the supreme realm...
What you are doing right now is—
[nothing but deception.]
[nothing but conceit.]
[nothing but arrogance.]
If, after reaching mastery, you decided to undertake the [challenge] of making a magic sword through your own power without relying on the blood that creates magic swords, then you would always be welcome! The very desire to improve is the essence of being a blacksmith!
But what are you right now? You're just a child throwing a tantrum! There's a limit to how picky you can be!
You haven't reached mastery and judged your own abilities before making a decision. You're merely pretending to be a novice blacksmith, yet you say you won't use what you have?
Don't give me that shit!
And magic swords corrupt their owners and leave first? Do you not think at all, you bastard?
You say you won't make magic swords because they're consumables. If you hate that, then make a magic sword that isn't consumed!
Have you ever even thought about making a magic sword that will not leave first?
Have you ever considered why magic swords break down the more they are used?
Have you ever, even once, considered how to reduce the effects of that self-destruction?"
"..."
I asked, but as expected, there was no answer.
"Not once, right! You were just a brat drunk on the superficial coolness of saying, 'I'm a noble blacksmith who doesn't use the filthy blood that makes magic swords! I'm a revolutionary of the Crozzo family!'
You curse magic swords as filthy over and over, but never once thought about or tried to find a way to move forward. And then what?
[Without the power of this filthy blood, with nothing but my own strength and will, I'll reach the supreme realm!] you say?
If you truly thought that blood was filthy, then why didn't you throw away that name?
Why didn't you throw away the surname [Crozzo]?
You kept the Crozzo name in the first place because you wanted other people to recognize that you were a Crozzo, didn't you?
You wanted to boast like some childish brat, [I bear the blood and name of Crozzo, and I resist that fate!]
Even if you receive Lady Hephaestus's emblem and join this Familia, even if you gain the Smithing ability and become a High Smith, even if the captain recognizes you, even if your name rings through every street in Orario and no one—from the poorest to the richest—fails to know it.
I will not recognize you as a blacksmith.
Unless you change that rotten ideology, you will forever be nothing more than a brat pretending to be a blacksmith in my eyes.
You greenhorn, all style and no substance."
With those final words, I put my helm back on, took only Ghal Maraz, Skull-Splitter, jumped out the window, and headed toward Smithing Street.
I needed to make something before this rage would settle down.
...Sigh.
The night sky is fucking beautiful...