Doggone Academy-Chapter 37 The Magician's Sword (2)

Chapter 37 The Magician's Sword (2)

As I approached Filin’s Smithy, a woman suddenly squeezed in front of me to slide the door open and enter first.

“…”

I followed her into the smithy.

The smell that greeted me was not that of coal and molten iron typical of a forge but rather the musty scent of old wood.

Despite its name, the inside of the smithy bore little resemblance to a forge; it looked more like a common shop.

On both walls of the space, ornate swords were displayed like jewels in a showcase, an array of exquisite craftsmanship.

The counter was empty, the owner nowhere to be seen.

The woman approached the counter first and pressed the bell.

I stood back in a corner, silently observing.

Ding ding, the bell rang out, and soon after, a white-haired old man with his head half-bald and wearing glasses emerged from the direction of the storeroom to approach the counter.

“Um, looking for something?”

The woman spoke.

“I came to pick up a sword left here by my teacher.”

She handed over a coin with a unique design.

The old man brought out a notebook, spread it on the counter, and asked,

“Let’s see, what’s the name?”

“Sion, Sion Izarel.”

The old man didn’t even bother looking through the notebook and snapped it shut, remarking,

“Ah, you’re the one who crossed the continent with a letter of recommendation. I remember your teacher’s request quite well.”

He then disappeared into the storeroom.

The mention of a letter of recommendation made my ears perk up.

During a moment of silence, the woman glanced briefly behind her.

Her gaze fleetingly crossed mine.

With her hair perfectly aligned as if measured with a ruler, her pale complexion, and uptilted cat-like eyes, her appearance seemed somewhat cold.

For reasons unknown, she appeared to be mindful of me.

It seemed as if she didn’t want me overhearing her conversation with the old man.

Pretending to be interested in the displayed swords, I feigned disregard.

The old man returned, carefully placing a sword on the counter.

“Here, I’ve kept this safe for a good fifteen years. It seems it’s finally going to meet its true owner and see the light of day.”

The sword the old man presented had an unusual, bluish hue that made it stand out from the usual swords.

She took it and after inspecting it by tilting it side to side, sheathes it and straps it to her waist.

In addition to her existing sword, she now had two sheathed at her waist.

Carrying multiple swords did not seem that rare.

“Thank you. I’ll come back soon.”

“Heh heh, you do that.”

There seemed to be a story behind her expressionless facade as she turned around and walked toward the door.

The old man then looked at me.

Was it my turn now?

I approached the counter, placed my hand on it, and looked back briefly.

I intended to start conversing once the woman had completely left and no one else was inside. I had to remain cautious while wearing the mask.

As the woman was pushing the door open, the old man caught sight of Silveryn’s ring on my finger and quietly said,

“Hmm, another recommendation, is it?”

The woman halted at the mention of the word ‘recommendation’ and looked back.

And then, our eyes properly met.

“…”

I couldn’t tell what she was thinking; she just watched me for a moment.

Then Sion, the woman, pushed the door and exited swiftly.

“Cough.”

The old man cleared his throat as if cueing me, and I faced him again.

“Who sent you?”

“It was Professor Silveryn.”

The old man lifted his glasses and scrutinized me closely.

“Silveryn? That woman has taken in a pupil? No, more importantly, why would the pupil of a magician come here?”

“I can’t use magic.”

He gave me a skeptical once-over before pondering for a moment.

“Hmm, I doubt Silveryn’s judgment would be off.”

He then asked,

“Looking for a sword, are you?”

“That’s right.”

He lifted the hinged door of the counter and motioned me over.

“Come inside.”

“…?”

The old man led me to the storeroom and down the stairs to the basement.

A corridor narrow enough for merely two people to pass through stretched lengthwise, with unique swords snugly displayed along both sides.

Leaving me before the staircase, the old man began rummaging among the swords.

“Where do you hail from?”

“Weisel.”

“How long have you held a sword?”

I spoke truthfully without reservation.

“Less than three months.”

He didn’t seem to take issue or nitpick over my brief experience.

“That woman is a mystery sometimes. I would like to see your skills someday myself.”

“Not too long ago, some greenhorn knights came from Weisel. They were preparing for the entrance exam. Do you know them by chance?”

“Probably, yes, they are people I know.”

“Then tell that big fellow to throw that abysmal sword of his away!”

“…?”

“If it’s the big guy I’m thinking of, I have no idea what he’s up to, but I have no intention of meeting them until after the entrance exams.”

“…?”

“If by chance you’d want a sword like that…”

I cut in firmly,

“I’d prefer something sturdy and long-lasting.”

The old man chuckled heartily a few times before responding,

“Ha-ha-ha, well then, you’ve certainly come to the right place.”

He opened a display case, rummaged a few times, and approached me with a sword in hand.

“Try holding this.”

It was an unusual sword with a blade as translucent as glass.

As soon as I gripped the hilt, a crack sound followed, and the blade fractured.

What’s going on? I didn’t do anything?

“This one, suddenly…”

“Tch, give it back. That won’t do.”

The old man, unconcerned, returned it to its place and again went through the display case, muttering to himself. He then handed me another sword.

“How about this one?”

I swung it a few times. Despite being the size of a one-handed sword, it was heavy enough to require both hands.

“It’s a bit heavy.”

“Hmm, not that one, either.”

The swords he presented me with were far from ordinary. It seemed he had no intention of offering me a simple sword.

He began searching once again.

This process might take longer than I thought.

While standing idle, something ill-suited for the basement caught my attention.

A small sapling was placed in a corner where not a trace of sunlight could reach.

It was surrounded by darkness on all sides, and the presence of the sapling there was starkly out of place.

While he was occupied looking at the swords, I took the chance to lightly touch the branches of the sapling.

It was a wonder how it grew so full of life, vibrant with energy in its stems and leaves, in a place where no photosynthesis could occur.

As I was idly playing with it, the old man returned.

Then, I felt a cold sensation on my finger.

A leaf from the sapling had wrapped itself tightly around my index finger.

Seeing this, he dropped the sword he brought for me next to him and said,

“Oh no, this is trouble.”

“…?”

“Just hang in there for a bit.”

Hang in there?

Leaving just those words, the old man hastily ascended to the upper floor.

What was happening?

Before I could fully grasp the situation, another leaf from the sapling slapped onto the back of my hand.

“…!”

I tried to pull my arm, but the whole tree seemed to be coming along, adhering to me as if glued. Trying in vain to peel the leaves off with my nails made no difference.

And these were not ordinary in strength compared to typical trees.

The stem and branches now seemed intent on clinging to my arms.

Trying to kick away the pot only resulted in the sapling coming out, roots and all.

It didn’t stop there; now the roots began to coil around my body as well.

I couldn’t tell if this was a plant or octopus tentacles.

“What is this!”

The old man came back down the stairs, wearing thick gloves inscribed with magic runes. Only when he firmly pulled at the branches did the sapling start to detach.

A living, moving plant—I had never imagined such a thing. Why on earth was such an odd thing here?

After putting the plant back into its pot and covering it roughly with soil, he pushed it into the corner again and commented,

“Didn’t you say you had no magic at all?”

“Yes, I can’t.”

He stood still for a moment, looking at me in apparent disbelief, and asked,

“Are you truly alright?”

The seriousness in his expression seemed genuine.

“Yes? I’m completely fine.”

Was I poisoned or something?

He tapped my shoulder and thigh, checking on my condition.

“Haha, it’s so strange that you look fine even after having your magic drained so quickly.”

“My magic was drained?”

“That plant, it likes humans brimming with magic. I let it be since you said you didn’t know magic, but it seems you were hiding the fact you have a magician’s level of magic.”

“What exactly is that thing…?”

“It’s called the ‘Seedling of Isildrien.’ I don’t know all the details myself. Just received it. It’s a sword that feeds on magic, tough to wield unless one’s a mage.”

“That’s a sword?”

He nodded and lifted the base of the sapling, which now sluggishly flowed into a straight line before stiffening into the semblance of a solid wooden sword.

“Provide it with the right amount of magic, and it becomes harder than steel.”

“…”

“The problem is mages don’t use swords, and most swordsmen lack sufficient magical power. It’s been a pain to find a proper owner for this. I got it when it was knee-high and haven’t found an owner since it grew to jab my ribs.”

Suddenly, I felt a surge of ambition. Sylvain had once mentioned that my magic regeneration was better than that of average mages. Perhaps I could be the one to properly wield this sword.

“May I hold it?”

He pondered for a moment then handed it to me.

“Hmm, you seem well enough, try holding it. If you feel tired or dizzy, give it back immediately.”

“Understood.”

“Here you go.”

I took the wooden sword from him.

It was light, and the hilt fit comfortably in my hand.

They said it siphoned magic; however, it had no effect on me.

I lightly touched the blade with my fingertip.

“…!”

Blood immediately beaded on the tip of my finger. For a wooden sword, it was unimaginably sharp.

It would be perfect for hiding in an emergency. This might just be the very thing for me.

The fact that it drew on magic also appealed to me, the potential to utilize it in various ways depending on the situation.

It seemed there was no need to look for another sword.

Noticing my interest, the old man observed the wooden sword for a moment and then spoke.

“Looks like it’s found its master.”

“How much is it?”

At my question, he furrowed his brows for a moment.

***

Contrary to what I had initially imagined, I left Filin’s forge carrying the pot.

“I still have too much money left.”

And still, the leather pouch was full of gold coins.

I hadn’t even considered that he would give it away for free.

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