Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 114

Whatever the process was like, the result was that Leon’s party was allowed into the Machina Forge. Leon now stood at the front instead of Garlond, following the heavy, thudding steps of the dwarf leading the way.

True to the forge’s name, “Machina,” which meant “machine”, the interior was filled with mechanical devices whose purposes were entirely unclear. Whether or not Leon’s group was gawking at them, the dwarf walked briskly into the forge without hesitation.

“It’s getting hotter,” Garlond muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from the edge of his brow.

It indeed was getting hotter. With every step they took, the heat and humidity intensified.

It was as if the Machina Forge were a living organism, pulsing and circulating heat and steam throughout its body. The clang of hammering rang sharply in the distance, followed shortly by the hiss of bellows exhaling air with rhythmic precision.

Feels like we’ve stepped into a volcanic zone, Leon thought.

It was suffocatingly hot and humid—enough to remind Leon of saunas, one of the cultural elements from the Northern Continent. An average person wouldn’t last for more than a couple of minutes in this environment.

There was a reason the dwarves didn’t take on human apprentices. Regardless of skill in metallurgy or forging, most humans simply couldn’t work in these conditions. Even Garlond, an A-rank adventurer, was dripping with sweat. No human blacksmith, who was at most a bit sturdier than an average man, could endure this.

“Hmph!”

The dwarf, glancing casually over his shoulder, snorted. He’d been checking Leon’s face, likely intending to ridicule him if he was drenched in sweat, but Leon wore a perfectly composed expression as he followed behind.

This was all thanks to his mastery of the Sun Aura. Having reached Expert-level proficiency, Leon had even developed heat resistance.

Reaching the inner forge and workshop, the dwarf banged on the wall with the hammer at his waist and shouted, “Attention! Stop your hammering for a minute, you morons!”

His voice boomed so loud it even caught the attention of the dwarves, who hadn’t lifted their heads once while hammering. Their gazes naturally moved past the shouting dwarf to the three humans standing behind him.

Letting outsiders into the forge while they were attempting Jugend Steel? That had never happened before. A brief moment of stunned silence filled the room. And then, the surrounding dwarves shouted and brandished hammers and chisels, forming a threatening circle around them.

“Gambas, you crazy bastard!”

“We ought to smash your skull in!”

“Who the hell are you to let outsiders walk in here?!”

“Let’s shave that scraggly beard off and toss him out!”

They looked ready to swing at any moment.

The atmosphere was one spark away from exploding. Garlond and Karen both lowered their stances, responding to the hostility.

Dwarves were strong, but at this range, with two A-ranks and Leon, there were few who could take them on all at once. If it came to a fight, the Machina Forge would be out of business in under five minutes.

However, the dwarf who brought them, Gambas, shouted without flinching, “Shut it! Listen to me first!”

Even the other dwarves looked at him like he’d lost his mind at the unexpected audacity. Once everyone’s attention focused on him, Gambas pointed to Leon behind him.

“He’s a challenger! This guy mentioned Rodrick’s Legacy right in front of me! This is a formal challenge to the Machina Forge!”

“He said what...?”

“Rodrick’s Legacy?”

“That human really said that?”

The dwarves, now as wide-eyed as Gambas had been earlier, all turned to stare at Leon. Even if they didn’t fully understand what “Rodrick’s Legacy” meant, the gazes were intense.

Leon, caught in the moment, gave a small nod. Immediately, the forge erupted.

“For real?!”

“How long has it been?!”

“No way this is happening!”

Just then, an older dwarf stepped forward, smacking the backs of the others to shut them up. His beard, braided in eight strands, marked him as a Meister—the leader of the Machina Forge.

“Gambas,” the Meister called.

“Yes, Meister Pedro!”

Gambas, using formal speech for the first time, snapped to attention.

“Explain.”

“Well, here’s what happened—”

Being a dwarf, Gambas’ explanation was brief and to the point. Within minutes, Pedro turned to Leon.

“Interesting,” he muttered, his eyes burning with fire despite his calm voice and expressionless face.

And the moment Leon saw those eyes, he knew that there was no backing out of this.

“So. You invoked that legacy. That means you want to take on a challenge with us, just like Rodrick did?”

“No, I didn’t mean a challe—”

“Oho! Not a challenge? As in, one isn’t enough for you? Incredible! And so young, too! Our greenhorns could learn a thing or two from your guts! Kehaha!”

Pedro not only shut off Leon’s escape, but he also actively cornered him. Going against the usual characteristic of a dwarf, which was straightforward and blunt, he toyed with Leon.

The surrounding blacksmiths bought into it, too. Now they all glared at Leon, united as one.

El-Cid muttered, —Tsk, tsk. These boneheads are the same as ever, I see. Leon, let me borrow your body for a bit.

What?! Why would I let you—

El-Cid cut Leon off, —I’ll handle everything. That’s a promise.

Leon glared at the sword on his waist with distrust, but soon sighed and nodded. And then, his sweat-drenched face twisted into a cocky smirk.

“Well, well.”

“Hm?”

“What’s with all this yapping from the dwarves of Jugend? Do you hammer with your tongues these days?”

“What did you say...?”

Pedro froze, mouth agape.

“Bring it on. All you want.”

Wearing Leon’s face, El-Cid—Rodrick—grinned. It was the same expression that had once earned him the title “Nightmare of Jugend” three hundred years ago.

In a smooth voice, he declared, “If I win, you’ll bring out Rombart.”

Pedro, now frowning, retorted, “Fine! If we win, you’ll serve as our errand boy until our job’s done. Deal?”

“Deal.”

After accepting the bet without a second of hesitation, Leon, or rather, El-Cid, clenched his fist as if testing his grip, or perhaps confirming the feel of the prey already caught in his palm. This was the same hand that had shattered over a thousand blades.

“We’ll start once you’re ready.”

With that declaration from the human, the forge began to boil with a dangerous heat.

***

As all operations in the Machina Forge came to a halt, even the bellows that had ceaselessly fed air and the roaring furnaces fell silent. This was the “Rodrick’s Legacy.”

It was a tradition unique to the dwarves of the Kingdom of Jugend, based on an event from three hundred years ago. To be acknowledged as a success, one had to replicate the feat of Holy King Rodrick and shatter every weapon with a single swing. Those who passed this trial earned the right to demand anything from the dwarves.

“You don’t need to break it in one strike,” said Pedro, once again expressionless. “If we used a demigod like Rodrick as the standard, then no one would ever succeed. You may swing as many times as needed as long as you damage the weapon; that’s the first rule of challenging the Legacy.”

“Then tell me the rest of the rules,” Leon, or rather, El-Cid, asked.

“The second—no damaging the weapon through any means other than using it. The third—you must rely on pure swordsmanship alone.”

There were only three rules for the challenger, but they were crafted to prevent any loopholes. Crashing the weapon into something or forcibly destroying it with Aura violated the second rule. Spirit arts and magic, which relied on external powers, broke the third.

They’ve made it intentionally impossible, Leon thought.

El-Cid, hearing him, chuckled and said inwardly, —Don’t chicken out. Class is about to begin.

Class?

—You’ve probably got Vision and Footwork down by now, so it’s time to teach you something new.

Meanwhile, the dwarves seemed to have finished setting up with scimitars, bastard swords, battle hammers, halberds, and more. Lined up with fierce gazes and weapons in hand, dozens of dwarves glared at him. They’d apparently decided on the order amongst themselves.

The dwarf holding a scimitar stepped forward, scowling.

“I, Rufino, will go first, human! I’ve been a blade forger for a hundred and twenty years! I challenge you with my soul-bound scimitar—Rufus Fang!”

“A scimitar, huh.”

El-Cid reached out and took the blade.

A scimitar was a blade favored by the nomads of the Western Continent, famous for its crescent-shaped curve and razor-sharp edge. Designed more for slicing through leather than metal armor, scimitars prioritized sharpness over durability. A well-forged scimitar wouldn’t even leave bloodstains after a cut.

It was, indeed, a worthy weapon for a dwarf to have poured his soul into. Every curve was flawless—so much so that El-Cid murmured to himself while examining its surface.

“Don’t just look. Use all five senses to feel it,” he muttered as if he were talking to Leon.

He tapped the flatter part of the blade lightly with his left index finger, just enough to make a soft tock sound. Since it was Leon’s body, he could feel the faint Aura trickling into the sword and rebounding within fractions of a second.

Then El-Cid said calmly, “Seventy percent steel, twenty percent black iron, and the rest... mithril? Boosting Aura conductivity. You hammered it out thin using an Eastern lamination technique. Trying to maximize sharpness, right?”

Rufino stared at him like he’d seen a ghost.

“You figured that out from... a tap...?”

El-Cid didn’t answer. He clicked his tongue while gazing at the scimitar’s edge.

“Well-made. Exceptionally sharp. But... far too thin.”

With that, he stepped forward into the open space and suddenly slashed the air in a vertical cut with the scimitar like a bolt of lightning. The most basic form in all swordsmanship cleaved the air, flexing the blade like a drawn bow.

And with a resounding clang! the scimitar snapped. Its thin blade, made to slice cleanly, couldn’t withstand the air resistance of such a swift stroke.

“If it were just 1.4 millimeters thicker, it might’ve held.”

“...”

“...”

The forge, which had been as noisy as a marketplace just minutes ago, fell silent like it had been doused with cold water. No one had seen this coming. Not only had he identified the materials and ratios with a single tap, but he’d also spotted the blade’s weakness and broken it instantly.

Even Rufino, the craftsman, and Pedro, the forge’s one and only Meister, couldn’t replicate such a feat.

“Hoh!”

Even Garlond, who was practically a comrade by now, was awestruck, and it wasn’t because of the broken scimitar. That one vertical cut showed him the vast horizon of Leon’s martial mastery.

And with it, Garlond completely reevaluated Leon. A once-in-a-generation prodigy had returned to the world.

As the murmurs of the crowd faded into silence, El-Cid casually explained what he’d just done.

—What I just showed you was Spacework. Using Aura like blood and nerves, you extend it outside your body to read not just an object you touch, but even the flow of space around it. If you want to truly dominate the field of combat, Spacework is essential.

How’s it different from Aura Sense? Leon asked.

—Several leagues more advanced. Aura Sense can’t read inanimate objects, but this can reveal even their internal structure.

El-Cid continued, —However, Spacework isn’t easy. For you to be able to analyze materials and ratios like I just did, it would take at least ten more years of training.

Is that even necessary?

—Eh, not really.

El-Cid admitted that without protest and reached for another weapon. The second challenger hadn’t stepped forward yet—perhaps still in shock, so El-Cid casually took the mace from the dazed dwarf.

“H-hold on a second!”

The second dwarf called out hastily, seeing Rufino in shock. Unfortunately, before anyone could stop him, the mace shattered into pieces.

The dwarf who’d forged it collapsed to his knees. He’d mined the ore himself and forged it over a week without sleeping. Now it was nothing more than scrap metal.

Crushed by sudden loss, he trembled. He’d even planned to engrave the name “Katrina” on the hilt once it found a worthy wielder.

Before he could cry, Rufino howled first.

“NOOOOO! My Rufus Fang!”

The second dwarf sat beside him and wailed as well.

“WAAAAH! Katrina! KATRINAAAA!”

It was a pitiful sight. Karen and Garlond covered their mouths, struggling to hold in laughter.

These dwarves—who once held their chins high and spat curses like breathing—were now crying like children. Their beards and burly, muscular bodies only made the sight more ridiculous.

“Gulp...”

The other dwarves—those who could relate—all swallowed hard. Rodrick’s Legacy had always been just a game to them, but now, thinking they might lose their beloved masterpieces, their hands wouldn’t let go of their weapons. And yet their pride wouldn’t let them beg for mercy either.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, El-Cid opened his hand and smiled like a devil, saying, “Next?”

That day, the dwarves remembered it all: the screams of their weapons, shattered by Rodrick, and why so many of their predecessors drowned themselves in alcohol.