Capítulo 640: Five Days
The tension inside the forge beca almost physical—dense, heavy, as if the air were made of molten iron about to cool.
Brokk and Sindri were motionless.
Sapphire, who rarely fell silent, blinked twice, confused by the sudden silence.
Vergil rely watched, arms crossed, as if witnessing the most interesting part of the play.
Brokk finally opened his mouth.
A word ca out, drawn out, heavy as a rock thrown downhill:
“…A scythe?”
Sapphire gave a firm nod.
“Yes. A scythe.”
Silence.
The two dwarves looked at Fafnir’s tooth.
Then at Vergil.
Then at Sapphire.
Then at each other.
Then, again, at Sapphire.
Sindri was the first to react, frowning with the desperate delicacy of a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“Excuse … just to be sure… you really an… a scythe? The agricultural weapon that cuts wheat?”
“The weapon that reaps souls,” Sapphire corrected casually, braced the weight of her tooth on the ground with a THUNK so loud it made the anvil rattle. “Not a wheat cutter. A legendary weapon. And it needs to be perfect.”
Brokk pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it turned red.
“You want , BROKK, blacksmith of the gods, craftsman of Odin’s Spear, creator of Mjolnir, to build… a farr’s weapon?”
“A SCYTHE,” Sapphire repeated, already losing patience. “For combat. With the power of Fafnir. With runes. And perfect balance. A weapon worthy of a Demon King.”
Vergil raised an eyebrow, slightly amused—though he was trying to hide the faint interest glistening in his eyes.
Brokk raised his hand, gesturing for silence, as if he needed a mont to regain his composure.
He took a deep breath.
And then he shouted…
“I’VE NEVER MADE A SCYTHE IN MY LIFE, WOMAN!”
Sindri nodded desperately, confirming.
“We… never… made one. Never!” He gestured so frantically that his glasses almost fell off. “Axes, hamrs, swords, spears, crossbows, mystical chains, living scabbards, armor that sings when you walk, THOSE THINGS we make. But scythes? No! That’s—that’s—”
“—APPRENTICE BLACKSMITH STUFF!” Brokk finished, indignant.
“From soone who makes rural tools for farrs, common dwarves, mortals! We make DIVINE weapons! We work for GODS! Do you understand? GODS!”
Sapphire blinked very slowly.
Then she repeated, with the calm of soone threatening to set an entire valley ablaze:
“A. Scythe.”
The dwarves grew even paler.
Vergil observed the chaos with the dangerous serenity of soone planning to remain silent until the last second before unleashing a devastating logic bomb.
Sapphire rested her hand on her hip.
“You are the two greatest blacksmiths in Norse mythology. Creators of the most legendary weapons of the nine realms. You worked for gods, giants, spirits, entire kingdoms!”
She pointed dramatically to the giant tooth.
“And you want to tell you can’t turn this into a scythe?”
Brokk pressed a finger against his temple, as if his brain were trying to escape.
“SAPPHIRE. We’re not saying we can’t do it. We’re saying that—”
“WE’VE NEVER MADE ONE!” Sindri finished again, almost crying.
“This… this… this is new! It’s strange! It’s specific! It’s—”
“—CHALLENGING,” Vergil concluded, finally joining the conversation.
The three turned to him.
Vergil ran his hand down his tooth, feeling the draconic pulse beneath his fingers—the heat, the strength, the life condensed in magical ivory.
His voice was calm, deep, almost ditative.
“And everything that is challenging is worth doing.”
Brokk’s eyes widened.
Sindri swallowed hard.
Sapphire smiled silently, proud—because she recognized that tone in Vergil’s eyes.
It was the sa look he had when facing sothing impossible.
He continued:
“You forged weapons for gods who knew exactly what they wanted.
But you never created sothing new… sothing that didn’t exist before.”
He touched his tooth, which glead in response.
“Perhaps… this is the first ti.”
A tense silence fell over everyone.
Brokk scratched his blue beard.
Sindri pursed his lips.
The two dwarves exchanged a silent, complex look—an entire conversation without words, made only of expressions, ancient mories, ancestral pride, and characteristic stubbornness.
Vergil took a step back, making room.
Sapphire watched, arms crossed, but with a smile that slowly grew—a smile that said this is getting interesting.
Finally, Brokk sighed—a heavy sigh, defeated and proud at the sa ti.
“…The boy has a point.”
Sindri agreed.
“He does… and it’s irritating to admit it.”
Brokk slamd his hamr on the ground, creating a sound that echoed throughout the forge.
“A SCYTHE, THEN!”
Sindri took a deep breath, already ntally analyzing each rune he would need to reinvent.
“But it will be the most complex, most temperantal, most powerful, and most suicidally dangerous scythe that has ever existed.”
Sapphire grinned fiercely.
“That’s exactly what I want.”
Vergil tilted his head, satisfied.
Brokk pointed the hamr at Vergil as if about to scold him.
“But you there, bright-eyed boy, you’re going to have to use this!”
Vergil gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile.
“I know.”
Sindri added:
“And you’ll have to get used to the balance of a weapon that… uh… technically wants to kill you every ti you swing it.”
Vergil:
“I learn fast.”
Brokk snorted.
“Better learn, or you’ll die before the weapon is ready.”
Sapphire clapped once.
“Then we’re all set.”
The dwarves sighed in unison.
Brokk:
“Yes. We are.”
Sindri:
“Even though I’ll regret this until the end of ti.”
Sapphire crossed her arms behind her back, swaying her weight in satisfaction.
“Great. Because this scythe will be his main weapon in the Celestial Tournant.”
The two dwarves held their breath.
And said at the sa ti:
“YOU’RE GOING TO USE THIS THING IN A DIVINE TOURNANT?!”
Sapphire smiled as if she had just thrown gasoline on a fire.
“Of course. Why do you think I brought the best possible material?”
Vergil added, with almost insolent serenity:
“And why do you think we need the best blacksmiths?”
The dwarves exchanged one last silent look.
And finally, together:
“…Oh, damn.”
Sapphire smiled.
Vergil did too.
The forge was about to start singing.
Sapphire stood there, hands on her hips, the colossal tooth behind her radiating heat like a small star trapped in the earth. Brokk and Sindri… didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. They looked like two pieces of clay in deep shock.
She repeated, with deadly naturalness:
“Five days.”
The silence that followed was so thick that Vergil, for a mont, thought that air itself had ceased to exist.
Until Brokk finally regained movent—not gradually, but all at once, as if soone had poked a grumpy bear with a giant spear.
He took a step forward, his blue face turning a purple hue of indignation.
“FIVE DAYS?!”
Vergil took a half-step back just in case.
Sindri, beside him, put his hands to his head.
“Five days? FIVE? But… but… but… Th-this is ABSURD! This is IMPOSSIBLE! A FAFNIR TOOTH SCYTHE WITH HEATED DRACRON BLOOD? The tooth is still… ALIVE, Sapphire!! ALIVE!”
Brokk confird, pointing with his hamr at the tooth as if it were an animal about to leap.
“THIS THING WILL TRY TO KILL US AS SOON AS WE START HITTING IT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH PAIN IT FEELS?!”
Sapphire shrugged.
“Ah, Fafnir survives. He always survives.”
“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE DRAGON!!” Brokk yelled, his face turning even darker blue. “I’M TALKING ABOUT US! WE’RE THE ONES WHO ARE GOING TO DIE HERE!”
Sindri, nearly fainting, stretched out his trembling hands:
“And… and five days… five days isn’t even ti to temper the tal! We can’t apply runes! We can’t record the magic circuits! We can’t stabilize the blood flow! We can’t—”
Sapphire raised her hand.
“Calm down.”
They both stopped—not out of obedience, but because they were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Vergil cleared his throat, observing the scene with the sa serene interest with which one watches a fire begin.
Sapphire smiled, completely calm, absolutely cruel and perfectly sweet.
“I believe in you.”
Brokk opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it.
Closed it again.
Then he exploded:
“THIS IS NOT THE TI TO TALK MOTIVATIONAL NONSENSE!!”
Vergil had to turn his face away to hide his smile.
Sindri took a deep breath, trying to reorganize his anxiety into complete sentences.
“S-Sapphire… a scythe… a SCYTHE… made from an active dragon tooth… bathed in Fafnir’s blood… forged with unstable runes… in FIVE DAYS… you… you have any idea what you’re asking for?”
“I do,” she said.
Brokk kicked a stone with such force that it pierced a tree ten ters away.
“You think we’re GODS?!”
“Yes,” Sapphire replied, without a second’s hesitation.
The two dwarves froze.
Vergil watched intently. Sapphire rarely used that voice—that quiet firmness that could stop a mountain.
“I trust you both more than any other blacksmith in the Nine Realms,” Sapphire continued. “And I need this weapon before the Celestial Tournant.”
The dwarves exchanged a glance.
A look filled with:
— “We’ve done stupid things before…”
— “But this… this is suicide…”
— “Although…”
— “Although it’s an incredible challenge…”
— “Although the pay is absurd…”
— “Although the honor is tempting…”
They turned to Sapphire at the sa ti.
Sindri stamred:
“Five… days…?”
Brokk repeated, incredulous:
“FIVE…?”
Sapphire smiled triumphantly:
“Five.”
Brokk’s eyes widened—then he took a step forward, puffing out his chest.
“FUCK IT! Then we’ll do it!”
Sindri choked on his breath.
“Let’s… let’s?? Brokk! Have you gone mad?!”
“I’VE BEEN MAD FOR AGES, YOU IDIOT! But that’s what we do: impossible feats! If we’re going to die, let it be hamring sothing that no one has ever dared to do!”
Sindri blinked—once, twice, three tis.
Vergil watched the dwarf’s perfectly clean ntal gears turn until they jamd.
Then Sindri let out a shout:
“FINE THEN! LET’S DIE WORKING!”
Sapphire clapped her hands, beaming.
“I knew you’d agree!”
Vergil sighed, crossing his arms.
“They always agree when you indirectly threaten their sanity?”
“It’s the right thod,” she replied softly.
Brokk pointed at the two demons like a furious general preparing his army.
“YOU TWO! CO BACK HERE IN FIVE DAYS!”
Sindri raised his hand, two trembling fingers.
“But… please, bring sedatives. And maybe… antivenom for magical burns. Or a blessing from Eir. Or a miracle. Any miracle.”
Sapphire tilted her head, amused.
“You can do it.”
Brokk snorted, already dragging the colossal tooth into the forge.
“I can do it! Now, staying alive until the end… that’s another story!!”
Sindri ran after him, stressed beyond asure:
“DON’T DO IT LIKE THAT!! THE TOOTH IS STILL OVERHEATING DRACÓNICLY!! YOU’RE GOING TO EXPLO—”
BOOOOOOM!!! A small blue explosion illuminated the forge door.
Brokk erged coughing smoke.
“He’s all set.”
Sapphire smiled.
Vergil looked at her.
“Five days, then?”
“Five days.”
Sapphire turned to climb the luminous branches of Vanaheim, ready to leave.
Vergil spread his wings.
“Do you think they’ll survive?”
Sapphire laughed, giving a small spin in the air.
“Absolutely.”
She paused dramatically.
“Probably.”
Vergil narrowed his eyes.
“…Sapphire.”
She shrugged.
“Look, Brokk survived Thor, Odin, and several fits of rage. Sindri survived Brokk. They’ll manage.”
She took Vergil’s wrist.
“Co on. We have five days until the weapon is ready… and before that we still need to visit soone.”
“Who?” Vergil questioned. He was already going crazy. In just a few hours he had already seen Fafnir and the legendary blacksmith brothers. Who’s the next madman he’s going to et?
Sapphire laughed, pulling him towards the portal. “You’ll see,” she said smiling, and entered the portal.
Behind them, inside the forge, Brokk shouted:
“SINDRI, HOLD THIS THING RIGHT!”
“I-I’M TRYING NOT TO DIE, BROKK!!”
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