Ti almost stopped around Dain. Ruvian noticed that Dain’s gaze unintentionally found the broken sword.
It wasn’t positioned to catch attention in the way polished antiques were ant to glow under curated lighting.
No, this one just sat there.
A little too purposeful in its neglect.
Ruvian hadn’t ant to direct the conversation there. Well, he had to, but not this soon. ’Can’t help it, this is my chance to confirm what I want to know.’
Ruvian’s words seed to awaken a buried feeling inside Dain’s heart. His eyes, once glimring with laughter, dimd. He was recalling a mory that he had hidden away long ago.
A blanket of silence fell between them.
Ruvian spoke calmly, breaking the quiet.
"So, was it for a client? Are you fixing it for soone?"
Dain replied to him.
"No, it’s not a client’s request. I just put it on display."
His words were like a half-truth, and at the sa ti, he was holding on not to falter. Ruvian tilted his head, pretending to think about the honesty in those words.
He stepped closer.
"Can I get a better look at it?"
Dain hesitated for a mont, glancing at the sword, then nodded reluctantly.
Gared sent a warning look at him, but Ruvian filed it under ’expected response’ and moved on.
Dain lifted the weapon from the wall with a care that bordered on reverence and set it gently on the long table, then stood with arms crossed.
"It’s heavy," he muttered, sounding protective.
"Not sothing for a kid like you to ss with."
Ruvian gazed at the sword. mories hit him; this sword sparked the first few brainstorming talks he had with the author.
A sword that held deep aning for Dain.
"This looks like it wasn’t made for just anyone."
Dain’s frown deepened, yet Ruvian’s words struck harder than the blacksmith was willing to face. And Dain, for reasons he couldn’t quite place, found himself listening.
Ruvian’s fingers hovered over the blade slowly.
This sword was exactly what Yuzuki had imagined, every detail lining up with the plan he once obsessed over.
The sight of it stirred a bittersweet nostalgia. Those first days working with the author, when the workload was lighter, and when he hadn’t yet learned how exhausting collaboration could be.
’So down to the last line in her footnotes. She’d been annoyingly precise with my suggestion, I still can’t believe that she did accept my suggestion for this. She normally rejected most of them.’
Ruvian’s eyes flicked back to Dain, his usually guarded expression faltering. Only slightly, but Ruvian had long since learned how to read people in incrents.
"You were the one who crafted this, weren’t you?" Ruvian asked.
Dain’s throat moved, but no words ca. Ruvian didn’t push. Instead, he added the next piece gradually.
"Were you also the one who enchanted it?"
This ti, Dain hadn’t prepped for the question.
"Can you... read enchantnts?"
Ruvian shook his head, the corners of his mouth pulling into a knowing smirk. "No." he paused, then added, almost teasingly.
"I was just guessing."
"This sword belonged to soone special to you, didn’t it?"
Dain brushed his fingers lightly over the blade.
"...Yeah, it was," his grip on the sword tightened.
He sighed dejectedly.
"Elfred..."
Dain’s broad fra rose; the forge’s fire threw his shadowy outline across the table.
"I had a younger brother. Elfred, that was his na."
Gared simply remained silent and listened to his father’s story with a sorrowful expression, even though he had already learned about it a long ti ago.
"That boy forever chasing the horizon, hungry for sothing greater than the life he was born into. While I remained shackled to this forge, hamring steel into shape day after day... he had taken a different life."
Dain spoke with deep lancholy, as Elfred’s stories were packed with lost ruins and Voidspawns hunting.
"Ha! I did try to convince that fool, though. I still can’t believe he used to say a sword was a promise, a pledge to never fail its lord."
Dain let out a sour, hollow scoff.
"Hahaha! And what did you know, I had reminded him countless tis, but that brat..."
He sighed. "...That brat thought he was invincible, regardless of how many tis I told him to be careful."
Dain’s fingers traced the jagged edge where the blade had shattered. And yet, this broken sword before them was all the proof they needed that invincibility was just an illusion.
"But truthfully, I don’t think that it was the sword that failed him." Dain quietly said.
’It was who could’ve done better. If only the sword that I forged didn’t break... perhaps, Elfred would still be here.’
Dain deeply thought about it.
But no matter how ticulously forged, no matter the strength poured into it... it had broken. And in its fall, it had claid the life of the one who had trusted it.
Dain had forged many weapons in his years. Countless blades, each with its own purpose. But this one, this one would forever haunt him.
Ruvian said nothing and just remained quiet as he listened to the story.
Dain exhaled as if shaking off the heavy pressure that had settled over them. With careful hands, he returned the broken sword to its display, its presence once again relegated to the wall.
He turned back to Ruvian, his gruff voice returning as though nothing had changed.
"You’ve got a good eye for smithing," he said, the words rough but honest. "Not sothing you find every day, even in this small town. If you’re interested, you could work here, kid."
"? Work here?" Ruvian raised an eyebrow, a mont of surprise crossing his face.
Dain gave a simple nod.
"Tempting, but I’ll be heading to the academy in two weeks."
Dain snorted, a dry laugh escaping him. "Heh. A scholar, huh?"
Ruvian paused, then spoke, the words slipping out almost effortlessly. "But... if one day I ever need a weapon, I’ll definitely co here."
"Haaa, sadly, kiddo, I don’t make weapons anymore."
Ruvian moved to the exit-way, his figure frad in the threshold. He glanced over his shoulder, his lips pulling up into a smirk.
"Are you sure about that? Well, not my problem. I’ll just have to wait for you to rember what it ans to forge one again then."
The words that ca out were casual, almost careless. No deeper aning behind them, just sothing that fits the mont.
Yet, the instant the words left his mouth, Ruvian felt a sharp sting of regret.
’...Ugh, why did I say that?’
He secretly cringed. But instead of clearing his throat, he casually tilted his head as though nothing had happened.
"Oh, by the way, how much for the knife? And when should I co pick it up?"
Dain blinked, the words seeming to snap him out of his daze.
Ruvian’s words suddenly made him recall the old tis he used to forge weapons and armour for his younger brother.
Dain rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh before answering in a resigned tone.
"3 silver. Co back in 4 days."
’A low price.’
Ruvian, always keen, noticed it imdiately.
Currency in this world was built on a straightforward structure: copper at the bottom, silver in the middle, and gold above everything else.
The ratios were fixed and universally recognized.
1 Gold = 100 Silver
1 Silver = 100 Copper
But most citizens never touched gold. They lived and died with copper weighing down their pockets, and silver appearing only when a good week of work went well.
For every citizen, silver was the real backbone of the economy, the coin that decided whether soone ate well, paid their dues, or managed to put sothing aside for later.
By modern comparison, a single silver matched roughly a $100, turning copper into a single $1, and gold into sothing nearing $10,000.
And labor fits neatly into that scale. A common worker earned around one silver per day. A craftsman earned several. A master, soone who actually knew what they were doing, would earn more.
So when Dain said three silver, the ssage was obvious. The price was a bit too low for a smith of his skill, and he definitely wasn’t doing it for charity.
He simply lowered it because he cared about good custors. And Ruvian seed to be one of the custors he cherished.
Ruvian didn’t press the matter. Instead, he nodded and turned to leave. But behind him, Dain stood still watching him walk out of the store, stepping onto the snowy road.
The kitchen knife had never been the true purpose of his visit. It was but an excuse, a small errand wrapped around sothing far weightier.
Dain Forgewell.
A na that had not existed in the original draft of the novel.
A naless blacksmith, briefly ntioned only to repair Zian’s sword. A footnote in a story that once had no depth.
But Yuzuki rembered him.
He had been the one to suggest expanding on him after all. A character to give the world more substance. And now, here Dain was. Real and exactly as he had imagined.
A confirmation that he needed.
Because of that, his knowledge of this world wasn’t just useful; it was accurate now.
And for another reason...
’It seems like the spark of Dain’s old passion hadn’t gone out entirely.’
Even though the man had long abandoned the forge, and even though Ruvian had no interest in becoming so kind of saviour who nded shattered spirits with a few well-chosen words, he still had to try.
If Dain truly changed for the better, then it would be great for him and for what to co.
But that’s for the future.
What’s for now was one thing that he was certain of.
This wasn’t the first draft of the novel.
No, this was the post-feedback version, the one shaped by his own hand.
Ruvian leisurely walked towards ho, as the wind blew colder on his coat.
[You have received 1000 Plot Points]
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[Chapter 10: A Sword Is a Promise]
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