Chapter 182
"Hmm..."
I examined the blade of the short sword I'd just forged, turning it this way and that.
My blacksmithing skill—or perhaps my feel for metal—had dulled a little, as I'd expected.
Well, the last time I'd done any smithing on my travels was during my stay in Fuso's central capital.
From there, I headed for the Fuso Tree, then changed ships several more times before finally returning to the central part of the continent. Quite a bit of time had passed.
On top of that, I'd spent all that time aboard constantly swaying ships, so it was only natural that my senses had gone awry and my skill had dulled.
As for the short sword itself, if I had to call it either acceptable or unacceptable, it was... technically acceptable.
But I—or rather, precisely because of that—decided to reforge the short sword instead of submitting it.
If I submitted it, forged several more swords, and then regained my feel, I would surely regret it bitterly.
If I wanted to reforge it then, it would already be too late: once I'd deemed it acceptable and submitted it, there would be no going back.
If it were truly poorly made, the Blacksmiths' Guild would not accept it, but... this may sound terribly arrogant, yet even this short sword was better than the wares lining the shelves of ordinary shops.
After my journey to the East, I'd learned many more smithing techniques, and there was no doubt that my skills had improved since before.
Though... I was a little off my game right now.
That was why I—and only I—could decide to reforge this short sword, and I could decide it only now.
I could not lie to myself.
This time, the Blacksmiths' Guild had offered me three jobs.
The first was to mass-produce standardized spears and short swords to supply the soldiers stationed at the fortress.
The second was to create a masterpiece using all my skill, to serve as an example for the other smiths—a commission I remembered taking in this town before.
The third was to forge a treasured sword to present to the town's lord... in other words, the king of the Principality of Travoia.
They told me I could choose whichever one I liked, so for now, I chose the first.
It wasn't that I had no interest in creating a masterpiece with all my skill or forging a treasured sword, but I judged that what this town needed most right now was weapons for its soldiers.
Since it was a mass-production job, I couldn't be too particular about the iron used as material, nor could I spend too much time on each piece.
The size and shape were fixed as well, so there was a limit to the improvements I could make.
In the end, no matter what I did, each one would be a reasonably good weapon.
Even within those limited conditions, though, I wanted to do everything I could.
The reason was that the spears and short swords I was about to forge would be weapons to which soldiers entrusted their lives.
Of course, even a somewhat better-made weapon would not necessarily save the soldier wielding it.
In fact, in most cases, a weapon's quality probably had little to do with whether a soldier lived or died.
But I couldn't say it was impossible that, in a situation where an ordinary weapon would have broken, one of my weapons might hold firm without breaking and let a soldier escape with his life.
And if I did everything I could—and forged ten weapons instead of one, a hundred instead of ten—the odds of such an event would rise, however slightly.
Fortunately, I was a fast worker.
That was because my master in smithing, Azvardo, was a fast worker too.
Thus, even if the first three failed to satisfy me, producing a satisfactory piece starting with the fourth would make up the lost time without much trouble.
Once I had forged a good number of them, I could try taking on the second and third jobs as well.
That was especially true of the second job, creating a masterpiece using all my skill as a model for the other smiths. Once I regained my feel, I would unquestionably be far more skilled than I had been when I accepted the same commission several decades ago—though, well, setting aside how I was right now.
I wiped away my sweat, took a deep breath to compose myself, and began reforging the short sword.
The sound of the bellows pumping air into the furnace and the ringing of hammered iron honed my senses, which had begun to rust.
Sharper. Sharper still.
Even so, by dusk I had finished work, put away my tools, said a word to a guild staff member, and headed back to the inn.
This, too, was a habit from long ago.
If I had work that absolutely couldn't be left unattended, I might stay shut up in the forge until it was done, but whenever I reached a stopping point, I needed to take a break.
When I became absorbed in my work, I sometimes felt as though my concentration were gradually increasing, but that was almost always an illusion.
Fatigue gradually left me with less mental leeway, making it harder to see what was happening around me; I thought that was why it felt as though my concentration were increasing.
Whether I had truly concentrated or merely fallen prey to an illusion caused by fatigue, the quality of whatever I made would speak eloquently.
No matter how it felt, the results would never lie.
Naturally, it was my master in smithing, Azvardo, who first taught me that.
Even a tough dwarf like Azvardo, with all the stamina his race afforded him, became less efficient after working for a long time.
That was all the more true of me, since I could never hope to match his stamina. Suppressing the urge to keep going just a little longer and managing my work so I could stop after a set amount of time were skills in their own right, and surely part of a smith's ability as well.
As the sun began to set over Janpemon, a gentle, pleasant breeze blew through the town.
The stone-built town, reddened by the evening sun, was filled with the smell of dinner wafting from all around, making my stomach growl.
My days traveling through the eastern part of the continent had been fascinating, since I was always meeting new people and encountering new things, but a leisurely daily life like this seemed enjoyable to me as well.