Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 115

The third weapon was a halberd, a spear with an axe blade attached to its tip, famed for combining the advantages of both. It could be swung like an axe to slash, thrust with the spearhead to pierce, and even hook and pull with the beak-like spike opposite the blade.

Its vast array of uses made it difficult to master, but once trained to the level of a true expert, it became almost perfect in one-on-one combat with its reach of a spear and the power of an axe. If one could skillfully wield both aspects, there were few weapons in melee combat that could rival the halberd.

“It’s long,” El-Cid, through Leon’s body, gave a brief evaluation as he grabbed the halberd’s shaft. “Just under three meters? A traditional build, I see.”

He again channeled a minute amount of Aura into it. Leon focused once more on the sensation transmitted back.

This was the essence of Spacework. He felt the Aura flowing out from his palm and seeping into the shaft like a ripple cast on a lake, spreading and then settling.

A wave...? Leon thought, in the backseat of his own body.

Any transfer of force inevitably triggered vibrations—ripples that spread out, just like on the surface of water. Heat and shock followed the same principle.

Space Work was about perceiving the invisible microscopic world with senses beyond the five. Leon still couldn’t process all the information reaching his fingertips. Meanwhile, El-Cid was complimenting the halberd.

“Oh? You mixed in Wolfram with the steel? Filtering out impurities must’ve been tough.”

“I had no choice if I wanted both strength and flexibility,” the dwarf who crafted the halberd replied.

“Smart decision. Polearms like this need a bit of flex to make use of centrifugal force. But if it’s too soft, it’ll bend. Finding the balance of the two, like this, is tricky.”

His praise carried a weapon expert’s weight, making even the usually dismissive dwarves nod with satisfaction. However, that was as far as El-Cid’s compliments went.

“But you see, there’s an issue with the axe head,” El-Cid said.

“W-what is it?”

“The weight distribution’s off. The beak and spearhead are imbalanced, making the joint weak. If you swing it like this...”

He stepped forward and twisted his upper body, his shoulder rippling down to his wrist like a wave. Despite the halberd weighing over five kilograms, it moved like a whip.

In that instant, the weapon accelerated to near-sonic speed, and...

“BUFFALOOOOOT!”

The joint between the axe and shaft cracked, and the axe blade embedded itself in the floor. Just as El-Cid had said, the imbalance couldn’t withstand the sudden acceleration and halt.

The dwarf who had forged the halberd wailed, clutching the broken remnants, but El-Cid didn’t flinch. He’d already done this three hundred years ago. He didn’t have the conscience to feel bad about doing something like this in the first place.

“Next!”

With a flick of his fingers, a trembling dwarf approached with the fourth weapon—a rapier. A blade specialized for thrusting, it couldn’t pierce metal armor without Aura, so it was typically used for self-defence or duels.

El-Cid said, “Just because it’s a rapier doesn’t mean it can’t slash... but this one disregards cutting entirely. Were you aiming to make something that could pierce anything? That intent’s a bit too blatant.”

The dwarf nodded sheepishly and replied, “That’s right. I sacrificed some utility to maximize point-force. So, you must not damage it in any way besides piercing.”

“Fine. I’ll beat it with a thrust,” El-Cid accepted the challenge without hesitation and lowered his stance.

Like a beast preparing to pounce, he centered his weight forward. With a half-step forward, he spun the force up from his foot, amplifying it through his knee, hip, and core. He wrung out every muscle like a towel, channeling mass and inertia into a single line. It was the epitome of twisting force.

By the time the thrust that was too quick for most people to catch ended, the once-straight blade of the rapier was horrifically warped. It had failed to account for a spiral thrust instead of a straight one.

“It’s meh. You abandoned slashing, but didn’t even go fully cylindrical. You weakened its flexibility for straight-line thrusting—bad call. Try again from scratch.”

“ANGJUUUUU!?”

“Man, no progress. These boneheads.”

Leaving behind the sobbing dwarf cradling his twisted rapier, El-Cid reached for the next weapon. The fifth was a flail, and its chain snapped in just one swing.

“Chain’s too soft. Next!”

And so it continued. Dozens of weapons passed through El-Cid’s hands, only to return in ruin, soaking their creators in tears.

Regardless of type or material, none survived a single strike. It was only natural, since El-Cid was using Spacework to find the weak point and expanded that flaw with precision.

“Last one.”

With every dwarf in the Machina Forge slumped and teary-eyed, El-Cid picked up what must’ve been the final weapon and examined its interior.

Then, grinning, he murmured to himself, “My dear disciple. I showed you everything you need to know, right?”

Huh?

“Time for you to finish the last one.”

At that moment, Leon realized he was back in control of his body. The weight of the spear in his hand, the coolness of its metal—it pulled him back to reality.

El-Cid had deliberately left one weapon and switched out.

You crazy bastard!

Leon ground his teeth as his forearm trembled.

You started this, so finish it, too, you cursed sword!

El-Cid, shameless as ever, replied, —Think of it as letting you have the final flourish.

You promised you’d handle everything!

—From now on, don’t trust promises without collateral. Oho, that’s a great lesson. What a great teacher I am, huh?

Damn cursed sword...!

As always, Leon had been tricked. However, having grown used to it by now, he exhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. El-Cid played nasty tricks, but he never assigned anything beyond Leon’s ability.

What he held in his hands was a spear, metal from tip to pommel. Staring at the weapon, Leon closed his eyes.

The difference between him and El-Cid was immeasurable. He couldn’t hope to analyze the structure and materials with a single tap.

But...

Maybe, just maybe, if he pushed his concentration to the limit, he could find a weak point in this one spear.

Let Aura flow—thin and long like a thread. Extend your nervous system outside your body—

Leon entered a trance. His eyes turned inward, perceiving the countless threads within his body, the junctions sending rhythmic signals, the bloodstream of capillaries—his sharpened concentration called Aura forth.

He didn’t need much. A handful? No, not even half that. Just a faint stream of Aura reached his palm. And then—

Ah!

A soft light flared from between his brows, hidden under his bangs, and pushed the hesitant Aura into the spear. It was the Stigma of the Prayer, reinforcing his mental focus.

In that instant, he felt the spear’s inner structure—not saw, not heard, but felt. He learned why it was shaped this way and how much effort went into forging it.

“You focused on elasticity to maximize rebound, even at the cost of strength. But with centrifugal force and recoil, the impact remains the same... roughly,” Leon said in a tone that was more polite than what the dwarves had grown accustomed to hearing from him.

“T-that’s right,” the dwarf stammered, surprised by the sudden shift in character, but Leon—still in a trance—paid no mind.

He targeted the weakness: the lack of durability. Gripping the spear near its butt rather than its center, he raised it vertically like a sword. He had no need, nor confidence, to break it in one strike. Yet the desire to do so lingered.

Cut.

From crown to toes, a bolt of lightning split him down the middle. Then, a single slash that was like a flash was executed in silence, slicing the air inside the forge.

The spear bent with a metallic shriek from its very center.

“Phew.”

As his extreme focus faded, muscle aches spread through his body, and his heart thundered as if about to burst. Even so, Leon smiled.

It was nothing compared to El-Cid’s feats, but he had taken one step forward. He didn’t stop to consider what that smile looked like to the dwarves, though.

“He’s smiling, that human...”

“That’s no human... That’s the devil...”

“Is this truly the best we can do...?”

Some dwarves feared Leon. Others loathed him. Still others were ashamed of their own inadequacy.

The mood in the Machina Forge sank low. Dozens of weapons lay broken and useless around them. The meaning of this massacre was clear. As the one responsible for issuing the challenge, Pedro spoke with a heavy voice.

“It’s your victory.”

Only then did Leon glance around the room and reluctantly accept the result. Rodrick’s Legacy had finally been reenacted after three hundred years.

***

Finally facing the trio, the dwarf Rombart muttered with a pale, stricken face.

“You mean to tell me, not only did you challenge Rodrick’s Legacy just to file a claim with me, but you actually won, too...!?”

Even if he was considered a top craftsman in Area 13, he was nothing more than an apprentice in Area 1. Because of one apprentice, all operations in the forge had come to a halt, and as if that wasn’t already bad enough, the weapons those master smiths had cherished were shattered.

His path of suffering was now practically guaranteed.

“Well, calling it a claim might be underselling how serious this is,” Leon said.

Still, compared to the bloodshed that could sweep across the continent, it was a small matter. Leon showed not a hint of sympathy and explained what had happened to Garlond, who stood behind him.

At first, Rombart had been too dazed by his own situation to listen, but soon he began to pay attention. And then he shouted in shock.

“A cursed sword? My sword turned into that?! That’s impossible!”

To a blacksmith, a cursed sword was a symbol of corruption—a sign that malice had been poured into the forging process. Understanding Rombart’s horror, Leon was quick to assure him it wasn’t his fault.

“I’m not saying you forged it with such intent. There’s a high chance that part of the ore used as material was contaminated.”

“If it’s the ore I used back then... There were only three types.”

“Three?”

“Refined steel, mithril, and a trace amount of adamantium. I tested them multiple times... How could this happen? This doesn’t make any sense. Garlond, didn’t you inspect the sword with your Aura, too?”

Garlond nodded solemnly and said, “Of course. I did everything I could, but still couldn’t tell. It only revealed its true nature after tasting blood.”

“Blood...?”

“Yeah. Maybe whatever corrupted the ore only reacts to the blood of living things.”

It was a plausible theory. Rombart finally seemed to accept it, but when they asked where the ore had been sourced from, he grimaced again.

“Sorry, but the material’s origin is classified as tier 2 intel. Even with your Guild Investigator credentials, you’re not authorized to access that. Heck, even a request under Rodrick’s Legacy doesn’t override that restriction.”

“Hah...”

“If you really want to know, you’ll have to get permission from Meister Pedro.”

They were back to square one. When the trio returned to Pedro, the meister had already regained his crusty attitude.

After listening, he muttered, “Information about ore sources, huh.”

He didn’t deliberate long before adding, “Not a big deal. If I come with you, we can access the records on-site. Even if you find the mine, you won’t be able to harvest anything from it anyway.”

“You’ll help us?” Leon asked.

“Why should I help you?”

Exactly as they’d expected. There was no reason for Pedro to help the people who had interrupted their challenge to craft Jugend Steel and ruined everything.

Leon, however, saw an opening based on their earlier clash.

“If you want to keep your forge running, you’ll have to help me.”

“Hah! You think a meister blacksmith will bend to threats, you human brat?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just exercising my legitimate rights.”

“What?”

Rodrick’s Legacy wasn’t supposed to be a group trial but a one-on-one duel, which was a bit different from the original incident that took place three centuries ago. Leon had defeated every blacksmith except Pedro, which meant he now had the right to make a request of every one of them.

Realizing that, Pedro’s eyes widened like a sparrow’s as he stammered, “Y-you little...!”

“Working in this hot, humid place all day must be exhausting. Why not take a month off and enjoy a few cold beers?”

“You son of a—reincarnation of Rodrick himself!”

It was a curse only the Jugend dwarves used. Karen and Garlond blinked in confusion at what sounded more like high praise, while Leon froze in place like he’d been struck by lightning. It took him several seconds to recover.

When he did, he said, “If this doesn’t sit right with you because it feels like a threat, then let’s settle this with a duel.”

Pedro’s eyes lit up.

“You plan to challenge me to Rodrick’s Legacy?”

“Let’s be honest—this whole situation stems from your stubbornness, Meister Pedro.

So, I’d like to propose my own version of the challenge.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“It’s simple.”

Suppressing the creeping guilt tightening in his chest, Leon pointed to the Holy Sword hanging at his hip, currently disguised as an ordinary longsword.

“My beloved sword will face off against your work. You can bring however many blades you want. The moment one side yields or breaks, that determines the winner.”

Whether it was amusement or disbelief, Pedro burst into uproarious laughter, even cracking his stern facade. He pounded his chest and nodded.

“Kahahahaha! Fine! You’re trying to save my pride—I like that! Our first meeting was unpleasant, but I’ll admit, your skill is among the best I’ve seen. Once I break your sword, I’ll gift you one of my finest pieces!”

“Huh...?”

“I don’t need any preparation time! This is my forge—I’ll just grab whatever’s closest!”

And with a thunderous stomp, Pedro disappeared into the back. Leon could only stare blankly at his retreating figure, the man he had—however unintentionally—pushed straight into ruin.

El-Cid chimed in as if to mock his regret.

—My dear disciple.

What...

—You seriously just offered that old crank the chance to break a sword even I couldn’t? That’s cold.

Leon had no words to explain what he had just done. He stayed silent.

—Kyahahaha! Always complaining, calling me a cursed sword—turns out you’re just as twisted as me! Even dead, I picked the right disciple!

Shut up.

—No, no. You really are my own!

I said shut up, you damn cursed sword!

As Leon bickered with his sword, he spotted Pedro returning from the far end of the forge, the widest grin hanging on his face.

Exactly one hour later—

“Khuhh, sob, hrrk, nghh, sniff...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

The trio departed the Machina Forge in funereal silence. Standing at the gate to see them off was Pedro the Meister Blacksmith, a miserable mess of tears and snot.