The Immortal Genius Spearman

His weapon shop was quite large, befitting his reputation.

“Welcome to Meister Wiltron’s forge.”

As Damian entered, a staff member approached him kindly.

Damian glanced around the shop and then asked the employee.

“Where is Meister Wiltron?”

“Meister is currently working in the forge right next door. If you’d like, you can watch the artisans at work.”

“Ah, then I’d like to take a look around.”

Following the employee, Damian walked over to the adjacent forge.

While he couldn’t go inside, he could see the interior through the open windows and doors.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

The rhythmic hammering echoed in the air as the staff member spoke to Damian.

“Our shop undeniably offers the highest quality weapons in Miltobern. All of them are crafted by the artisans working here.”

“Ah… I see.”

The intense heat was palpable even from outside.

Inside, the blacksmiths were hammering heated metal and quenching it in water.

Their dedication was evident, evoking a sense of fierce determination.

Damian, observing the scene, asked the employee.

“I heard there’s an apprentice blacksmith named Torrel here. Where can I find him?”

Damian inquired. But at that moment…

“Torrel?”

The employee’s expression stiffened.

She let out a small sigh before responding.

“Torrel has been dismissed. He did something he should never have done.”

“…Did something he shouldn’t have done?”

Damian’s gaze turned serious.

But she continued, looking into the forge instead of at Damian.

“He claimed a weapon made by Meister as his own.”

“…Is that even possible? Surely someone must have witnessed the making of it.”

“Exactly. But regardless, because of that, Torrel was dismissed. He was quite a capable blacksmith, but we can’t work with someone who has no integrity.”

“…I see.”

Damian took a further look around the shop before leaving.

He had only come to get a rough idea of the situation. He would find out more when he met him in person.

Damian then headed to the location the first blacksmith he met had given him.

When he arrived at the address on the outskirts of the city,

“…Is this the place?”

Damian looked at the shabby house in front of him.

The walls were covered in malicious graffiti, and rotten fruit lay scattered around.

“Who’s there?”

“…?”

A voice came from behind him.

A man with dark skin and brown hair looked at Damian.

Instinctively wary, he watched Damian cautiously.

Damian asked the man with the dark skin.

“Are you Torrel?”

“…Yes, but who are you?”

“Ah… um…”

In this situation, how should he introduce himself?

‘Damian, Commander of the Caion Unit, 6th Legion?’

That would establish his identity, but it wouldn’t create a connection with Torrel.

He had traveled all the way from Valphate to Miltobern to find him.

‘Then…’

Though it wasn’t his usual approach, if it helped achieve his goal, he’d do it.

“Let’s just say I’m someone who knows you’ve been falsely accused.”

“…What?”

Torrel’s eyes wavered for a moment.

It was a memory he didn’t want to recall, so naturally, his expression turned grim.

Damian kicked away the rotten fruit scattered around the front door and said to Torrel,

“Does that suffice as an introduction?”

He gestured toward the house.

“Shall we go inside and talk?”

Torrel could only bite his lip and look at Damian.

* * *

“Someone came looking for Torrel?”

“Yes.”

Meister Wiltron.

He was one of the most famous blacksmiths in Miltobern, known as one of the top three.

He removed the rough gloves he had been wearing and headed toward the inner room of his workshop.

Wiltron’s private workshop was a secluded space that no one else was allowed to enter.

Inside the workshop, Wiltron looked at a sword hanging on the wall.

The blade was a pure white, mixed with a resplendent purple hue.

The hilt was adorned with a somewhat crude silver decoration, but the aura emanating from the blade consumed even that simplicity.

“……”

Wiltron stared at the sword silently.

It was his masterpiece.

A creation far superior to any other sword he had made until now.

Crafted by mixing Amantatium, a material known for its unmatched hardness, the entire blade had a subtle purple hue.

Normally, even seasoned artisans wouldn’t be able to handle Amantatium, but Wiltron had perfectly forged it into this masterpiece.

However…

“…This is mine. My masterpiece.”

As if to reaffirm it to himself, Wiltron murmured quietly.

* * *

Unlike the chaos outside, the inside of the house was relatively tidy.

Seated inside, Damian looked at Torrel.

“Sit down. I won’t take up much of your time.”

“But… who are you?”

Torrel asked in a tense voice.

Because of his current situation, he was on the verge of being completely ostracized from Miltobern.

No one believed his words.

He might never be able to pick up a hammer again.

At Torrel’s question, Damian spoke.

“Sergeant Damian, commander of the Caion Unit under the 6th Legion.”

He showed his badge with the 6th Legion insignia, causing Torrel’s eyes to widen.

“You’re a soldier?”

“Yes, but could you first tell me what happened?”

Torrel didn’t understand why a soldier had come looking for him. But perhaps this soldier could help resolve the situation?

Swallowing nervously, Torrel began to recount what had happened.

“Well…”

And the story he shared was, unfortunately, one that was all too common in these circles.

“So, you’re saying that you completed a sword using the Amantatium from your master Wiltron’s workshop… and he claimed it as his own work? Is that correct?”

“Yes, I know I was wrong to use the precious Amantatium without permission, but… I really did make that sword.”

Torrel’s voice was desperate.

Damian asked,

“Is there anyone who can vouch for you?”

“Well…”

“Are you saying you managed to smelt Amantatium without any assistance?”

Damian’s tone might have sounded accusatory, but it was because smelting Amantatium was a particularly challenging task.

Torrel sighed softly and admitted,

“…My master helped me. I said I was confident I could smelt the Amantatium myself.”

“…So, even though he helped you, he lied and claimed it was his own work?”

Torrel nodded.

For a moment, Damian was at a loss for words.

‘This… is a complete reversal of the roles between master and apprentice.’

Moreover,

‘An apprentice blacksmith smelting Amantatium…’

It was an unbelievable situation.

While Damian didn’t know much about the intricacies of blacksmithing, he knew that Amantatium was incredibly difficult to smelt.

‘He’s an exceptional talent, different from the rest.’

He had known this when he came, but to think Torrel was already this skilled.

Damian was certain.

He couldn’t let this man slip through his fingers.

Torrel then asked,

“But… how did you know about my false accusation?”

It was surprising enough that a soldier had come here, but to know about his false accusation as well?

However, Damian shook his head at Torrel’s question.

“I’m sorry, that was a lie. I just believed what you told me.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I once saw you working at a forge. I don’t think someone who was so engrossed in their work would lie about something like this.”

Torrel’s head drooped in despair.

He was grateful that Damian believed him, but that didn’t change the situation he was in.

“But if you’ve been falsely accused, why not leave and go somewhere else? Do you have to stay here?”

“…Go where?”

Torrel’s voice was sharp.

His mind was overwhelmed by the lack of options, leaving him feeling lost.

“Even if I went somewhere else, I wouldn’t be able to work in a forge. Wiltron would make sure of that.”

Wiltron’s actions had already branded Torrel as a thief who stole others’ work in Miltobern.

The blacksmithing world was conservative.

If Wiltron’s word spread, it would be nearly impossible for Torrel to escape the label of a lying thief, no matter where he went.

Damian then asked,

“Then why not start your own forge and clear your name? You could, for example, smelt Amantatium in front of people.”

“Ha, thank you for the thought, but… do you know how expensive Amantatium is? Even a fist-sized piece of ore costs over 300 gold. If it were a common material…”

Torrel gritted his teeth.

He had been blinded by the allure of Amantatium and had made a terrible mistake.

Torrel closed his eyes tightly and spoke.

“Thank you for believing in me, but… please, just go. There’s nothing I can do right now.”

Torrel had completely given up.

He had no money, and there was nothing he could do.

But at that moment,

“What if… you were given another chance? Would you be willing to try?”

“What do you mean…?”

Torrel asked, his eyes wide as he looked at Damian. Damian continued.

“Running away isn’t what you want, is it? It’s not exactly honorable to be known as a lying thief.”

“Of course. And… I really didn’t lie. I know it was wrong to use the Amantatium without permission, but…”

Tears welled up in Torrel’s eyes.

The realization of how his greed had led to such a devastating outcome filled him with regret so intense it felt like it chilled him to his bones.

Damian then spoke.

“Then get ready. Let’s face this properly.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“We’re going to smelt Amantatium again and make a weapon. In front of everyone.”

Torrel’s eyes widened in shock at Damian’s words.

Was something like that even possible?

“But Amantatium is…”

“I’ll get the Amantatium. Just give me a few days.”

“Are you serious?”

Torrel asked, looking as if he could jump out of his seat in excitement.

Damian nodded.

“There’s something I’d like to ask in return, though… Would that be alright?”

“What is it…?”

Torrel swallowed nervously.

He knew that a request in exchange for Amantatium would not be a light one.

Damian then cautiously asked.

“Could you make me a spear?”

“…A spear?”