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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Yuziro
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Clang—!
A clear, resonant clang of the hammer reverberated through the air.
Sariel’s soul, honed over countless years wielding only a hammer, resonated with each strike.
The sound of imbuing life into metal echoed powerfully.
Clang—!
Sparks flew.
The searing heat threatened to incinerate anyone nearby, yet it was impossible to look away.
The scattering embers evoked an indescribable intensity.
Jekkiel, too, was a figure who confronted this world with his own mission.
Thus, he could appreciate the magnitude of this unwavering dedication, even if their paths diverged.
He simply watched, speechless, captivated by the spectacle.
Claaang—!
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
After three more strikes, Sariel suddenly exhaled, a whoosh of breath, and looked at Jekkiel.
How much time had passed?
He spoke, breaking a long silence.
“Come closer.”
He obeyed silently.
Normally, the stray sparks landing on his clothes would have irritated him, but now, such trivial matters didn’t register.
The hammer danced over the elongated, pristine white Ermetellen.
After stoking the forge’s heat once more, Sariel thrust the Ermetellen into the inferno with a decisive thud.
Now, a moment of respite.
Both Jekkiel and Sariel gazed into the forge, silent, their eyes reflecting the flames.
This silence was, perhaps, the most profound conversation they could share.
The brief pause ended, and Sariel retrieved the Ermetellen, placing it on the anvil.
The meticulous hammering resumed.
Kang! Kang!
Even amidst the ringing blows, his words reached him clearly.
“I’ve lived like this my entire life.”
He focused intently on his voice. It was strange; his hands continued to move, yet all he heard was his voice.
“At first, I simply wanted to create beautiful things. I didn’t care how they were used.”
The craftsman’s voice, reflecting on a long journey, was even and calm, yet more profound than any other he had heard.
“Then, one day, I realized something. The weapons I crafted were being used for terrible things. I wondered if everything I had worked so hard to create was for such purposes.”
“…Yes.”
Sariel’s gaze remained fixed on the Ermetellen on the anvil.
“So I stopped wielding the hammer. Everything I made felt like filth. So insignificant and worthless. But then…”
Clang!
The ringing continued.
“That day, when I saw you, a fire ignited within me. I thought, ‘Perhaps this one is different.’ I thought you might use what I create for a righteous cause. And that would make me proud.”
Jekkiel held his breath.
The greatest craftsman in the demon realm was pouring all his skill into a weapon for him.
The man who had relied on drink, unable to create, was gone.
Before him stood a true artisan, the title fitting him perfectly.
He hammered the Ermetellen again and again.
If a human walked and walked to reach their destination, a craftsman hammered and hammered to reach theirs.
It had always been this way.
Time did not lie.
Pure, unadulterated conviction shaped the finest materials into perfection.
And finally, when the shaping was complete, he plunged the Ermetellen into a large vat filled with water.
“Vat” might be an understatement.
It was a vessel larger than the forge itself, filled to the brim.
Chiiiiik—!
Despite the vast quantity of water, it vaporized instantly, releasing a plume of steam.
“Ermetellen… a supreme material. Heat it, cool it, hammer it, repeat, repeat, and repeat again. Eventually, something extraordinary is born.”
Sariel’s face, as he spoke, held a tinge of bitterness, even sadness.
“Perhaps I hoped you would do the same for my life. Heat it, cool it, rekindle the fire that had been extinguished. Perhaps I hoped you would make me a truer craftsman.”
“What must I do?”
“I told you.”
Sariel chuckled softly.
“That resolve, that conviction to offer your heart… fulfill that. Achieve your purpose.”
Clang—!
The clang of the hammer, louder than ever, filled the workshop, drowning out Jekkiel’s reply.
“I don’t need to hear your answer.”
Clang! Clang!
The ringing intensified, so loud that no one but Sariel could speak.
“I’ve already heard it. I’m certain.”
The Ermetellen was hammered flat, then stretched, then hammered again.
Heated and cooled, countless times, just as Sariel had described.
The process of its creation mirrored his own life.
What had he achieved in all these years?
Sariel honestly couldn’t answer that question.
What had he accomplished?
How significant were his achievements?
Such things no longer held meaning for him.
Clang—!
A single strike.
He poured his soul into this strike, into this weapon.
And if it served a righteous purpose, that was enough.
Even if he were to fade away, his work would live on.
The Ermetellen, now much larger than its original size, stretched out, thin yet impossibly dense.
It transcended mere white.
It was transparent, like a jeweled blade.
The illusion of weight and thickness in its thin, transparent form… that was Sariel’s soul, imbued within.
“Here, it’s finished. Take it.”
Jekkiel turned quietly.
Regita nodded and reached out, carefully taking hold of Sariel’s creation.
“Oh…”
An indescribable sensation washed over her, and she closed her eyes.
It felt, almost, as if her right arm, holding the sword, had been extended.
It wasn’t like holding a weapon; it was like clenching her hand, the sword an extension of her will.
It fit perfectly, as if it had always been a part of her.
“Wow…”
Her dragonkin nature resonated with the blade.
Unconsciously, she swung the sword, a fluid motion that combined the speed of a regular sword with the weight of a greatsword.
Her golden, cross-shaped pupils shone brighter than ever.
“Do you like it?”
Regita hadn’t heard the question, and Jekkiel hesitated, unsure how to respond.
Perhaps simple admiration was the only answer.
He couldn’t presume to evaluate it.
“No answer? Don’t you like it?”
“I do. More than words can express. And the sword’s owner…”
Jekkiel looked at Regita, who was experimentally swinging the greatsword.
“…seems quite pleased as well.”
It was strange.
Despite the arduous process, Sariel felt all his efforts rewarded by those simple words.
It was also a promise.
A promise to wield this magnificent sword for a righteous cause.
Sariel sat down heavily, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Now, all that’s left is to name it.”
“A name…”
That was something Regita should decide.
Sariel and Jekkiel looked at her expectantly.
And then…
“Ah…”
Regita closed her eyes, gently pressing the sword to her forehead, lost in thought.
While neither seemed to be absorbed by the other, they were clearly unified.
And then, above her head, her broken horn began to regrow.
Both Sariel and Jekkiel smiled softly.
The sword’s name was, in essence, already decided.
“Regita”
They murmured simultaneously.
Regita, thinking her name had been called, opened her eyes and looked at them.
Then, she realized they were speaking of the sword.
“Regita…”
She whispered the name, testing it on her tongue.
Radiant Dragon.
A power that could dominate the demon realm through sheer force.
She repeated the name, savoring its weight.
“The sword’s name is Regita. And…”
She plunged the greatsword into the ground, gripping the hilt, and closed her eyes.
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, a smile spreading across her face.
“That’s right. My name… is Regita.”
The cloudiness had vanished from her golden, cross-shaped pupils.
The dragon’s eyes were clear and bright.
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[Eragon ahh moment]
