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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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In Sword & Magic Chronicle, Olman was a Mark bearer, but not a companion character. To players like myself, he was just a blacksmith NPC, and his real-world counterpart wasn’t much different.
“An unusual guest.”
Olman was an elderly man, his hair gray and his back hunched. But his broad shoulders and muscular arms showed that he was still a master blacksmith.
“I’ve heard you’re the best blacksmith on the continent.”
“That’s an exaggeration. I’ve only made a few weapons.”
Those “few weapons” were national treasures.
Alberich the Sword Saint’s sword, Azar’s armor, Elderian’s staff, the Elven King’s bow, and the Tsar’s spear.
All the legendary weapons on this continent were masterpieces crafted by Olman. I might be getting one of them. A thrill ran through me as I sat down opposite him.
Ophelia reluctantly sat beside me. I got straight to the point.
“I’d like to request a sword.”
“A sword.”
“A one-handed sword. About this long, double-edged…”
“I refuse.”
Olman said firmly, and I blinked. A blacksmith NPC refusing a commission?
“I’ll pay you whatever you ask. I can also procure any materials you need.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“We might not look like much, but we have a letter of recommendation from Azar, the Golden Lion. And…”
“I know. Illine told me. Tsk.”
Olman clicked his tongue and looked at me.
“I’m refusing because… you reek of blood.”
“…Blood?”
“Yes.”
I had killed a few monsters on the way here.
Had the smell not washed off? I looked at Ophelia, and she pinched her nose, hidden behind her mask.
I flicked her forehead and looked back at Olman.
“What do you mean?”
“The smell of blood… it can’t be erased. You’re accustomed to killing. You feel nothing about taking a life, about spilling blood.”
“Well, I am a swordsman…”
“Precisely. And that’s why I won’t sell you a weapon.”
Olman said flatly, as if he had recited these lines countless times.
“I’ve decided to stop making weapons. I’ll make you armor, but no more weapons. Especially not swords.”
Olman stood up.
“Not even for the hero?”
“No.”
A strange sadness emanated from Olman.
We were practically kicked out of the forge.
“I told you to live a virtuous life, you bastard.”
Ophelia, having removed her mask, wiped the sweat from her brow and started mocking me.
“The smell of blood! He said you stink! I knew it. Why don’t you wash once in a while, you filthy animal?”
“Ophelia.”
“….”
Ophelia pouted and looked away when I called her name. She looked so dejected that I couldn’t even bring myself to scold her.
“That’s not what he meant.”
“Then what did he mean?”
“He’s not making weapons anymore.”
I had killed many people during my years as a mercenary.
Necessary killings, I believed.
But Olman didn’t seem to agree. He wouldn’t sell weapons to someone who would use them.
Olman, once the greatest blacksmith, had decided to stop making weapons.
“….”
Olman, the blacksmith. What was he like in the game? He was the NPC who crafted the best equipment for the hero. The prices were exorbitant, and you had to gather the materials yourself, but it was worth it.
His equipment was top-tier. For him to give up his craft…
“Transmigrators.”
They were likely involved. I had wanted a sword made by Olman. My fight with Azar had shown me that my physical abilities, enhanced by the Hero’s Mark, were beyond what ordinary weapons could handle.
“Let’s find out why he stopped making weapons. I’ll tell Lyla we’ll be staying here a bit longer.”
“How are you going to find out? Ask him directly?”
“He won’t tell us…”
I looked around and spotted Illine, the blacksmith’s apprentice, carrying a stack of firewood.
“We’ll ask someone close to him.”
Ophelia scowled.
“I don’t like her.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a sly fox.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It’s a thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
Ophelia’s words were cryptic, as always.
“Um… the reason why Master Olman stopped making weapons?”
Illine looked flustered, then, as if entranced by my gaze, she started talking.
“That hussy…”
I thought I heard Ophelia mutter an insult, but I ignored it. I frowned after hearing Illine’s story.
“So, you’re saying a sword Master Olman made is… hurting people?”
“Well, technically, it’s the person wielding the sword who’s hurting people.”
“Who is this person?”
The only sword Olman had made recently was the one for Alberich, the Sword Saint.
Had Alberich, like Azar, joined the Demon King’s army? It was a terrifying thought, but I shook my head.
According to the information Owen sent me, Alberich was still the captain of the Imperial Knights, just like in the game. Then…
“I don’t know his name. But about three years ago, a knight came here and… threatened Master Olman into making a sword for him.”
“A knight? Threatened him?”
“Yes. He took Master Olman’s family hostage. He felt guilty about making the sword, even though he had no choice. He regrets it to this day.”
“What did this knight look like?”
“Um… I only heard about it, but…”
Illine placed her hand on her chin, trying to remember.
“Gray hair. Blood-red armor. Pale skin. Elven ears.”
“….”
“…And…”
“One eye.”
I finished her sentence. Illine clapped her hands.
“That’s right! Do you know him?”
“….”
I did. He was one of the worst people I had met since arriving in this world.
“Geldmere.”
One of the five strongest commanders in the Demon King’s army.
Geldmere, the One-Eyed Knight. He had forced Olman to make a sword for him. It was probably because of information leaked by a transmigrator.
“Hey.”
Ophelia, noticing my grim expression, approached me.
“What’s wrong? Do you have a problem with this… Geldmere?”
“Yes. A big problem.”
I replied, and Ophelia looked at me with surprise.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To Olman.”
Olman had been a blacksmith for over forty years. He had spent more than half his life in front of a forge. He couldn’t imagine giving up his craft. But he refused to make weapons.
A sword was meant to protect, not to kill. He had decided that the moment he picked up a hammer, the moment he received his Mark. And he had reaffirmed that decision recently.
“….”
Olman gently stroked the blade hanging on the wall. He had made it three years ago, forced by a knight who had taken his family hostage. The knight, after receiving the sword, had slaughtered the inhabitants of a nearby village as a “test.”
He had returned with dozens of heads and a bag of gold. Olman hadn’t accepted the money.
He couldn’t.
He felt responsible for those deaths. He had sold a sword to a demon. He had been paid in blood. That’s why he had put down his hammer. To atone for his sin.
“Old man.”
His thoughts were interrupted. The knight he had kicked out earlier was back. Olman sighed deeply.
“I’ve already told you my decision.”
“Yes. And I’m here to help you fulfill it.”
“What?”
Olman raised an eyebrow. The man calmly removed his glove. The Mark on the back of his hand was one Olman recognized.
“You’re… the hero?”
“A replacement, but yes.”
The man replied casually.
“And I’ve heard why you stopped making weapons.”
“Tsk.”
That girl Illine. He had told her to keep quiet. She couldn’t resist gossiping, especially when handsome men were involved.
“Geldmere, the One-Eyed Knight, a commander in the Demon King’s army. You made a sword for him?”
“I won’t deny it.”
“And I’ve heard that sword is being used to hurt people.”
Olman slowly nodded. The man leaned closer, his face inches from Olman’s. Olman was taken aback.
“…Huh.”
Even Olman, who had lived a long life, was intimidated by the sheer intensity of the man’s gaze. It wasn’t directed at him.
It was directed at someone who wasn’t here. At…
“I’ll kill that bastard Geldmere. I swear on my name as the hero. I’ll break him and his sword. So, make me a sword. A sword powerful enough to break his.”
“…Do you know this knight?”
“Yes. I know him very well. That’s why I’m saying this.”
“….”
Olman studied the man. As the greatest blacksmith, he had met many powerful warriors. The strongest swordsman he had ever met was the Empire’s Sword Saint. But the man before him possessed a similar aura.
He was undoubtedly one of the strongest knights on the continent. But unlike the Sword Saint, this man had… killing intent.
At first, that had made him hesitant. This man would undoubtedly kill many more people. But if that killing intent was directed at the knight who had threatened him… and if he was the hero…
“…I made a sword for that knight.”
Olman finally spoke, his resolve hardening. He turned and opened a cabinet in the back of the forge.
“I anticipated this. I knew the sword I made for him would bring harm to others.”
He couldn’t have been unaware. Geldmere reeked of death. Not the smell of blood, but the stench of death.
A stench unique to those who had made a career out of killing. Olman had been terrified, but he had obeyed, to save his family.
But he hadn’t obeyed completely.
“So, I used my Mark. It was just a… personal touch, but… this is the result.”
“That’s…”
“I made twin swords.”
Olman pulled out a sword identical to the one he had made for Geldmere. But the color was different.
Not the blood-red blade Geldmere had requested, but its opposite, a golden hue.
A golden sword, forged to break the cursed blade.
“I call it… the holy sword.”
A sword meant for the hero.
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Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
Holy sword acquired