Volume 3 Chapter 4 The Blunt Swordsmith
The shouting came from a workshop two doors down.
Everyone turned their gaze in that direction, and we naturally followed suit.
At the entrance of the workshop, we saw a small girl sprawled out as though she had been thrown onto the street.
She had medium-length, flaxen hair and round, light brown eyes.
Wearing protective glasses typical of a craftsman, her appearance, however, lacked the tough demeanor of one. She seemed more like a shy girl who might help out in a wheat field in a rural village.
"Hm?"
I felt a brief discomfort at the sight of the "girl," but I set the thought aside for now.
Just then, a man exited the workshop and tossed a package next to her.
It appeared to be her belongings, suggesting she should take them and leave.
"Please...! I don't want to leave the workshop yet. Please let me stay here...!"
The girl hastily picked up the package and bowed deeply to the man.
However, he refused her, his forehead vein bulging with anger.
"Don't mess with me. I'm fed up with your incompetence. There's no way I'm keeping you in the workshop when you can't even handle basic chores."
"I-I'll do better next time! I'll take on any task, no matter what! So please, let me stay here...!"
Her heartfelt plea fell on deaf ears as the man dismissed her.
Watching her persistently bowing her head, the young blacksmith beside me muttered.
"Looks like she's finally been kicked out..."
"...?"
I tilted my head in confusion. Noticing, the blacksmith explained.
"Her name is Fran. She's been doing odd jobs at that workshop. None of the others would take her in, but the head of that one took her as an apprentice blacksmith out of pity."
He looked at Fran with sympathy.
The workshop head, frail in health, had been hospitalized at a treatment center just a month ago.
In his absence, the man—Brue—had become the acting workshop head.
As the head's son, Brue had always been a tyrant. Now, his scolding and even violence toward Fran had worsened.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Ever since taking over, Brue's behavior has spiraled. He even gets into trouble with other blacksmiths. We've tried voicing our concerns, but..."
"...It doesn't seem to have any effect."
Fran continued bowing her head, enduring Brue's stream of insults.
Brue didn't seem like someone fit to run a workshop.
"Why was someone like him chosen as acting head? Surely there are more suitable candidates?"
"Being the workshop head's son played a big part. But more than that, Brue has genuine skill as a blacksmith. Probably the only one around here who could rival him is the workshop head himself."
Despite his sharp personality, Brue's craftsmanship was undeniably exceptional.
It explained his unchecked tyranny—his talent left no room for others to oppose him.
Now, with the head hospitalized, Brue clearly believed he ruled this industrial area.
I didn't see any need for Fran to remain in a workshop run by someone like that.
"Isn't there a chance for her to join another workshop? Surely, she could start somewhere else."
"That would be difficult. This town is crowded with aspiring blacksmiths, and the number of workshops is limited. Even if she got in, the competition is fierce. With her skill level, she might not even get to touch the tools."
...I see.
Getting into that workshop had been a miracle in itself.
If not for the head's kindness, Fran likely wouldn't have been accepted anywhere.
Still, she clung desperately to the workshop.
The young blacksmith beside me added apologetically,
"We've had people asking to join our workshop too, but we already have so many apprentices. If she's skilled enough, we can let her handle part of the forging process, but..."
As if prompted by those words, Brue grew impatient.
He stormed back into the workshop and returned with something in his hands.
What he threw to the ground like trash was a "sword" so chipped and damaged it could hardly be called a weapon.
"Didn't I let you forge something once? And this is what you made! You can't even cut a vegetable with this junk! You have no talent as a blacksmith!"
"..."
Fran's shoulders sagged, her eyelids drooping.
Another blacksmith, unable to bear the scene, tried to intervene.
"Hey, Brue, maybe you should ease up a bit. It was just a small mistake. She can improve over time. Besides, the workshop head wouldn't want this—"
"Huh? Are you talking back to me? I'm the workshop head now. If you can't accept my way, then you can leave too."
"..."
At that, the intervening blacksmith fell silent and retreated.
With no one left to stand up for her, Brue delivered his most vicious blow yet.
"I don't know if you want to be a blacksmith for your dead father's sake, but you're just wasting materials by forging. In the end, you're just like your useless father who died with unfulfilled ambitions."
Fran's lowered eyelids twitched.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to back down.
"I... I will learn little by little. And someday, I'll become a great blacksmith and forge the finest weapons. So, I can't give up here...!"
The flaxen-haired girl stood firm, her voice filled with resolve.
Brue clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed by her defiance.
Anger overtook him as he stepped back into the workshop and returned with a long sword.
"You talentless fool, don't throw around terms like 'masterpiece.' You don't even know what it means. Let me teach you with this!"
Brue raised the long sword and swung it toward Fran's left arm.
His intent wasn't to harm her but to scare her by slicing her clothes.
Yet his reckless anger made the strike dangerously uncontrolled.
"This is my true masterpiece!!!"
"──!"
With a heavy whoosh, the steel blade descended on Fran.
**Bang!**
"...Huh?"
But before it could reach her, Rose, who had been next to me just moments ago, was suddenly standing between them.
She had caught the blade with her bare hand.
"Isn't this a bit too much?"
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