Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 518 - Those with Dreams Helping Others with Dreams

Chapter 518 - Those with Dreams Helping Others with Dreams

Becoming a knight could bring about change.

To those who knew Enkrid, some things had already changed, and more could change in the future.

Yet, amidst this, there were also things that would never change.

Since the first time he held a sword, there was a saying he'd heard so often it was etched into his ears:

"A guy who doesn't take proper care of his weapon will one day find himself holding a broken sword, getting cut down by someone weaker than him."

It was something a mercenary who first taught him swordsmanship had said.

While oddly specific, the meaning of the words was clear to Enkrid.

He had heard similar advice countless times after that.

"A sword is an extension of your hand. Would you skimp on care for your own hand?"

Even a weapon merchant once said that.

The merchant had a way with words, and his rhetoric often emptied the pockets of would-be swordsmen looking to purchase weapons.

Enkrid, however, was not easily scammed.

Yet, he agreed with the sentiment.

Could he entrust a sword—his lifeline—to just anyone?

Certainly not.

It was unthinkable to hand over his weapon to someone blind to its worth.

To Enkrid, this was only natural.

"Are you doubting my craftsmanship?"

The dwarf said indignantly.

Was it the stubbornness of a craftsman?

It didn't seem that way.

The clouded, murky greed in the dwarf's eyes was all that was visible.

He had claimed to be from Martai and even mentioned something about unpaid debts.

Perhaps he hadn't outright killed anyone, but skipping out on payments was another matter altogether.

"Can you call in one of the passing soldiers?"

Enkrid addressed the dwarf's apprentice instead.

"Huh? Oh, yes, right away."

The atmosphere grew tense.

The dwarf stared at Enkrid and said:

"I'm more skilled than him."

"Not to my eyes,"

Enkrid replied coldly.

"You insolent—!"

The dwarf burst into rage like a furnace.

However, with a simple gesture, Enkrid cooled the fiery outburst.

In an instant, and with speed invisible to anyone present, Enkrid picked up a gladius with a loose connection between the grip and blade.

He pointed its tip at the dwarf.

Though the hilt wobbled due to the poor assembly, there wasn't even a sound.

The slightly dulled tip now aimed directly at the dwarf's chest.

Even then, Enkrid noted the blade was well-oiled and maintained—a minor consolation.

"I'm not certain, but it seems I'd have the authority to carry out an execution if needed. Martai is a sister city to Border Guard, and if you caused trouble there, the general here might hold you accountable."

Stating the facts calmly, Enkrid fixed his gaze on the dwarf.

The dwarf blinked several times, his expression indecipherable.

For a brief moment, silence reigned, and no one dared to speak.

The dwarf glanced around nervously, his eyes darting.

Finally, he asked Enkrid:

"Why will you not entrust the sword to me?"

Enkrid replied without hesitation:

"Your eyes."

"My eyes?"

The dwarf asked, puzzled.

Enkrid locked eyes with him.

"Even though you claim your skills are not lacking, your demeanor and gaze tell a different story."

Just as certain things were fundamental to Enkrid, some things were equally innate to the craftsman.

Acknowledging a lack of skill reflected a clear view of the present.

However, it didn't mean that would remain true in the future.

The craftsman sent from the capital had no intention of stopping here.

He faced the forge daily, hands blackened, arms sunburnt.

The soot-covered forearms testified to his resolve.

By contrast, the dwarf's bloated belly, alcoholic stench, and audacity to demand a house painted a starkly different picture.

To Enkrid, the dwarf was garbage.

If the dwarf had asked for women after demanding a house, Enkrid would have beaten him half to death.

In Border Guard, female soldiers were not uncommon.

Had the request been made, Enkrid could have entrusted the dwarf to them for a thorough "lesson."

Natural talent might grant one the ability to work steel, but what about the will within?

This wasn't a knight's perspective on wielding Will.

Even without considering Will, Enkrid would have treated the dwarf the same way.

Some things could change, but others remained immutable.

The craftsman's pupils quivered.

What was this man talking about?

Did he know something, or was it just blind confidence?

Enkrid, still holding the sword in his left hand, asked the blacksmith from the capital

"Do you have a dream?"

The blacksmith blinked—three times, slowly.

Though something seemed to shift within him, the trembling in his eyes ceased, and he opened his mouth.

"Call me Eitri," he said suddenly, introducing himself with a formal tone.

"Enkrid of Border Guard," came the knight's steady reply.

"Then I will call myself Eitri of Border Guard as well."

Eitri hid his emotions well, but he was moved.

For the first time, someone had asked about his dreams while looking directly into his eyes.

Enkrid's blue gaze made it seem possible to say anything—even foolish hopes that would invite ridicule.

This era was full of those who viewed smithing as a mere means of survival.

Few held onto true craftsmanship, and even they often abandoned their pursuit of excellence once reaching a certain status.

Dreams?

Those who pursued them started bold, but time weathered even their hearts.

Eitri, however, still clung to his dream—one he'd shared with no one.

That dream had driven him to forge a solid axe from Mount Lewis Iron and a massive black-gold greatsword.

"I want to craft an Engraved Weapon."

Engraved Weapons were the personal arms of knights—crafted only once in a knight's lifetime.

For a craftsman, making such a weapon was the highest honor, but it required both talent and luck.

Without these, the opportunity was unattainable.

Even across the entire continent, there were no more than three known craftsmen capable of forging Engraved Weapons.

Perhaps hidden talents existed, but the pursuit was shrouded in uncertainty.

For now, if one sought a proper Engraved Weapon, the best choice would be to visit the White Flame Guild near the Demon Lands.

Known for working with white fire, this guild had experience crafting such weapons.

Still, even that path was fraught with challenges.

Yet, forging an Engraved Weapon remained the dream of an aging smith who had spent his life shaping steel in fire.

"You said you couldn't handle magical weapons."

"I'm studying and researching. Would you let me make your weapon in the future?"

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The request was earnest.

His apprentice stood frozen, holding his breath, astonished by his master's demeanor.

Enkrid answered with a single word:

"I'll wait."

Eitri's composure faltered slightly, but he regained it.

"You mean as a knight?" he asked.

"Exactly," Enkrid replied simply.

Eitri blinked again, caught off guard by the response.

Then, comprehension dawned, and his expression shifted from surprise to a calm determination.

Even the dwarf seemed stunned, unable to grasp what had just transpired.

However, when he tried to edge away, Enkrid shifted the sword's tip toward him without even glancing, forcing him to abandon the thought of escape.

"Still here?" Enkrid asked, his tone indifferent.

At this, the apprentice quickly excused himself, leaving Eitri and Enkrid alone to continue their discussion.

"If you get caught while running away, you'll lose your legs, but if that's necessary, you might as well have a go at it."

Enkrid spoke while observing Eitri's work.

"I'll stay still."

The dwarf's voice had noticeably quieted compared to earlier, and no one paid any attention.

Eitri lifted a hammer and chisel, tapping the part of the Gladius blade that held it in place, then held the blade at eye level, inspecting the horizontal alignment and the edge's condition.

"I'll heat it up and straighten the edge. Do you tend to use your weapons roughly?"

"Many tough opponents."

Enkrid answered plainly, without arrogance.

Eitri focused on his work.

Whoosh.

When Eitri stepped on the bellows, flames leaped up.

The heat blasted out, raising the temperature inside the forge.

The air grew so hot that it was difficult to breathe, pressing against the lungs.

Even though Enkrid was uncomfortable, Eitri and the Frog sitting next to him were unfazed.

Both of them remained composed.

Enkrid watched Eitri, sitting in his chair, for a moment.

Then, nonchalantly, he pulled out the leather he bought earlier to show the blacksmith.

"I'll take care of that too."

Eitri glanced at it and nodded, replying that he could make something out of it.

"That Frog doesn't seem like a guest."

The Frog, whom Enkrid had briefly glanced at earlier, had returned to its original posture.

It sat in a chair higher than Enkrid's, arms resting on the desk, absorbed in something.

"A friend who's here to learn how to make accessories."

Eitri explained. Enkrid found it more surprising than seeing a giant turned into a merchant.

"The Frog?"

The question slipped out involuntarily.

Frogs were born with slippery skin, which oozed oil according to their emotional changes, so they fought using hooked weapons. They were known to wield swords or axes with loops or hooks for gripping.

The slippery skin was a significant advantage in battle, as it allowed them to slip out of most blades. Without handling Will, one had to be an expert in weapon handling to fight a Frog.

However, trying to craft delicate accessories when their hands were prone to dropping things due to their slippery nature seemed like an impossible task.

Anyone could see that it would be exceedingly difficult.

Frogs were not meant to take up such professions.

"Why? Can't I do it?"

The Frog spoke up.

Enkrid looked at it quietly.

There were sharp protrusions on its hands, nails driven into them.

It was an aid to compensate for the slippery palms, and those nails were fixed by its regenerative powers.

"Do you think Frogs don't feel pain?"

Even without Lua's words, it was clear that the Frog, like any other, could feel pain.

The nails embedded into its skin were a sign that it endured pain.

Those nails must have felt like another set of hands to the Frog.

"Why? Do you want to stop me?"

The Frog spoke again.

Enkrid stared into its eyes.

He had spent a long time with Lua, but he still couldn't completely tell the difference between the Frog's eyes and Lua's.

However, the gaze was unmistakable.

It was a passionate, burning look, one that even Lua sometimes displayed.

It was a fire that burned even more fiercely.

"I won't limit myself either."

Lua had once said that.

Enkrid had not only seen such eyes in Lua.

He had seen them earlier too—eyes that shone with the fire of determination, eyes of one moving toward something.

"No."

Enkrid spoke.

As always, he supported the dreams of others.

Even now, he did the same.

"I'll let the city administrator know. If you need anything, just say so."

Enkrid said.

"Nothing."

The Frog replied, returning to its focus.

Without even giving a name, it took a carving knife to shape the wood.

"I'm making the necessary tools for you."

Eitri spoke from behind.

Those with dreams help others with dreams.

These were people who never stopped yearning, never stopped walking toward their goals.

Enkrid could see that in their eyes.

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