I Woke Up 120 Years After The Apocalypse-Chapter 31: Blacksmith

"And? When are they arriving?"

"In about three days’ walk, I’d say."

"Then we’ve got time."

Yashyn called out to Akram, addressing him with a serious tone.

"For the next three days, you’re going to rest as much as possible. You need to be one hundred percent ready."

Akram raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"But I’ve barely had a single day off in six months. What made you change your mind?"

"Because you’re going to face an Oathbearer."

Akram narrowed his eyes, unsure of where his weapons master was going with this.

Yashyn let out a short sigh before continuing.

"The Oathbearers aren’t very numerous, as I’ve already told ya’. But they’re respected across the entire continent. Do ya’ know why?"

"Huh... because they’re extremely strong individually?"

"That’s right. But they’re even stronger than ya’ think, lil’ bud’."

"The man you’re going to fight isn’t an Oathbearer champion. He’s just a regular soldier."

Akram exclaimed, utterly confused.

"They’ll never send a real champion here. There’d be no point. To put things into perspective, an Oathbearer champion is almost on my level in terms of raw strength and skill."

The Vulkans present all reacted at once, shocked.

"What?! That strong?!"

"Holy shit... That explains why the Varang is left alone..."

Elliot stepped into the discussion, unable to resist adding his input and expanding on the world’s history.

"Not exactly, actually."

The Vulkans turned their attention to the young logistician, who wore a wide grin, clearly pleased to show off his knowledge.

"They already fought a war about ten years ago. They went up against the Sacred Dominion."

"It was a bloody war, one that ended in the Oathbearers’ defeat... and the death of their leader at the time."

Elliot went on to explain how the war unfolded, never stuttering once in his account.

The Oathbearers used to be far more numerous, but many of them died in battle against the Sacred Dominion or later fell into disgrace.

According to Elliot, one of the main reasons for their defeat was their inability to retreat. As seasoned and extremely proud warriors, retreating would have meant losing their honor. As a result, every battle was decisive—victory or death.

Against an army as powerful as the Sacred Dominion’s, such a strategy proved far too costly, leading to the loss of many cities and territories.

While Elliot continued talking nonstop, Akram, Yashyn, and the young women gradually walked away, one by one.

They reached the main square, in front of HQ, where life had grown significantly.

Small markets sold all kinds of food and supplies, two new shops offered survival equipment for the Varang, and a school had been built to educate the children. All of it had become possible thanks to the expansion of trade.

Even though Akram had escaped Elliot’s monologue, his thoughts remained focused on what lay ahead. He turned to Leyla, walking beside him, a question lingering on his lips.

"Hey Leyla, I heard Barid personally fought the Oathbearer back when Vulkania was just starting. How did that go?"

"Uh... I don’t really know. I wasn’t there at the time. You’ll have to ask Baron. But from what I heard, Barid completely wrecked him."

"Wow... I hope I can do the same... p’wahaha."

Settlers—now better described as villagers—began greeting the young leader as he crossed the main courtyard.

"Hey boss, what’s new?!"

"Hey Akram! Swing by my stand later, I’ve got some amazing stuff for you to taste!"

"Have a good day, chief!"

Akram greeted everyone with a warm, genuine smile. Every day, he made sure to exchange at least a few words with everyone, fostering an atmosphere of respect and mutual trust.

Two children suddenly stepped in front of the group, blocking their path. One of them, a young boy named Hawk, rushed straight toward Akram.

"Hey, hey Akram!! I heard you’re gonna fight!!"

"Yes... in a few days. Will you come watch?"

"Yes! But you better not lose!! We’re all counting on you!! Dad said there’s no way you can lose anyway."

The second child, a quieter girl named Gayl, hidden behind Hawk, grabbed his arm.

"Easy, Hawk! Leave the chief alone! He must be tired..."

Akram chuckled softly and knelt down to their level, gently ruffling their hair.

"If I win, we’ll train by throwing rocks at Yashyn to get revenge for those long months with no breaks. Sound good?"

Both kids nearly jumped with excitement.

Yashyn clicked his tongue like an annoyed child.

What’s that supposed to mean? Damn brats... he thought.

Hawk suddenly turned and ran toward a man approaching them.

"Dad!"

The man was Hawk’s father. Long hair slicked back, a large scar across his forehead, and light armor hinted at his past as a fighter.

And indeed, Zofyan was a warrior and a guard of Vulkania—more precisely, the captain of the guard.

Having arrived six months earlier, he had been completely won over by Akram’s oratory skills and tenacity. His loyalty to him was absolute.

"Good to see you, Akram! Training go well?"

Akram greeted Zofyan warmly, both of them smiling.

"As usual, I got my ass kicked, but I’m improving. I’m ready for the Oath—"

Zofyan clapped him on the shoulder.

"Of course you are. You nearly took my eye out during our last sparring session!"

They both laughed. Over time, they had grown close through the combat training sessions organized by Yashyn for the new recruits alongside Akram.

Out of Vulkania’s hundred inhabitants, twenty had voluntarily joined the guard. They had all been trained by Yashyn over the past six months, though at a slightly lower intensity.

Among them, Zofyan stood out for his combat skill. With a sword, he matched Akram in nearly every session, thanks to his experience in the Sacred Dominion’s army.

That skill, combined with his loyalty, had earned him his current position.

"So where are you headed?"

"We’re going to see old Plumrol to take care of Yashyn’s katana."

Zofyan grimaced.

"Just a heads-up—he’s in a bad mood lately..."

"As usual... Whose fault is it this time?"

Zofyan subtly glanced toward Nezra, who first put on an innocent look before finally admitting it.

"That stubborn mule wouldn’t let me use his forge to upgrade the turret. I told him exactly what I thought, that’s all!"

Akram let out an annoyed sigh.

"Alright. Better not bring you along then. Leyla, take her back to the research center, please."

Leyla smiled at Akram’s orders and quickly grabbed Nezra, pulling her away.

"No, Akram, wait!! Let me—!"

Zofyan chuckled as her voice faded into the distance.

"Well, I’ll leave you to it. Can’t wait to hear what Plumrol has to say about the antique Yashyn’s carrying..."

Yashyn’s forehead vein twitched.

"Hey, I’m right here, you know. My blade’s perfectly fine."

Akram and Yashyn then headed toward the forge, located just a few dozen meters from HQ, while Zofyan returned to his post.

When they arrived, it came as no surprise that Plumrol wasn’t in a great mood.

Still, his attitude softened when he saw Akram arrive with the bounty hunter.

"Well, look at that! Mr. Boss himself... How can I help you and the stickman you call a master?"

"I’m the stickman, baldy?"

The relationship between the two had never been cordial—comically so—mostly because of Yashyn’s bad habit of annoying absolutely everyone.

"We’re here about his katana. I don’t think it’ll hold much longer."

"Mmh... Alright, hand it over, tss..." Plumrol grumbled, extending his hand.

Yashyn placed his arm on the table in front of Plumrol, ignoring the offered hand. The forger muttered under his long beard before getting to work.

He examined the blade, starting with the guard.

"This thing’s in a sorry state... damn it..."

Akram and Yashyn exchanged a look, shrugging.

But when Plumrol reached the blade itself, he froze.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

"Plumrol... you okay?"

Suddenly, he dropped the blade, letting it fall onto the forge table as he staggered backward.

"Hey! Plumrol?! What’s going on?!"

"This blade... this katana... a Fumetsu model?!"

Akram stared at the master blacksmith, utterly confused.

A Fumetsu model?

What was it about Yashyn’s blade that could shock even the normally stoic Plumrol?

All those questions rushed through Akram’s mind at once—completely unaware of what he was about to hear next.