Chapter 143 A Bladesmith

After browsing through four or five bookstores in succession and gathering a large stack of books, Qi Bai's incomprehensible and bizarre actions finally came to an end.

Following that, they proceeded with the most crucial supply run: food and drinking water. However, such "bulk supplies" did not require Qi Bai to carry them himself. Once the payment was made and the delivery location specified, the shopkeeper would naturally have the goods sent over.

For some reason, their actions were particularly proactive, as if they were racing against time. What was the rush? If they could not finish delivering today, they could easily wait until tomorrow, couldn't they? Does even buying groceries adhere to the principle of never putting off until tomorrow what can be done today?

After wandering around for a whole day, dusk was gradually falling.

"We've arrived. It should be here."

Having completed their scheduled tasks, Qi Bai and Monet did not immediately head back; instead, they stopped in front of another shop.

Calling it a shop might not be entirely accurate. There was not even a signboard here, and the front door was tightly shut. Carrying a massive pile of items, Qi Bai tilted his head with considerable effort to glance at the slip of paper in his hand. After comparing the address marked on it with the location here, he confirmed that he had not come to the wrong place.

Coming here was merely a spontaneous impulse on Qi Bai's part. Earlier, while shopping, he had heard that an exceptional swordsman and weaponsmith lived in this city, so he decided to pay a visit—perhaps feeling that it was time to find a sword truly belonging to him.

Of course, this still depended on whether the smith here was a genuine master of the craft.

However, the place did not look much like it was open for business.

Just as Qi Bai was about to extend a foot to "knock on the door," a short, hoarse voice abruptly reached his ears:

"Enter!"

The door was pushed open from the inside. Qi Bai and Monet exchanged a glance and stepped into the plain, unpretentious room.

Qi Bai put down the things he was carrying, and the first image that caught his eye was that of the "swordsmith": short hair, a round face, a stout figure, a face covered in deep wrinkles, and robust limbs...

It did not quite fit the image of an Eastern-style grandmaster, but... one should not judge a book by its cover; after all, according to legends, dwarves were always master craftsmen.

A scorching heat pulsed throughout the entire room—presumably, an everlasting flame was burning in the forge at the back.

Looking at the arrangement of the shop... a large number of bare blades of varying lengths were scattered about in a disorderly fashion, completely unlike the neat organization of a regular weapon store. Qi Bai even felt there was nowhere to step.

Very well, this was simply a workshop.

Yet one had to admit that at times, the scent of iron could be quite intoxicating.

After beckoning the two of them inside, the man sat right back down and resumed his work, appearing to be in the middle of repairing a blade.

Did this mean they were free to look around? Artisans always possessed various eccentricities, and masters were particularly reclusive... Whether this was Qi Bai's imagination or not, he certainly did not know the meaning of standing on ceremony.

His gaze roamed around the room, soon being drawn to one of the few fully completed and entirely decorated blades on display.

Without another word, he walked over and picked it up. The delicate tactile sensation immediately suggested that this was a masterpiece, and the exquisite level of craftsmanship made one wonder whether it truly came from the hands of this "dwarf."

Thinking this, Qi Bai cast a curious look at the other person. The smith's senses seemed remarkably keen, as he immediately raised his head and met Qi Bai's gaze.

"May I test the sword?" he asked on the spot.

The man looked him up and down before giving a slight nod.

Seeing that the smith had no objections, Qi Bai drew the blade amidst a continuous, faint frictional sound.

The luster reflected by the blade and its mesmerizing curvature confirmed Qi Bai's earlier judgment: this was a fine sword. As for just how fine it was, it was hard to say for the moment.

"Gemon."

"Huh?"

"Gemon. The name of this sword," the man explained further.

"Gemon... A nostalgic name." Turning the blade over, he could indeed see the inscription on it, which bore the exact characters for Gemon.

Hearing Qi Bai's exclamation of emotion, the swordsmith looked over once more.

"It's nothing. Coincidentally, a swordsman I like is also named Gemon."

As he spoke, Qi Bai slid the sword back into its scabbard, then drew it in a single fluid motion to strike a straw mat standing in the middle of the room. Without the slightest sense of resistance, the straw mat was effortlessly sliced in two.

"Hmph, I've gone and cut down something boring again."

Well, upon hearing that name, Qi Bai had simply wanted to utter that particular line. Having fulfilled this trivial purpose, he placed the sword back where it had been.

"I heard that Your Excellency is the finest swordsmith in this country. If I wish to commission a suitable blade, I wonder how long it would take?" Qi Bai turned to face the swordsmith.

"A swordsmith? No, I am merely a blade smith... Follow me."

A custom commission was a major undertaking. The man laid down his work, turned around, and left through the rear door.

Qi Bai followed closely behind him.

Beyond was a spacious courtyard, where a long table covered with a felt cloth extended almost from one end of the courtyard to the other.

The swordsmith walked up to the table and removed the felt cloth, revealing its contents: over a thousand blades of varying lengths, widths, and curvatures.

"Surely... you aren't going to make me test every single one of them?" Qi Bai suddenly had the feeling of being at an optician's shop getting his eyes examined.

The swordsmith nodded, then pointed to a wooden stump in the middle of the courtyard. It stood four meters tall, with a diameter of over 1.5 meters.

"This... with full strength?" Qi Bai picked up the blade at the very front, feeling somewhat bewildered. Although this piece of wood looked thick and long, surely it wouldn't be difficult for a swordsman to cut through, right?

"Full strength," the smith said. "This is Heavenly Star Southern Konjac. It cannot be severed."

Very well, it seemed this material was rather special. At ease, Qi Bai slashed forward with all his might. *Thud!* True enough, the sound of hitting the wooden stump was distinct; the blade penetrated only slightly before getting stuck, completely devoid of the scenario Qi Bai had imagined of cutting it cleanly in two.

The swordsmith stepped up to examine the mark of the cut and said, "Switch to number 38."

After Qi Bai found number 38 and struck a few more times, the smith said again, "Switch to number 438."

Qi Bai's initial intuition had been spot on—he was damned well getting his eyes tested, and using the most primitive method at that.

Yet this was precisely why Qi Bai had come to such a place. Although he possessed construction abilities, he was not a professional. Guided by the swordsmith's continuous instructions, the blade in Qi Bai's hand gradually evolved toward a heavier, slenderer form.

As they busied themselves past midnight, through constant adjustments, the final object in Qi Bai's hands no longer looked much like a battle saber, but rather resembled an ceremonial blade intended solely for decoration—at first glance, it gave off only one impression: far too long.

If one were to actually forge a sword according to this shape and specification, there was a good chance it would easily turn into a cursed blade.

Qi Bai continuously practiced swinging the bamboo-pole-like object in his hand, though he felt it surprisingly well-balanced and smooth.

"So, how long will it take to forge this thing?"

He merely asked offhand. By this point, he no longer needed the swordsmith to do anything else—in simple terms, now that he knew the "prescription," he was fully capable of crafting the "glasses" himself.

The swordsmith glanced at the moonlight and then uttered the longest sentence he had spoken since Qi Bai's arrival: "You may return. Whether you truly need this sword remains to be seen. If you are still able to reach my place tomorrow... In any case, please come back tomorrow."

And thus, Qi Bai was unceremoniously chased out in a state of utter bewilderment. What was that supposed to mean? Did it sound like there was a possibility they wouldn't be able to come tomorrow?

Not that he had any intention of making a return trip, anyway.

"It's fogging up..."

Re-entering the street, Qi Bai noticed that a thick mist had enveloped the city, obscuring even the moonlight.

In the kingdom of Rommel after nightfall, the streets were illuminated only by dim, hazy lights, yet apart from Qi Bai and Monet, not a single pedestrian was to be seen.

It felt as though, amidst this atmosphere, some strange and malevolent entities might emerge at any moment.