At Gagiur’s great tree,
sunlight filters into its hollow.
For a hundred eighty years, something had stirred within—its birth delayed by an irregularity.
Gulba’s sword.
By the fool who carelessly pulled it out—unaware it had become a sealing wedge—it began preparing for rebirth once more.
The hollow of the great tree transformed into a false sacred grove, welcoming the birth of a demon. Within, it opened its eyes, slowly forming its body over time.
A high-ranking demon—a Greater Demon… Its rank—unknown.
Guided by clear reason and command… It would soon sprout forth.
■
“…Well, well… Lady Irena.”
“What do you think? As promised, I’ve retrieved Gurba’s Sword.”
“…Hmph.”
Irena Will Iron, daughter of Count Iron.
The sword she brought back to the count’s household was none other than the very blade that had been embedded in Gagiur’s great tree.
Faced with undeniable proof of her success, the bearded man before her stroked his mustache and snorted arrogantly.
The man was Higega Ha Goethe, head of House Goethe, a marquis family.
Clad in extravagant attire befitting his middle-aged status, he flaunted the very image of nobility without restraint. He was the lord of Lebet, a territory adjacent to Gagiur.
“…As agreed, the matter of your petition to the king—whether it be the restoration of our title or the revocation of our lordship—will now be postponed.”
“…My, my. And yet—”
“Oh? Do you intend to break a promise between nobles, however flimsy? Shall I take this contract to the capital myself?”
“…………Sigh.”
In Irena’s hand was the contract signed between them.
Its contents were a pitiful mercy—nothing more than a sparrow’s tear. The terms stated that if Gurba’s Sword were retrieved, the deadline for the petition would be extended. The only reason he had been visiting Gagiur so frequently was to seize lordship over its surrounding lands.
Recently, House Iron had been criticized for its policies and poor harvests. Because of this, the marquis had been stubbornly visiting Gagiur these past few days to negotiate.
“…………Was I too hasty? I never imagined someone would actually pull that sword out.”
“A promise is a promise. You will wait one week. In that time, I will propose revisions to the tax collection and measures to address the poor harvests. …………And my father’s condition.”
“Yes, yes. Very well. At this point, it’s like pouring water on a scorching stone.”
“Gh…!”
“If only the talent—no, the gift—you were born with had been capable of overturning this situation… Well, fate is a cruel thing, isn’t it?”
Clenching her fists, Irena held back her retort and silently watched as Marquis Goethe rose to leave.
“I’m as incompetent as my father. There’s no need for you to shoulder the blame.”
As they passed each other, Goethe’s gaze toward Irena was tainted with vulgar desire.
“You’ve grown quite beautiful, Lady Irena. Inside and out, of course.”
“…I’m honored by your praise.”
“I look forward to next week.”
After instructing a servant to escort the slovenly marquis out, Irena turned to her maid.
“…Where is Father?”
“As usual, locked in his office…”
“Talking to himself again?”
“Yes.”
“I see… Ugh, he’s as troublesome as that lolicon geezer.”
“My lady, your language—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Cutting the conversation short, Irena left the room and walked slowly toward the office. Dragging Gurba’s Sword—so heavy it made her dizzy—left the elegant carpet ruined in her wake.
When she finally reached the office door—
“…………The great tree told me. Yes, it must be true. It’s fine… It’s fine… Yes, right?”
—her father’s muffled voice seeped through.
“…Father.”
“Ahhh, it’s almost time. Almost… soon…”
“…Sigh.”
His voice was so deranged it was impossible to hold a conversation. She exhaled, resigned.
Doctors had no cure—not even a diagnosis. It was hopeless. His descent into madness seemed directly proportional to his misrule, from exploitative policies to countless other foolish acts.
When he left his office to attend to duties, he feigned normalcy—but moved like a programmed machine, performing only rigid, predetermined actions.
And once he returned to his room, he reverted to this state.
Count Iron had fallen into this madness half a year ago—around the time the name Helheim began spreading across the world.
Though she sensed no direct connection, Irena knew all too well that misfortune often arrived in waves.
As if synchronized with her father’s madness, the territory’s harvests withered.
Even now, it continued—as if something were draining the land’s vitality.
She wanted to abandon this place immediately.
But doing so would be no different than discarding the very achievement that had elevated their house to a countship—the lordship of Gagiur, home to the Forge God Gurba.
Title revocation and loss of lordship would mean ruin.
“…I have to do something.”
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Investigating and solving the cause.
The weight of this duty pressed down unbearably on the shoulders of fourteen-year-old Irena.
“What should I do with this sword…?”
As she turned on her heel, the sword’s weight and her dire circumstances cornered her.
Yet when she passed the portrait of her late mother—gone since her childhood—she forced herself to stand tall.
“I’ll find a way, Mother. Don’t worry.”
Struggling to drag the unwieldy sword, she barely managed to reach her room and open the door.
The dark, silent interior mirrored her despair, casting an even deeper shadow over her heart.
“…………One week.”
An impossibly short deadline.
Policy revisions might still be manageable, but the failing harvests were beyond her. Without even a clue to the cause, no glimmer of hope remained.
If she failed, everything would fall into Marquis Goethe’s hands.
She knew the lordship was merely an excuse. No other noble would want this wretched land.
The survival of House Iron—a duty that felt like an obligation to her as the count’s daughter—had already slipped irretrievably out of reach.
“Father… Mother…”
Clang. The sword tumbled roughly to the floor, scarring it indifferently.
Collapsing beside it, Irena stifled a sob as the crushing weight of responsibility overwhelmed her.
She knew it was futile. The game was already lost.
“…………Hic… Hic…”
Tears streamed endlessly from her eyes—far too heavy for a girl of fourteen, soaking her cheeks.
Would it be easier to just give up and run away?
“…Like hell I can!”
Even if she had to flail pathetically, she would do so as the daughter of House Iron.
That was the fate she’d been given.
Her heart, already battered and stitched together, continued to unravel—
Not by anyone else’s hand, but her own.
“If I’m going to die… I’ll die as Count Iron’s daughter… You good-for-nothing…!”
Sobbing uncontrollably, she curled into herself.
Then, as she tried to rise—still seeing no light ahead—───
“Why the tears? Need help?”
“…Huh?”
The room should have been empty.
Yet through her tear-blurred vision, she saw him—the gray hood from before.
The man who had pulled Gurba’s Sword.
“Wha—!?”
She leapt back, putting distance between them as she glared at the intruder.
His lighthearted tone and gestures suggested he was oblivious to her despair.
“Didn’t expect to meet again so soon, so this is kinda awkward… But I’ve got business with you.”
“Y-you! How’d you get in here!? I—I’ll call the guards!”
“Whoa, hold on! I’m just here to talk! Not gonna do anything!”
“You already have! Breaking and entering!”
“Yeah, fair… But, y’know—”
Pointing at the fallen sword, his lips curled into a grin beneath his hood.
“You needed that to meet Gurba, right? I didn’t know, so I handed it over… So now I wanna return the favor.”
Scratching his head, he made his offer with an embarrassed smile.
Understanding his intent, Irena shook her head bitterly.
“Meet the Forge God Gurba… So what, you want extra hush money? ‘Let me meet Gurba, or I’ll talk’—is that it?”
It was only natural.
If a noble’s weakness could be exploited, humans would squeeze it dry.
She had no time to waste on this. To settle it quickly, she opened her mouth to say, “Fine.”
But then—
“—Nah, nah. That deal was settled with fifty gold coins. This is different.”
“Di…fferent?”
“Yeah, different. Don’t wanna make enemies with someone promising.”
Pulling back his hood, he revealed a surprisingly refined face—and an oddly confident smile.
“You were crying, so you’re in trouble, right? Then let’s go with that. No debts between us.”
“W-what are you—”
“Give and take. You help me, I help you… Well, we help you. Fair, right?”
Kneeling before her, he looked up and grinned.
“I’ll fix whatever’s making you cry. Just use me. Don’t let the looks fool you—I’m pretty handy.”
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