“U-use you? You…?”
“Yep. In exchange, you help me with my thing.”
The bewildered girl narrowed her eyes skeptically, scanning him.
Now was the time to sell his usefulness. The power in this negotiation lay with her, not him.
“The Forge God Gurba—he exists, right?”
“Y-yes… But—”
“He’s my old subordinate. I need to meet him—”
“W-wait! What’re you saying!?”
Eyes wide, she stepped forward—forgetting caution in her shock.
Her reaction oddly boosted his pride.
That stubborn old geezer used to be hated for doing things his way. Guess he softened up if he’s making weapons for others now.
“Wh—the Forge God Gurba is… your subordinate?! D-don’t screw with me! Who in the world would ever—?!”
As she spat those words, her eyes darted between the fallen sword on the floor and me.
Even as she struggled to speak, I could see her mind working—not to reject the idea, but to understand it. Yeah, she’s sharp. Not like the usual fools.
“The person who wields that sword… can meet Gurba, right? So—”
■
“Lady Irena! We’ve heard of your valor in obtaining the Forge God’s blade!”
“Lord Gurba must be waiting. Please, step inside.”
“……Yes, thank you.”
The checkpoint guards saluted, their gazes brimming with reverence—for Irena, and something near worship for the sword.
Irena, clutching the blade (now hastily sheathed in a makeshift scabbard despite her bravado), strode through the gate with dignity.
The path wound up a gentle slope along a small hill. The remote, nature-rich location—almost as if rejecting civilization—made her tense instinctively, sensing the temperament of the one who dwelled there.
But whether that man’s words were true or not… she wouldn’t know unless she met him.
(Well, it’s not like I’m the one who pulled the sword… They’ll figure that out soon enough.)
The reason Irena hadn’t gone to Gurba even after claiming credit was this very fear.
Still, if she explained that the true wielder had sent her… maybe he’d at least hear her out.
Gurba’s divine craftsmanship—a boon coveted not just by nobles, but entire kingdoms.
A faint heat prickled against her skin as the iron hut loomed ahead.
CLANG! CLANG!
The rhythmic strikes of hammer on metal echoed from within. She reached for the door—heavy, resistant. With a deep breath, she shoved it open. The sparse interior held only a pedestal at its center, where a pale luminous stone hovered, spinning midair. Another door led deeper inside—likely to the workshop.
“E-excuse me…!”
Her voice, meant to carry into the workshop, trembled and died in the air.
Swallowing hard, she stepped toward the inner door.
Knock.
She knocks on the door once. The knocking sound is surprisingly small, perhaps due to her extreme nervousness, and it does not echo that loudly.
Gritting her teeth at her own hesitation, she raised her hand again—
The hammering stopped.
“Who’s there?”
The rasped words sent a phantom grip squeezing around her heart.
Before her stiffened throat could reply, the door swung open—pushing her aside—to reveal a towering white-haired man. A giant, even at a glance. His muscular frame bore no sweat despite the forge’s heat.
The King of Craftsmen—Gurba, the Forge God. Not some frail elder, but a colossus.
“……Girl. What do you want?”
“I… uh…”
As Irena strained to speak, Gurba’s gaze locked onto the sword at her hip. His expression hardened.
His eyes swept over her, then bore down on her frozen form.
“……That blade. The one I drove into the great tree. Did you pull it out?”
“……Nngh…!”
The sheer weight in his voice threatened to bring tears to her eyes.
Unable to look away, she forced her lips apart—as if tearing stitches.
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“I… I-I… d-didn’t…!”
“Leave.” His voice was ice. “I’ve nothing for fools who buy their glory. Go.”
He’d known from the start. The moment he saw her, he knew she wasn’t the one. With a dismissive jerk of his chin toward the exit, he turned away.
“Now. And tell the coward who sold you that sword—their chance is gone. We’re done here.”
Rejection. His eyes, once alight with fire, were now cold and dull.
The flicker of hope she’d carried—crushed the moment she walked in with that blade.
As Gurba turned his back, Irena lurched forward in desperation.
“W-wait—!”
He didn’t even glance back as the door began to shut—
“TH—THE CORPSE KING!!”
“—————”
Silence.
The sound of the door slamming—one that should have shaken the eardrums—was stopped at the last moment.
Without even understanding the meaning of the scene, the words that had once been spat out now burst from Irena’s mouth like a flood, as if a dam had broken.
If she stopped here, she’d be swallowed up again.
“U-uh…! The person who drew this sword, um… if I say that, you’ll understand…! S-so, I-I, I’m really—”
“Fool.”
“Eek—!”
Killing intent.
The glare Gurba fixed on Irena carried such weight that it alone could have killed a person.
“To dare take that name… Do what you will with the organization’s name. But… to defile the Young One’s name—that, I will not overlook. The demons should have wiped you out.”
“……!”
Irena cowered, her legs giving out beneath her as Gurba looked down at her and hefted his great hammer.
“Call that fool here. I’ll toss him into the furnace.”
At those words, Irena’s body trembled.
He was right.
If she spoke that name, he might listen.
And if that happened, she had to say this immediately—
“T-teleportation… isn’t working…! Th-that’s—!”
“Teleportation… Hah. A cheap trick. Fine.”
With that mutter, Gurba swung his hammer down onto the luminous stone resting on the pedestal at the room’s center.
In an instant, the brilliantly glowing stone shattered into fragments, letting out a high-pitched reverberation before the pedestal itself crumbled into dust, scattering across the room.
“Girl, step back if you don’t want to die. I won’t hold back.”
Veins bulging, Gurba barked out the warning bluntly before fixing his gaze on the doorway.
A faint sound reached the room from outside, followed by footsteps gradually drawing closer.
Gripping the hammer’s handle tightly, Gurba raised it high, his face a mask of fury.
Then—the door opened.
“GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHH—!!”
An instant later, the hammer descended with a furious roar.
The force of its swing alone was enough to buffet those nearby with wind pressure as it swept over Irena’s head, crashing toward the door————
“…………!!”
The wind howled, scattering everything in the room with its force.
Yet—it stopped. Without striking the newly arrived figure, the hammer froze midair, not even a tremor in its motion.
“Wh… wha…?”
A stunned voice, unbefitting of the God of the Forge, slipped from Gurba’s lips.
THUD. The hammer slid limply from his grip.
Now, Gurba’s eyes saw clearly—the face of the figure that had been hidden behind the hammer.
A man with a frivolous smirk curled the edge of his lips upward… as if in fond remembrance.
“You’ve aged, Gurba. The hell’s with that ‘bout-to-die’ face? …Okay, maybe half of that’s my fault. But if life’s that boring, quit sulking and tag along. Got something fun planned—no way I’ll let you stay miserable.”
For some reason, tears welled up. Gurba can’t help but cry, seeing that he still looks the same as he did a long time ago.
His words held no lie.
Gurba had looked like death. Had been drowning in boredom.
But the next words made Gurba’s teeth grind.
This wasn’t a dream. He was back.
“Y-young… master…!”
“I need your strength. Let’s go raise hell again.”
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