‘Swordswomanship?’

“Swordswoman-”

The pressure from the killing intent disappears instantly, like it appeared. Seraphin is so surprised and weakened she falls down on her knees. She has never felt so much desire to kill before. Her body is still trembling, remembering the sheer feeling of being oppressed, of being weak.

The person who was talking to her moves and comes in front of her. It is a woman, tall and slim. Her slender legs are covered by a silver plate armor which looks like it was placed on her. She has a black belt around her waist that holds her one hand sword and the top is the same as the legs; a silver armor perfectly designed for her body. The gauntlets on her hand are the same, although you could see leather underneath. her hair is white, not grey but white. It is a huge contrast with her somehow brown skin which looked unnatural. Was her skin exposed to the sun a bit too much? Or did her hair’s color change at some point?

“Can you stand?”

The woman extends her hand to Seraphin. She is still trembling like a leaf and cannot muster the strength to lift her arm. The woman looks at her silently, patiently, waiting for her to recover her spirit.

Finally, after five minutes, Seraphin manages to hold Melka’s hand and stands up with her help. Her legs are still shaking.

“I am sorry for releasing my killing intent like this. Most people who come here want my head.”

“No, the fault is mine. I shouldn’t have entered your place without signaling myself first.”

“It’s okay, between women, we can forgive. Come with me to my house, it is not good to talk while standing.”

Seraphin and Melka walk to the hut. Melka is like a mountain compared to Seraphin. She is taller than the man who talked to her and her father at the smithy.

Inside the house, there is a bed, a chair, a table, and a fireplace. Melka seems to be living a simple life, without anything unnecessary: a hermit life.

Seraphin sits on the chair while Melka goes to her bed. She then looks again at Seraphin, scanning her with serious eyes.

“So, you wish to learn swordswomanship. But, why? I keep looking at you from every possible angle but you don’t look like you have ever fought for real before. Maybe some sparring but that’s it. ”

In such a short time, Melka was able to completely estimate Seraphin’s level. It is proof of her experience and knowledge.

“I don’t want to be weak ever again. That’s all.”

“Oh?” Melka gets really surprised by Seraphin’s eyes. They are shining with determination and resolve. “I am not the kind to pry into other people’s business, so I won’t ask you your story. Of course, it also means you won’t ask mine. We will be acquaintances only. And, master and student, if you ever managed to reach a level I deem sufficient.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Have you eaten? The first step to master the sword is to have a balanced body. You need enough fat to help your muscles apply more strength without it being too much, making you slow and heavy.”

“O-Okay. I have eaten this morning.”

“I see. Then you will eat again now. Three meals a day, no matter what. That’s my rule number one. Even if you are on a battlefield.”

***

“Not good.”

It has been three days since Hithindil came to GUTHENBERG. In three days, he didn’t see his daughter, everything he knew about smithing became useless and the hides Lekas gave him didn’t help him as much as he had hoped.

“Not good. Those skins were extracted using magic. They contain too much magic now and it makes them brittle. We can’t efficiently process them. At best, we will craft some training leather armors but that’s about it.”

When he presented the skins to the tall man on the first day, that was the answer he got. After that, it was like a repetition.

“Not good. You are hammering it like it is just a piece of metal, it won’t obey you and take the shape you wish for like this. You will only get the shape you want.”

“What?”

The next day, the hammering techniques he had inherited from his father who also learned it from his father were deemed not good. The day after that, it was his handling of the fire, then his sewing of leather. In the end, Hithindil almost lost his confidence as a blacksmith. And in only three days.

For a fifty-four years old man, being acknowledged for something you have been doing your whole life is something natural. The contrary, however, can prove pretty vexing and irritating for one’s mind. Therefore, Hithindil is about to give up, the sounds of the metal striken, the heat of the fire, everything has started to annoy him.

As he is sitting in a corner of the smithy in the evening, he sees a young boy hammering a piece of metal. The young boy is hammering it so delicately it is hard to believe he is putting any strength into it. And yet, the metal is taking shape, slowly, patiently but surely, it is taking the shape of a spear’s blade. Hithindil surprises himself at looking at the boy working, thinking that it is beautiful.

‘It seems this old man is not at the end of the road just yet.’ Hithindil didn’t even notice he watched the young boy working until the next morning. When he sees him finally put the spear’s blade into the oil to cool it down and then bring it out, the beautiful broad blade he has in his tongue made Hithindil’s heart beat like crazy. His lost spark instantly comes back, harder and stronger than ever before. There is no way he would admit defeat to such a young boy who is not even a master. He had to recover his talent. No…

‘I have to surpass my old self.’

Hithindil stands up and takes an iron ore and some charcoal. He is ready to suffer and sweat again, in order to become the best version of himself, even if it means starting back from the beginning.