The next morning, Elsa headed toward the House Razgrim estate with the Master Blacksmith.
Yesterday, in a heat of passion, she had shouted, "There’s no way!" But even after returning to the inn and sleeping on it, her conclusion hadn't changed. It wasn't just swords. There were shields and armor, too—three hundred sets in all. And she was expected to finish them with less than a month remaining before the Founding Festival.
"...It really is impossible," she muttered. "Even if I swing my hammer around the clock, my arm's gonna give out first!"
"That’s why I told you yesterday to stop trying to do the math on your own, brat! Didn't the Duke say he’d go over the details today?"
"But when I hear 'three hundred people,' that’s just where my head goes!"
◇
They entered the manor while repeating an argument they’d already had a dozen times that morning. Vain and Clarice were already waiting for them in a reception room, several sheets of paper spread across a desk next to the sword Elsa had repaired the day before.
Elsa spoke up before she even reached her chair.
"I’m telling you right now, if you’re expecting me to fix gear for three hundred men all by myself, it’s impossible! I don’t care how much money you throw at me—I can’t do the impossible!"
Vain didn’t get angry. Instead, he turned his gaze to the sword sitting on the desk.
"What’s this? You can't do it?"
"I’m saying the numbers are too high! We have less than a month!"
"I see... When I saw that sword, I thought I’d finally found a remarkably talented blacksmith. Was I mistaken?"
"............Huh? What was that?"
A spark ignited deep in Elsa's chest.
Vain set the sword down with a look of feigned disappointment and turned to Clarice. "If it's impossible, then it can't be helped. Shall we look elsewhere?"
"I didn't say I couldn't do it!" Elsa barked. "If I have a forge and extra hands, and we aren't talking about forging three hundred sets from scratch, it's doable! If we inspect the current equipment first, set aside what’s usable, and then sort the rest into items that just need new fasteners or an edge versus the gear that’s dangerous to use without being reforged... I don't need to do the light repairs myself. If we just send the pieces that need hilt work or weight balancing to me—"
Before she knew it, she had slammed her right hand onto the desk, rattling off her plan in a single breath.
Vain’s lips curled into a tiny, knowing smirk.
"Oh? So you can do it."
"...You did that on purpose, didn't you? You just wanted to fire me up."
"I only said you were talented. You’re the one who chose to flare up."
She found him incredibly aggravating. Beside him, Clarice pressed a finger to her forehead in exasperation, while the Master Blacksmith let out a small chuckle.
"That’s why I told you to listen until the end, girl," the old man muttered.
Vain turned the papers on the desk toward them.
"In the first place, who said you had to do the work for three hundred men alone? I’m not that stupid. I’ll be distributing the workload to other forges throughout the domain. Based on the samples I saw yesterday, there are others who can do a decent job. I’ll also hire laborers for the tasks that don’t require a blacksmith—hauling charcoal, moving crates, polishing, that sort of thing. I’ll provide the materials, so don't worry about the cost."
As the details came out, Elsa realized the task was far more logical than the reckless demand she had imagined. The goal wasn't to rebuild every piece of equipment, but to ensure everything was tournament-ready within the strict time limit.
The Master Blacksmith stroked his beard as he scanned the papers.
"If we aren't reforging every last piece, but rather sorting the wheat from the chaff... well, it’s not impossible. However, if you just hand out the work to different workshops at random, the quality is going to be all over the place. Someone needs to be the final judge."
"I’m asking you to handle that," Vain said.
The Master Blacksmith’s hand stopped. "...Me?"
"I heard the four swords from yesterday were all quite well-made. I only went to see Elsa’s personally, but that doesn't mean your skills are lacking. If we’re going to coordinate a project of this scale, someone who has run a workshop longer than this youngster is better suited for the job."
Elsa looked at the Master Blacksmith. Vain had apparently paid attention to the reports on all four swords, making her feel foolish for dwelling on the fact that only hers had been singled out for a visit.
"I want Elsa to handle the pieces that require high-level technical skill," Vain continued. "It’s a waste of her time to have her touch things that just need a standard sharpening. You look at the big picture and decide which workshop gets what. And don't ask me for advice—I don't know the first thing about blacksmithing."
"Being told that so proudly is a bit of a problem for me..." the Master Blacksmith grunted.
"It’s better than an amateur interfering, isn't it?"
After thinking for a moment, the Master Blacksmith looked over the list of forges.
"I know a few of these guys... worked with some of them for years. If I have your permission to speak for you, I can have them rounded up by the end of the day."
"Give me their names. I’ll set the terms. If they refuse, I’ll find someone else."
Vain then lifted a heavy leather bag from the floor and dropped it onto the desk. It landed with a dull, heavy thud.
"And this is the advance."
When Elsa opened the bag, she saw a sea of gold. She started to count—one, two—but stopped almost immediately.
"...How much is in here?"
"Fifteen gold coins."
"Fi-Fifteen!?"
She reflexively cinched the bag shut. Even back in the Holy City, she had never been given such a massive sum upfront.
"Take it. The deadline is tight, after all. In exchange, you make damn sure you finish by the Founding Festival. If the quality is high and you meet the deadline, I’ll add a bonus on top."
Vain didn't look like he was joking. He was putting the money up front, hiring laborers for the grunt work, coordinating with other workshops, and providing all the materials. In return, he demanded results.
Strictly speaking, it was still a mountain of work... but he wasn't trying to exploit her because of her disability, nor was he setting her up to take the fall.
"...You said it, right?" Elsa gripped the leather bag tight. "No coming back later saying the job was too big and demanding the advance back! When I say I need something, you provide it! And if we’re short on hands, you hire more! If you do that—I’ll make sure we finish in time!"
"That’s fine. The terms are in the contract. Clarice, if you would."
"They're already prepared," Clarice said, handing over a document. "Provided you don't suddenly change the deal again, Lord Vain."
The paper listed the advance, the deadline, the bonus structure, and the material costs. While Elsa scanned the text, the Master Blacksmith checked the numbers and gave a sharp nod.
The contract was finalized, and Vain rose from his chair.
"Start today. I can't pause the soldiers' drills, so we’ll inspect the gear in groups of fifty. Don't take anything back to the forge that’s still in good shape. We don't have time to waste."
"I know that. Just leave it to the professionals."
"That’s exactly what I’m doing."
Elsa felt like snapping at him again, but the weight of the gold in her hand kept her quiet. Until yesterday, she had been happy just to be given a couple of repair jobs while doing chores. Today, she was responsible for three hundred men. The scale of the increase was absurd.
And yet, strangely, she didn't feel like running away.
◇
By that afternoon, the Master Blacksmith and Elsa were at the training grounds. They were starting with the first fifty men. Rather than having the equipment piled up, they called the soldiers over individually to inspect their gear in person.
The moment the Master Blacksmith drew a sword, he made a snap judgment: "This just needs a stone," "Tighten the hilt on this one," "This one's fine, move along." He didn't hesitate for a second. Seeing him handle such a volume of work made the gap in their experience painfully clear.
Watching him, Elsa remembered an old sword hanging on the workshop wall back home.
When she'd asked about it, he’d told her, "I forged that when I was young." Neither the flow of its edge nor the balance of its weight was something she could match yet. She might have produced a better single repair yesterday, but she hadn't surpassed the decades of mastery the old man possessed.
"Hey, Master. That old sword in the back of the shop... you said you forged it, right?"
"Huh? You still thinking about that old thing?"
"Of course I am! You don't use it, but you don't throw it away either. It just hangs there."
The Master Blacksmith answered dismissively as he checked the next blade. "...I did. About thirty years ago."
"...Thirty years?" Elsa repeated. She hadn't actually held it yet, but knowing he had kept it for so long piqued her curiosity. "Let me see it when we get back."
"After the work is done. This comes first."
"I know that!"
Even as she snapped back, Elsa found herself feeling a rare sense of excitement. If she was frustrated by his skill, she just had to forge something better. She finally understood what the Master had meant the day before.
Elsa took a sword from a soldier and gripped the hilt, stopping her hand as she felt the balance.
"This one looks fine, but the inside is shot. The tang is loose in the hilt. If he hits something hard, the blade's gonna fly right out."
The Master Blacksmith took it from her, inspected it for a moment, and then placed it in the repair pile.
"...Take it. Strip the hilt and see for yourself."
"See? I was right. You could praise me once in a while, you know."
"Don't get cocky just because you got one right. We've still got forty-nine men left. If you have time to talk, you have time to work."
He was annoying, but it felt different from before.
Elsa smirked and reached for the next sword.
A short distance away, Vain was looking at a report from Clarice with an overtly disgusted expression. It seemed sorting out the equipment was only the beginning of his own headaches.
That wasn't Elsa's problem.
Her job was to ensure three hundred men had gear they could trust in the tournament.
She remembered the weight of the fifteen gold coins and tightened her grip.
"...I’ll do it. All three hundred."
The Master Blacksmith snorted. "If you'd said you were running, I’d have tossed you in the furnace along with that advance."
"Who said anything about running! In fact, don't blame me if you're the one who can't keep up, Master!"
"Brat! You're thirty years too early to be talking like that!"
In front of them lay rows of equipment, and they hadn't even finished the first fifty. There were precious few days left until the Founding Festival. But as Elsa looked at the mountain of work ahead of her, she felt a quiet joy in knowing she could finally hold her hammer again.