The smell of iron and charcoal still lingered in the workshop they had rented in the royal capital.
With the tournament over, Elsa packed the tools she had used back into their boxes one by one. Packing with only one arm had long since become second nature. Small tools she tucked beneath her arm, while heavy ones she slid to the edge of the workbench before hoisting. In the beginning, the master had stepped in to help every single time, but these days he held his tongue unless things were genuinely dangerous.
A short distance away, the master was wrapping blades in cloth one by one. Yet, despite how familiar his movements should have been, today they looked strangely sluggish. He angled the tip of a blade toward the light streaming through the window, narrowed his eyes to inspect the bevel, checked it once more, and only then wound the cloth around it. Noticing Elsa watching him, he spoke without bothering to look up.
"What're you gawking at? Your hands stopped."
"They haven't stopped! If anything, you're the one taking forever just to inspect a single blade, aren't you, Master?"
"Quiet, you... Old men are cautious, that's all."
The master had always hated making small talk about his craft. If he wasn't satisfied with a piece, he would silently reforge it; if someone praised it, he'd brush it off with a gruff, "Just pay and take it." So Elsa didn't press him any further, reaching instead for the next box.
Once they returned to the Razgrim domain, the daily grind at the smithy would begin anew. In this tournament, the arms and armor they had crafted had protected the soldiers right to the bitter end. Thinking back on it, it hadn't been half-bad work, and though he'd never say it aloud, the master surely felt the same.
Just then, hurried footsteps approached from outside the workshop. The door swung open, and Vain stepped inside, accompanied by Clarice and Serena. Spotting the two smiths, Vain let his shoulders drop in relief.
"You're still here... Glad you haven't left yet. Before that... here, your bonus compensation."
With that, he took two small pouches from Clarice and tossed one to the master and the other to Elsa. Scrambling to catch hers, Elsa heard the hard clink of metal colliding within. Peeking inside the opening, she saw gold coins.
"...For me too?"
"Well, obviously. It's not like the master made everything by himself. You put in the work, so that's your share. Thanks to the gear holding up so well during the tournament, soldier injuries and repair costs were kept to a minimum! Paying extra doesn't hurt my bottom line at all."
Bringing the conversation right back to his own self-interest at the very end was vintage Vain.
The master checked inside his pouch as well and let out a low snort.
"You already paid us more than enough at the start, Duke... You're handing out even more?"
"...Well, I did claim the championship prize money. If you don't reward people who put in the work, they won't put in the same effort next time... Just take it and shut up."
"...If you're going that far, then I'll gladly accept."
Beside the master, who tucked the pouch into his belt, Elsa stared down at her own. She knew it was money earned from the steel she had shaped. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to simply pocket it.
"Hey... Master. Take this."
Seeing the pouch held out to him, the master's brow furrowed deep.
"What kind of foolishness are you spouting...? I don't want it! That's the money you earned."
"But! The only reason I'm standing here today is because you hired me! You didn't kick me to the curb just because I lost an arm; you let me keep working! If you had turned me away back then too, I wouldn't even be smithing anymore—"
"I hired you 'cause I was short on hands! Don't go thinking I kept you out of pity!"
Refusing to take it, the master pushed Elsa's hand and the pouch away. His fingers were rugged and calloused from decades of gripping a hammer, layered with burns and scars.
"This time around, you pulled your weight. So hold your head high and take it! Buy whatever you fancy, eat something good. Don't you dare try foisting the money you worked for onto me."
Despite his harsh tone, once he insisted it hadn't been out of pity, Elsa could no longer press it on him. As she stood in silence clutching the pouch, the master set down the tool he had been about to pack away and let out a long breath.
"...Well, I suppose the timing's right. The Duke's here too, so I'll say my piece now. You remember asking me before, don't you? Whether that single sword on display in our workshop was forged by me."
"Yeah. I asked... But you told me that was the one blade you'd never sell, Master."
"Aye... That's a sword I forged back when I was still green. Not to boast, but it turned out damn well. It would've fetched a pretty penny if I'd sold it, but I just couldn't bring myself to part with it... It's hung in the workshop ever since."
Elsa remembered it vividly. It was a simple blade, devoid of jewels or flashy engravings. Yet when she had looked at it up close, she hadn't been able to tear her eyes away from the sheer beauty of its lines. Ever since learning the master had forged it, she had dreamed of one day forging a sword like that herself.
"Ever since I made that, I've always told myself the next sword would be even better... With every single blade I hammered out, I thought, 'The next one for sure!' Even now, that's why I grip the hammer."
The master clenched his hand into a tight fist, then slowly opened his fingers.
"But... you can't beat old age. My eyes aren't what they used to be... It takes me longer just to read the color of the coals, and I can't spot tiny warps in a blade as quickly as before. My arms are the same... I can still swing a hammer, but I'm not young enough to fool myself into thinking I can swing it like I used to."
"That's not—"
"It is. A man knows his own limits best... I can still forge a sword fit for a customer. But if you asked me whether I could surpass that one blade today... I couldn't look you in the eye and say I could."
Elsa had almost never heard the master speak of his weaknesses like this. He was a man who bellowed at mistakes, never set down his hammer when exhausted, and merely wrapped a cut finger in cloth before going right back to the anvil. That very same master was now confessing he was no longer the man he once was.
"This job was massive! The Duke's soldiers fought that hard, and the gear held out to the bitter end... As a blacksmith, it wasn't a half-bad final job. So... I'm thinking of closing up shop after this."
Elsa's throat tightened. His face was dead serious.
"That's way too sudden! You never said a word about this! Besides, I can't manage on my own yet—"
"Don't make that face... It's not like I'm saying I'll drop dead tomorrow. I'm just setting down the hammer."
Though his tone remained gruff, the master clearly understood everything Elsa wanted to say.
"Listen, Elsa. You're stubborn, and you've got a sharp tongue. Down the road, that attitude of yours is gonna make you a mountain of enemies... Not to mention having only one arm. People will look down on you before they even look at your steel."
Elsa unconsciously lowered her gaze to her missing arm.
"But listen to me—one arm or not, shut every last one of 'em up! Don't do it with your mouth, understand?...Do it with your skill! Forge fine swords and give 'em nothing to complain about! That's how I did it."
There was no soft comfort in the master's voice.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, either. You're still green as grass! You're careless when reading the fire sometimes, and once you get stubborn, you lose sight of everything around you... From where I'm standing, you've got a mountain of flaws to fix. But... I believe you'll become a splendid blacksmith one day."
Elsa tried to reply, but no words came out. There had been countless times she had yearned for the master's praise, but having it laid bare so directly left her unable to deflect with her usual banter.
"...Master."
"What's with that look? I told you, I'm not dying, am I? Getting to work with a troublesome, talented smith like you at the end... I'm satisfied. Keep that gold. From here on out, take pride in the fact that you earned it with your own hammer."
Elsa started to speak again, but thought better of it. Her fingers tightened around the pouch of gold coins, and she forced herself to lift her downcast chin. Clarice and Serena remained quiet; the only sounds filling the workshop were the carriages rattling past outside and the distant, rhythmic clang of a hammer.
Having said his piece, the master slowly closed the lid of his tool chest. This was truly meant to mark the conclusion of his long life at the forge. Elsa felt she had no choice but to accept it—yet just as that thought crossed her mind, Vain, who had stayed silent until now, made a peculiar face.
Knitting his brows, he looked back and forth between the master and the shut chest, tilting his head slightly.
"...Hm?"
After pondering for several breaths, Vain looked up as if a realization had finally struck him.
"Hold on a second... Why are you wrapping this up on your own?"
The master turned around, and Elsa forgot to wipe her watering eyes as she stared at Vain. Clarice's brow furrowed, as though she already had a terrible premonition about what was coming.
"...Vain. After hearing all that, is that really the first thing out of your mouth?"
"I'm saying it precisely because I was listening. Who gave you permission to quit?"
Serena looked up at Vain as well, blinking once.
"Lord Vain. Right now, this is a bittersweet farewell."
"To hell with the mood! I never agreed to this!"
The master stood dumbfounded for a moment before pointing a finger at his own chest.
"Huh?...Look, Duke. It's my shop. Do I need your lordship's permission to close down my own business?"
"So what if you do?"
The sentimental atmosphere from moments before evaporated into thin air. Even Elsa looked at Vain as if he had lost his mind, but Vain wore a face of absolute, unbothered conviction.
"If you don't keep working for me, I'm the one who'll be in trouble! A man who can make gear that durable and teach Elsa the craft has no business shutting down just because of a little gray hair. Do you know what a pain it is to find competent craftsmen from scratch all over again?"
"Honestly, Vain! After the master gave such a heartfelt speech, your only objection is that it inconveniences you?!"
"Of course it is! If the master quits, I'll have to find someone to replace him! And if I end up hiring a useless hack, it'll cost me even more money! What do I gain from that?"
Clarice pressed a palm to her forehead in defeat.
"...Seriously, you never waver when it comes to that sort of thing."
"Lord Vain. Ruined the moment."
As Serena delivered her flat assessment, the master looked at Vain in utter disbelief.
"Duke, did you even hear a word I said...? My eyes aren't what they used to be. I can't forge swords like I used to anymore. That's why—"
"Then just forge less! If your eyes get worse and it's too difficult to hammer steel yourself, teach the young ones. Just because you can't forge blades anymore doesn't mean you should throw away decades of accumulated mastery with it."
The master blinked. It didn't seem like Vain was joking in the slightest.
"Teaching Elsa alone isn't enough... Train a whole batch of apprentices. How to read the fire, how to select iron, where to look when something goes wrong—teach them everything! Even if your hands give out, you can still lecture with your mouth, can't you?"
Clarice lowered her hand from her forehead, her expression softening slightly.
"Ah... I see. You mean once he can no longer forge swords himself, you want him to transition into an instructor?"
"That's what I've been saying from the start!"
"You kicked things off with 'Who gave you permission to quit,' so that nuance didn't come across at all, you know...?"
"...Phrasing."
"As long as you get the point, who cares?"
Brushing off even Serena's critique, Vain looked on as Elsa—though exasperated—no longer wore the despondent look from before. The master's craft wasn't going to vanish. On the contrary, it would be passed down to future generations. The person who understood the true weight of that best of all was Elsa, standing right here.
The master seemed to have reached the same conclusion; after a prolonged silence, a wry smirk spread across his weathered face.
"...Duke. Just how long do you intend to work me?"
"Until you die, obviously."
This time, every eye in the room pinned itself on Vain. Clarice's brow knotted in exasperation, and Elsa couldn't help letting out a horrified "Yikes..." Only Serena looked up at Vain before muttering with a flat cadence.
"Lord Vain... Phrasing, again."
"What about it? Ah, don't worry... Even if I say until you die, you'll still get days off, and I'll pay your wages in full. Once your eyesight fails, I won't force you to strike an anvil. When that day comes, you'll step back and train the young blacksmiths. Sitting around and complaining about everything is something even you can manage, right?"
"M-Merciless, aren't you... Duke?"
The master exhaled heavily, but a baffled chuckle slipped out before any irritation could take root.
"So my new job's gonna be complaining, is it?...Good grief. Seems the Duke won't even let an old man retire in peace."
"Naturally! I'll make use of you for as long as you're useful."
"Can't you... find a slightly better way to phrase that?"
"Clarice, impossible."
Serena's instant response to Clarice's tired plea finally pushed Elsa over the edge into laughter. The master's shoulders shook once before he erupted into a hearty, booming laugh of his own. Vain had simply thrust a new job onto a man who had fully intended to hang up his hammer, but to Elsa, the master looked far more like his old, familiar self than he had all day.
Above all, when they returned to the Razgrim domain, the master would still be at the workshop. He would peer over her shoulder, roar at her when he saw a flaw, and grumble that her technique was still far too green. The moment she pictured that scene, the heavy knot in her chest melted away.
The master cut his eyes toward her.
"What're you laughing at?!"
"I'm not laughing! I was just thinking about how you're going to be worked to the bone for years to come, Master! Especially after trying to look so cool just a minute ago!"
"Quiet! Listen here—I said you'd become a splendid blacksmith one day, but that's strictly 'one day'!"
This time, Elsa couldn't hold back her giggles. Though the master wore a sour scowl, he didn't say another word about closing down the smithy. Clarice let out a faint, amused sigh, while Serena watched the three of them with the subtlest curve to her lips.
After watching the two smiths bicker for a moment, Vain apparently decided the matter was settled. Suddenly wearing an expression of realization, he looked at Elsa and began striding toward the door.
"That reminds me! Elsa, hurry up and come with me!"