Progenitor-san and Fouche headed back to the crash site, intending to conduct a re-investigation based on the assumption that the Malice Furnace actually existed. It sounded like a lot of hard work.
According to the Death Mage, the furnace wasn't actually used as the island's power source, so she found it hard to believe it was the cause of the fall. Still, we would have to wait for the investigation results to be sure. She had offered to go with them, but Fouche stopped her. Apparently, she was currently a wanted woman in the human lands near the crash site, and they wanted to avoid any unnecessary chaos.
For the time being, the Death Mage remained at the Hot Spring Area to go about her business. That was fine by me, but I was a bit concerned by the way she kept gesturing as if she’d forgotten something important. Oh well. I figured she’d tell me if she remembered.
Back at the village, I settled into my usual relaxed pace. Dinner that night featured a vegetable soup made by Urza. It was actually quite delicious.
The reason she’d made the soup was to get her weapon ban lifted. I’d originally intended to lift it around the end of the autumn harvest, but since I hadn't explicitly stated a date, she was treating it like an indefinite sentence. Hakuren eventually protested that it was too pitiable, so I set a single condition for lifting the ban: she had to learn how to cook something.
I figured that learning at least one recipe would serve her well in the future. However, the meal had to be judged. If the three of us—me, Hakuren, and Ann—were satisfied, she would pass. While Hakuren and I were prepared to pass her even if the soup was slightly burnt just because she was the one who made it, Ann was far stricter. In practice, the condition had basically become whether she could produce a dish that met Ann’s high standards.
Thanks to that, Urza had been buried in culinary studies lately. It made me a little happy to see her working so hard, even if her motivation wasn't particularly "girly."
On a side note, I noticed Raigiel the cat lying on his back inside an unused clay pot. He looked like he was in deep reflection over some past transgression. He looked adorable, but Ann was glaring at him with a terrifying intensity. Then she started preparing some water. Run, Raigiel! You’re going to be boiled!
That night, before my bath, I headed over to the smithy. Gatto and I were working on a sword together. My part was the hilt, which I’d carved from wood. It was already finished, so I handed it over and left the rest to him.
It was a custom sword for Urza. Secretly measuring her hand size had been a bit of a feat. Actually, the measurement itself wasn't that hard; I’d calculated the dimensions from the handprints she left in the bread dough she was kneading. The difficult part was when Ann and the High Ogre maids caught me scrutinizing the dough and gave me those "look at the weirdo" stares. I wasn't doing anything creepy, and I wasn't trying to invent a new recipe either.
In Gatto's smithy, about twenty beastmen were hard at work alongside him and his two disciples. They were the blacksmiths who had come from Howlin Village. They all seemed absolutely delighted to have access to our forge. Since there were so many of them, they were working in twenty-four-hour shifts.
Because of their efficiency, the dragon-scale armor for the Death Knights—which I thought would take several months—was already finished. Now, aside from a few specific orders, they were mostly engaged in free creative work. Swords of various shapes, axes, and maces were being produced one after another.
The village covered the fuel and material costs for these projects, as well as their food and lodging. In exchange, they handed over the finished products to the village. I worried they’d have nothing left for themselves, but they were perfectly happy with the arrangement. Apparently, the chance to create whatever they liked without worrying about money was a dream come true. Normally, blacksmiths have no leeway for creative expression and have to grind out the same orders just to survive.
It seems it was common for them to make the same items for years on end. Like springs, for instance. They mentioned they’d been making nothing but springs for the last few years.
Oops. My bad. The person who ordered those was the Village of the Great Tree.
I quickly assured them I wasn't going to stop the orders. The Mountain Elves were selling several of their modified carriages with spring-based suspensions every month, so the demand would continue for quite a while. Besides, I could think of plenty of other uses for springs.
The beastman smiths were here to learn and for a change of pace, which was fine by me, as long as they followed Gatto's instructions.
Ten days later, Progenitor-san and Fouche returned with a startling revelation. Apparently, there had been one other person living on the island with the Death Mage. When I asked her about it, she got a look on her face as if she had just suddenly remembered.
His name was Quentan. He wasn't human or undead; he was an Intelligence Sword—a magical blade with a consciousness. The Death Mage had left the management of the Malice Furnace to him. Even though she "left it to him," it wasn't as if a sword could move around like a servant. He was simply connected directly to the furnace's controls to manage it. And then, he’d been left behind.
She’d basically abandoned him. I understood she didn't mean any harm, but she was apologizing to the wrong person. She needed to say those things to Quentan—especially since he was right here.
Fouche, who had accompanied Progenitor-san, was the one who brought him back. He was a possession-type sword that could hijack the consciousness of anyone who touched him, so she’d brought him in a secure, reinforced case. Naturally, I touched him by accident. My consciousness remained perfectly intact, however.
While Progenitor-san and Fouche were shocked, Quentan was the most surprised of all. He tried everything in his power to take over my mind, but eventually gave up. It was a little lonely for me, like being the only person in the room immune to a hypnotist's act.
After that, Quentan was incredibly noisy. He demanded to be displayed in the most prominent spot available. I thought about mounting him on the wall of the mansion, but he suddenly went silent. When I asked what was wrong, he whispered, "Idiot, don't talk to me. I'm just an ordinary sword."
He was staring at the sword displayed on the wall—the one made from Guronde’s tail. When I reached for the tail-sword to move it, Quentan literally and figuratively broke. "Please, have mercy. The difference in our rank is far too great."
After making him promise not to possess people without permission, I had Gatto repair him. I had just picked him up when the Death Mage arrived.
"It has been a long time, Mistress," Quentan said.
"Yes, it has. Oh? Somehow, your blade feels more powerful than before..."
"Ah, you can tell? They used dragon scale powder for the repairs, so I've been powered up quite a bit. Man, I really want to try a test cut on something."
"In that case, shall we ask the Death Knights? They are much more skilled with a sword than I am."
"Really? Yay!"
It was a conversation between the two of them, but to me, it sounded like Quentan was talking to himself. Since the Death Mage can't speak normally without magic, Quentan was producing a voice on her behalf.
That was actually quite convenient. I wondered if he could act as a voice for the silent Death Knights as well. I’d have to try that later. For now, I made sure the Death Mage properly apologized to Quentan. He didn't seem to hold a grudge, though. He just wanted to be by her side.