Deep within the commercial district, nestled in a quiet corner, the workshop lay as if holding its breath. Aged yet exuding a dignified atmosphere, the blacksmith's forge stood in stark contrast to its appearance—

“Hey! Bring more charcoal and fire-starting stones!!”

“Understood!!”

“Oi! What’s with that weak hammering!? Do you want to start over as an apprentice!?”

“I’m sorry!! I’ll do it again!!”

From the outside, the loud shouts and the sharp clashing of steel against hammer were more than audible.

—Yes, this was exactly how a blacksmith’s workshop should sound.

It was so familiar, so exactly as one would imagine, that I felt moved. Even without seeing it, the sounds alone vividly painted the scene in my mind. The storefront, which all but declared "No Walk-ins," carried a peculiar sense of intimidation. This shop chose its customers, and unless introduced by a trusted patron, passing customers were simply ignored.

To some, this might seem arrogant or overconfident, drawing complaints. But the master of this workshop was both temperamental enough and skilled enough to justify it.

“Excuse me.”

With practiced steps, my sister entered the workshop—The Red-Winged Bat. I followed behind her, stepping into a space thick with heat, where weapons were neatly arranged along the walls and display shelves.

“Whoa…!”

In both my first life and my second, I had never once stepped into a blacksmith’s forge.

In my first life, I had taken a certain pride in my own sword, but I disliked the heat and atmosphere of forges, so I rarely visited them. Despite relying on weapons made in places like this, I had looked down on them—what an arrogant brat I was. Perhaps that was why stepping into this place now felt so fresh.

The soft chime of the shop’s bell rang out as we entered, though it was so faint that it seemed unlikely to be heard over the commotion in the back. But—

“Welco— Oh! If it isn’t Lady Alice!?”

The shop’s master, keen-eared, emerged from the workshop behind the counter, surprised.

He was, of course, shorter than me, standing about the same height as Alice. He wore a light upper garment, though it was practically meaningless against the thick layer of black hair covering his body. A true craftsman, seemingly devoted only to his craft—he was the master of this place.

“It has been a while, Master Eisel. I apologize for the sudden visit.”

“No, no! Your father and yourself have always been valued patrons… It may be a rough place, but please, take your time.”

Despite his rugged appearance, the workshop’s master was surprisingly courteous and gentle in demeanor. Or rather, he was stretching his nose in delight.

—Is this old man okay…?

That alone put me on alert. I would not tolerate anyone eyeing Alice improperly, no matter who they were.

“Thank you. It seems business is doing well.”

“Yes, with the festival approaching, and handling that other matter in parallel, my idiots have to keep their spirits up.”

“Ah, it’s already that time of year, isn’t it? In that case, perhaps this was poor timing…”

“Not at all! Lady Alice is always welcome!”

Of course, had we been unknown clients or unfamiliar nobles, this treatment wouldn’t have been the same. This hospitality was purely due to my family’s reputation and Alice’s personal virtue. As proof, Eisel’s gaze toward me, a first-time visitor, was quite severe.

“And the gentleman beside you is…?”

“You two haven't met before, have you? Allow me to introduce him—my brother.”

“Ah, um… I’m Claym Bradley, Alice’s older brother…”

Still wary of the man before me, I instinctively introduced myself when suddenly brought into the conversation. Eisel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“!! You’re that rumored…!”

—And what exactly is that rumor?

Curious as I was, my instincts warned me not to ask. It was probably something along the lines of "The Troublemaker of the Magic Sword Academy," "The Demon," or "The Beheader"—all terrible titles I had been given before.

“…Haha…”

So I could only return an awkward chuckle. A survival strategy, really.

Feeling my face stiffen slightly, I heard my sister smoothly move on to the main topic.

“Today, we’ve come to request a sword for my brother. He’s strong, yet completely indifferent to the weapons he uses…”

“I see. What kind of weapon do you usually wield?”

When asked by Eisel, I decided it was faster to show him. As usual, I slit my wrist, manifesting my blood sword.

“What the—!?”

“He typically fights using a sword forged from his own blood, but…?”

Eisel’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at my sudden self-harm. It was a little amusing. However, my sister beside me sighed in exasperation, “Brother…”

…Perhaps I should refrain from doing this so suddenly in the future.

As I reflected on my actions internally, Eisel cleared his throat exaggeratedly and continued speaking.

“...The Bradley bloodline magic, huh? And at quite a high level—you're clearly skilled. Well, normally, the sword you just showed me, made with your magic, wouldn’t pose any problems. But, as Lady Alice pointed out, having no attachment to one’s weapon is unacceptable from a blacksmith’s perspective… or rather, it’s a waste.”

Though surprised, as expected of a blacksmith, Eisel carefully assessed my blood sword and gave his evaluation. Then, after taking a deep breath, he turned toward the back of the forge.

“Come with me. If you're Lady Alice’s brother and a rising star of the Bradleys', there’s no reason for me to refuse. In fact, if you go and get a weapon made anywhere else, I won’t forgive you. I’ll craft you the finest sword.”

“Thank you! Come on, Brother!!”

“Uh, thanks…”

It seemed he was willing to make me a sword.

“...So, what kind of sword do you want?”

Dragged into the workshop, Eisel got straight to the point.

Even in the store, I had already felt a considerable heat, but stepping inside the workshop, the air was thick with an unimaginable intensity. Around us, blacksmiths—likely Eisel’s apprentices—faced off against steel like warriors on a battlefield, sending sparks flying.

Amidst this commotion, I pondered.

—A sword, huh…

As mentioned earlier, I never paid much attention to the weapons I used. I would procure whatever was available on the spot, even using a wooden stick if necessary. That had been my grandfather’s teaching since childhood—engraved into my very being.

Once I gained more control over my blood supply, I favored the Blood-Sword, my Blood Axe of Decapitation. It depended on my blood reserves, but aside from that, there was no weapon more convenient or easy to wield. And yet, I hesitated.

—Up until now, that had always been enough, but…

What kind of sword—what kind of weapon did I truly desire?

Almost instinctively, I had continued using the same type of sword I had wielded in my previous life. But perhaps, now was the time to consider something new—

“...Ah.”

As my thoughts drifted, a single clear answer emerged.

“What? Did you think of something?”

“Well, more like…”

“It doesn’t matter what it is. In fact, those little realizations are the most important.”

Seeing my hesitation, Eisel pressed on, unwilling to let this opportunity slip. Encouraged by his words, I spoke my thoughts aloud.

“—I want a sword that won’t break.”

“One that won’t break… Be more specific.”

Once I put it into words, my imagination took flight.

“A sword strong enough to shatter a dragon’s fangs, sharp enough to slice through its impenetrable wings—”

As the image solidified in my mind, I realized there was only one answer.

“—I want a sword that can kill dragons.”

It wasn’t complicated. My purpose had always been singular. The target of my blade had been decided from the start.

Dragons… Yes, dragons. It had to be dragons. A sword that couldn’t slay dragons, a sword that could kill anything but dragons, was worthless to me.

“A sword that can kill dragons… huh.”

The blacksmith murmured in awe at my request.

Normally, anyone would laugh at the notion of slaying dragons. They would scoff, tell me to “make a real request.” And yet, I was utterly serious. Dead serious.

And upon hearing my sincerity, rather than ridiculing me, the blacksmith let out a genuinely delighted laugh.

“Dragons… huh. That’s a good one. I’ve forged Bradley swords for a long time, but no one has ever made such a request before. So, Claym Bradley, you’re seriously planning to slay that monster?”

“Yeah.”

At his confirming question, I nodded firmly. The blacksmith, seemingly satisfied, grinned and shouted.

“I like it! Anyone who wields a sword should have a goal that grand! If you don’t aim for something that big, you’re nothing but a half-measure! If you don’t achieve something legendary, we blacksmiths won’t feel worthy of entrusting our beloved creations to you! This… this is the pride of a blacksmith!!”

The surrounding apprentices paused their work multiple times to look over. I had no idea what part of my statement had struck a chord with him. But if it got him motivated, I had no reason to complain.

“I like you, Claym! I’ll forge you the greatest—no, the ultimate dragon-slaying sword! But I’ll need your full cooperation. Until we’re both satisfied, you’re not going anywhere!”

“I’ve already started this, so I might as well see it through. I’ll leave it to you—make me the best sword.”

I grasped the calloused, heat-hardened hand of the craftsman before me.

And so, I began forging a sword alongside the finest blacksmith in the kingdom.