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Chapter 19
The man who came out of the shop was built like a mountain.
His face looked simple and honest, but his massive build made him easy to mistake for something else.
Rudiche’s expression softened as she looked at him.
The blacksmith, Sam.
The big man with gentle eyes looked no different from how she remembered.
— Please, go somewhere else. What are you doing staying here? Don’t ever come looking for me again.
Tears had streamed down his face as he handed over the spear, and even Rudiche’s eyes had welled up.
As if he were telling her not to remain in a place where Quinlan no longer was.
“What brings you here?”
Sam, wary of the noblewoman before him—an unusual sight in this part of town—didn’t bother to hide his suspicion.
Rudiche feigned ignorance of his guarded demeanor and stepped closer.
“I came to buy a sword.”
Sam gave her a once-over from head to toe.
It was clear he wasn’t fond of the idea of handing a sword to a lady dressed in such elegance.
After all, most noblewomen who came seeking swords were really looking for ornaments, not weapons.
Sometimes they came to buy weapons as gifts for their husbands, but even then, most were meant for display rather than combat. Those weren’t the kind of customers Sam liked.
And this lady before him, clad in an outing dress, fit right into his preconceptions.
“This isn’t a souvenir shop, but a forge. We don’t carry anything for ladies. If you head a bit farther down, there are plenty of shops that sell decorative pieces.”
He was still the same—gruff and blunt.
A gentle smile spread across Rudiche’s face.
“Are you saying a forge doesn’t make swords?”
At her words, Sam’s face twisted.
“Of course not. I’m just saying there’s nothing here suited for you.”
“How strange. I doubt Lord Gudel would ever lie. Did he, perhaps, speak nonsense?”
Rudiche casually dropped a name anyone would recognize.
Sam, who had been about to turn back inside, froze mid-step.
“Lord Gudel… as in the commander of the Ebnian Knights?”
“That’s right. He recommended this place to me. Said it was the finest in the Empire for weapons.”
“…Well, he wasn’t wrong.”
There was a subtle pride in Sam’s voice.
Rudiche’s smile deepened.
“Then won’t you show me your swords? It seems I’ve earned the right.”
“……”
Sam hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly to Phil Evans, who stood behind her.
That one at least looked like a knight.
If they truly came with Lord Gudel’s recommendation, then perhaps he could show them something.
If they turn out to be a nuisance, I’ll just find an excuse to send them away.
Sam stepped aside.
“Come in.”
“Thank you.”
Rudiche dipped her head slightly and entered.
Sam’s shop, true to its nature as a forge, held far more practical items than ornamental ones.
Not just weapons, but farming tools too.
“Oh-ho.”
Rudiche slowly looked around.
Every item bore the clear mark of careful craftsmanship, neatly arranged without unnecessary decoration, making them easy to examine.
Her eyes landed on a dagger. She picked it up.
The blade was fine, and the light running along its edge was beautiful.
“Impressive. The crystal structure is uniform throughout the blade. I can see the care put into it.”
As her words flowed while she traced the edge, Sam’s eyes widened.
It was true he had pride in his work—many people who knew little still called his swords beautiful.
But Rudiche’s words carried a different weight.
It wasn’t flattery, but genuine admiration. And that stirred something in him.
“What is your name?”
Rudiche suddenly asked. Though she already knew, she wanted to ask properly, as if meeting him for the first time.
“…Sam.”
He answered reflexively, and Rudiche nodded.
“Sam, will you show me your finest sword? Preferably a dagger.”
Suspicion crossed his face.
“If you mean an expensive sword…”
“No. A fine sword. Not an expensive one.”
“…What?”
Rudiche set the dagger back down and looked at him.
“If you stud the hilt with jewels and wrap it in costly leather, of course it’ll be expensive. But that’s not what I want. I want a sword worthy of being called a true blade. Something a real knight would wield.”
“……”
“You strike me as someone who knows how to make such a thing, don’t you?”
Sam’s jaw dropped at her words, then he hastily collected himself.
“Please wait a moment.”
He turned and disappeared into the back.
As he left, Phil Evans quietly stepped closer.
“The craftsmanship is excellent. Well-maintained, and it grips nicely.”
Rudiche’s lips curved faintly at his comment.
Phil often claimed he had no talent as a knight, not when compared to skilled men like Hugo Barrett and the many capable knights of Draphania.
But after following Quinlan into battle after battle, he had grown strong enough to at least fend for himself.
He also had a keen interest in swords, and now his usually dour face was bright with excitement at seeing a fine one.
“Do you like something? I’ll buy you one.”
“…What?” Phil blurted out, startled.
“Why not? It’s not every day we come here. Pick one you like.”
“But…”
His uncharacteristic hesitation made Rudiche chuckle softly.
“If you don’t want to, then never mind.”
“N-no, I’ll gladly choose one. Thank you.”
Unable to hide his excitement, Phil bent over the display again, examining the blades with even more eagerness.
Just then, Sam returned from the back.
“Here.”
He held out a sword respectfully.
Just as Rudiche had asked—a dagger.
“…This is a fine blade.”
She murmured in satisfaction as she examined it closely.
It was Sam’s turn to be surprised.
The way she handled the dagger was no amateur’s fumbling. Raising the blade to eye level, testing the balance with a short swing—the movements were those of a knight. The air even whistled as she cut through it.
“I’ll take this one.”
Finishing her inspection, Rudiche handed it back with a pleased look.
“Ah, shall I wrap it up for you?”
Sam’s manner was now far more respectful, having sensed the touch of a real swordsman in her handling.
“No. I want you to make another one. Exactly the same.”
“…You mean you’ll be buying two?”
“That’s right.”
Rudiche smiled, saying she’d like them to look like a pair of twins.
“And I’d like one more thing done.”
“…Engraving?”
“Yes. I want a name carved here.”
She pointed just above the guard.
“Not too deep, so blood won’t pool when it’s used. But deep enough that the name will catch the light.”
“…What name shall I engrave?”
The more Sam spoke with her, the more he realized she wasn’t an ordinary noblewoman.
Rudiche’s smile now was no painted mask, but a true smile.
She opened her lips slowly.
“Draphania.”
“…!”
Sam’s face went pale.
“I’d like you to engrave that name of glory.”
So that it might suit Quinlan.
On the way back to the Imperial Palace, Phil Evans felt as though he were flying.
He was thoroughly taken with the sword Rudiche had bought him.
“You like it that much?”
Rudiche asked warmly, watching him turn the blade over and over with shining eyes.
“Of course! Do you know how rare it is to find a sword made this well?”
“That’s true,” she nodded knowingly.
Her expression, amused as though she were watching a child, made Phil awkwardly clear his throat and sheathe the blade.
“Thank you, Lady Rudiche.”
“Think of it as an advance bribe. I plan to work you hard.”
“Ah…”
He blinked, then let out a resigned laugh as if to say, I should have known.
Still, he didn’t seem unhappy. His hand never left the hilt at his side.
“Don’t tell Quinlan.”
Phil looked up.
“I want it to be a surprise.”
“Ah… yes, of course. A surprise gift is always good.”
“A surprise gift…”
But would he really be pleased?
Rudiche let out an unconscious sigh.
And just then—
