I Became the Hero Who Banished the Protagonist

(It would be a good idea to get a new sword.)

The Holy Sword suddenly said as I was training. Lately, I’ve improved to the point where I’ve recognized the words she throws at me. She seemed to enjoy teaching me, and I found it interesting to follow her advice with another sword. I prioritized mastering the basics. I took a step forward and made the final slash. The sound of the blade slicing through the air echoed.

“A new sword?”

I asked, sheathing both swords and wiping the sweat from my face with a towel. August was coming to a close. The summer sun burned more intensely than ever, scorching the earth as its final goodbye. I shook my head at the heat of the rising sun.

(I can help you wield two swords in times of crisis, but you can’t always borrow them from someone.)

I nodded, furrowing my brow. Dual-wielding definitely gave me a huge boost in power. Even if the Holy Sword alone were enough in most situations, it wouldn’t hurt to have another sword. I squeezed my left hand, remembering the feel of the heirloom of the Stroff Family. It was not as good as the Holy Sword, but it was really high-quality.

(Do you think such a weapon would suddenly fall from the sky?)

The Holy Sword said, her voice a little sharper than it had been before.

“It’s not my fault my standard for weapons is slightly skewed.”
(…Anyway, such a weapon would have been forged by a master craftsman with the best metals. However, time, history, and magic take their toll. Rather than looking for a weapon with a similar quality to me right now, your priority should be to find a sword that fits you feel comfortable with.)

Her voice was soothing. I tapped my fingers against the hilt of the Holy Sword and looked up at the sky.

“Weapon shops… Blacksmiths….”

I recalled the only forge I knew. Arjen visited it after he damaged his sword to rescue Iris from the Inquisitors. ‘I don’t know exactly where it is anymore, but maybe I’ll find it if I wander around the Blacksmith Guild.’

(Don’t worry. I’ll tell you if the sword is good, so just try out what you like.)

At least now I won’t get a dud. I stared at the hilt with its flower-like engraving. I wonder how long it takes to make a sword. ‘It can’t hurt to find one quickly, so I’ll head to the Blacksmith’s Guild.’ Marianne would be at the church today, Georg would be with the Templars, and Daphne would be busy refining her magic and mana.

“Well, let’s go.”

I left the office with a few simple preparations. By simple preparations, I mean the dark green hood I must wear. Ever since I defeated the Giant, I’ve been more recognized, so I’ve always had to wear the hood, even when I’m out for a while. It’s a good thing I can spend my mana to shake off some of the heat, or I’d be sweaty as soon as I stepped outside. I would have to spend much more mana than normal since I would be visiting different forges. I could already smell my flesh being deep-fried.

***

“They don’t call them artisans for nothing.”

The difference between a good sword and a mediocre sword started with the way it felt to hold. The way the weight of the blade was distributed, its toughness, and its sharpness. Another factor was its responsiveness when you channel mana through it.

(If you don’t like it, you can always buy another one. It’s not like you don’t have the money.)
‘But it’s better to get things right the first time.’

The streets of the Capital were slowly becoming familiar. The roads sprawled like a spider web around the palace, with buildings nestled between them. I took a left turn and knew I was in the right place.

The pounding of metal was loud. The sharpeners sat in the alleyways, like hawkers, watching the hips of passersby, looking for someone with an old or dulled sword.

(Make sure you don’t get stopped by them. There is a high chance of losing your disguise if you unsheathe me.)

A man had just entered the blacksmith’s alley and was being held up by a sharpener. The man had an old sword, and the sharpener was part inviting, bigger part forcing him down across from him and demanding to see the sword. When he foolishly drew it out, I could hear the sharpener clicking his tongue and berating the sword owner, saying, “Yikes, you could use a sharpener right now. Why have you left this thing lying around for so long?” I turned my gaze forward again.

(They’re all looking at you, too.)

I kept my head straight. Those who didn’t clearly haven’t been here many times. The sharpeners looked at them like discounted meat in a wet market. They should have avoided eye contact like I did.

(…It’s a curious sight.)

…Can I get my sword a psychiatrist?

The heat from the furnaces filled the streets. I walked past the smiths, who were hard at work pounding iron, and approached one who had just finished making a sword and hung it on the wall.

“No customers now.”

The blacksmith said bluntly.

“I’m not placing a commission. I’m looking for a blacksmith. Do you happen to know where Mr. Georges’ forge is?”

The blacksmith looked at me with narrowed eyes.

“Georges? He’s off today, but he’ll probably be back tomorrow. Do you want to commission him?”
“Yes. Can you tell me where I could find his place?”

The blacksmith nodded and pointed deep into the alley.

“Over there, inside that alley. Third smithy on the left.”
“…Thank you.”

I bowed to the blacksmith and turned away. The smiths were still busy hammering away at the iron and stoking the embers.

(Are you going to leave now that the person you know is gone?”)

I bit my lip. I was going to return to the office, but since the Holy Sword had offered to help me pick a sword, I figured there was no harm in exploring the surrounding forges.

‘Can you help me?’
(If there’s a forge that makes a decent-looking sword, I’ll let you know. By the way, the one you just talked to made their sword too thin.)

The Holy Sword had a rather condescending way of evaluating other swords. I smiled bitterly and walked deeper into the alley.

(That blacksmith isn’t bad, but I don’t think he’ll make a sword that fits you.)
(How is he still in business? He makes swords that are just plain ugly.)

The eyes of the Holy Sword were demanding. She had to be since it would be a weapon for the Hero. There was no such thing as a compromise, so I didn’t argue with her words. In fact, I was a little excited at the thought of having my own sword.

(We’ll go to the blacksmith you have in mind tomorrow. I didn’t think there would be anyone who could make a sword worthy of you in the first place.)
‘Then let’s check out a few more places before we go.’

With that, I turned into an alley lined with relatively small shops. It seemed to be a collection of late-career smiths or stubborn craftsmen who didn’t get much work. Unlike the main alley, where the sound of hammering could be heard in a frenzy, there was only the sporadic tapping of metal.

(I expected the same here.)

The Holy Sword looked at the first two and commented. I guess it’s true what they say; good swords don’t fall from the sky. I was also looking around for a good sword, but there weren’t many that caught my eye.

“I guess I’ll just have to come tomorrow after all….”

I sighed and turned around at the end of the alley, where I saw a blacksmith. A sword was nearing completion. It wasn’t a sword and didn’t look like a weapon. It was probably an ordinary kitchen knife. However, seeing the blade being dipped into the oil and pulled out caught my eye more intensely than any other weapon I had seen today.

(…You saw it too.)
“Yes.”

There she was.

I stepped toward the blacksmith, who wiped her knife with a rag as if mesmerized. She was a tall, well-muscled woman. Her hair was tied up in a bun to keep it out of the way as she hammered, and she was sweating profusely from the summer and the furnace’s heat. She continued to work on the knife, then opened her mouth to greet me.

“What brings you here, dear?”
“I want to commission a sword.”

The blacksmith lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were as sharp as any knight’s. She had orange hair and green eyes. She studied me carefully, then wiped her hands on her apron. Her hands were a mess of calluses and burns.

“There are plenty of people better than me at making swords. You don’t have to come all the way here right now, just head down that big alley and walk into any smithy, and they’ll make you a good one.”
“I’ve looked around, and nothing has caught my eye.”

I jerked my head toward the main street. The blacksmith looked at me, one hand on their waist. Her eyebrows arched, dirty with iron dust and oil.

“If that’s the case, then there is nothing my forge can do for you.”
“You can’t fool my eyes.”

I said and looked at the knife the blacksmith had just finished. The blacksmith looked down at the blade and let out a small sigh.

“I don’t make swords, sir. I’m sorry, but I need you to look elsewhere.”

I looked at the blacksmith. Her eyes and words flatly rejected me.

(It would be hard to find a better sword than what this smith makes.)

The Holy Sword spoke. In the face of the Disasters, there can be no compromise.

“One way or another.”

I dug into my pocket and pulled out the check I’d planned to invest in the sword’s creation, scrawled the price on it, and placed it on the counter. Half a million gold. Not a bad amount of money for one sword. If not now, when would I spend my party budget?

The blacksmith’s eyes widened at the amount on the check, then narrowed again. The blacksmith places his hand over the check, hesitates, and pulls it away.

“For this much money, you can have a sword made to your liking in the finest forge in the kingdom.”
“I’ll pay for the labor involved in obtaining the metal.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t make swords, no matter who asks for them. Even if the Hero or the Queen asked, I wouldn’t… wait…”

I immediately pulled my hood down. The blacksmith made eye contact with me and blinked.

“Why are you here…?”