The blacksmith had failed once again in his attempts to see Lucy. By this point, he stopped bringing it up to the waitress—he didn't want to burden her with questions she couldn't answer. Instead, their interactions became more casual, with William occasionally asking about her day over a quiet drink. As usual, after an hour or two, he left the bar.
"Let's see. Where could he be hiding this time? Ah, there he is."
William scanned the street for a familiar head of golden-blonde hair and found him sitting half-asleep in a corner outside the bar.
It wasn't the first time he found the boy waiting there. In fact, it had become routine. Every night, without fail, the boy was somewhere nearby, trailing behind him like a persistent shadow.
—How about I give him a little scare?
With a sly grin, the blacksmith crept behind the drowsy figure and leaned in close.
"Hey, sleeping beauty…" he whispered—and then, "Wake up!" he shouted.
"Huh—wha?!"
The boy jolted awake, startled, arms crossed in defense. His wide green eyes slowly recognized the familiar face.
"Oh. Hello, Master Jaeger… Fancy meeting you here."
"Now you're playing the coincidence card? After all the other times I caught you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, glancing away.
The boy sulked. He really thought he'd hidden better this time.
It had started to dawn on him that he might be a burden. Every time William caught him loitering outside late, he'd get scolded. So, he'd tried to stay out of sight—but clearly, it wasn't working.
"Have you eaten today?"
The boy scratched his nose. "Actually, yes! I'm so full I could forge a thousand blades!" he said with a wink.
"I'm sure you could," William snorted. "You could've just come inside, you know."
"But... I'm not old enough."
William raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? You told me yourself you're of drinking age. Besides, you don't have to drink. You could've just sat with me."
The boy scratched his head. "Oh… right."
"Here." William handed him a small bag. "Got you some food."
"Really?!" The boy dove into it immediately.
"Oh?" William raised a brow. "Weren't you the one who said you were full enough to make a thousand blades?"
"Well, that's…"
"Relax. Just don't lie to me about stuff like that, alright?"
The boy, embarrassed, nodded. "Okay..."
—This boy is completely hopeless…
He was proud, never one to show weakness—yet William always saw through him. As they walked through the market alley, William suddenly stopped.
—Wait, it's empty?
The familiar merchant stand was gone. William recalled Paul's tense discussion with the guild members and wondered if the disappearance was connected.
"The evil man hasn't been seen all day, Master."
"He hasn't, huh? Wait—stop calling me 'Master.'"
"But… you are my master."
"As far as I know, I haven't accepted any apprentices."
"But if you don't, how am I supposed to reach my dream?"
The boy had asked to be taught once before, only to be rejected. He'd stormed out in frustration and had followed William around ever since. His strategy may have changed, but the goal remained.
He wanted to become someone legendary—someone remembered for generations. And he believed William could help him get there.
"Still, trying to become a hero by being a blacksmith is a little… how do I say this... stupid."
The boy looked as though William had stabbed him with those very words.
"But I heard you're the most well-known blacksmith in Heratia! Who says I can't be one too?"
"There's a difference between being well-known because of your family and being well-known because of your work."
The boy stopped walking. "Then… help me."
William paused and looked back.
"Help me achieve my dream through hard work!" the boy declared, stomping his foot and clenching his fists. His eyes met William's with fierce determination.
William scratched his head.
—This kid's been pestering me for two weeks straight. Gotta hand it to him—he's persistent.
The kid reminded him of himself at that age—when he'd begged his father to teach him the craft. His father eventually agreed. But William hadn't understood the cost back then.
William crossed his arms. "Who's to say you're even capable of learning the Jaeger techniques passed down for generations?"
The boy dropped to his knees, hands clasped. "Please! Just give me a chance to prove I'm worthy!"
"What are you doing?! Get up! People are staring!" William hissed, eyeing the judgmental looks from passersby.
Maybe he'd been too harsh before. The kid clearly had the drive. Maybe it was time to pass the torch.
"—Alright."
"I'll lick your boots clean if I have to—Huh?" the boy's eyes widened in shock.
He hadn't expected a yes—not after last time. His eyes welled up with tears and a smile broke across his face.
"You don't need to go that far. But hey, it shows how much you want this."
The boy pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Thus, a legend is born!"
"Don't get too excited, kid."
The grin faded. "What do you mean?"
"You still have to prove you're worth it. Come on—we're heading to my workshop."
The boy stood tall, hands on his hips, puffing out his chest. "Aye, aye! Nicolas Stern doesn't disappoint!"
"So that's your name..."
"Had I not mentioned it before?"
"Nope."
Nicolas sat on a stool, sharpening a freshly forged dagger.
William observed in silence. The boy was clumsy, as expected of someone his age, but he had decent instincts. He still had a long way to go, but when he found his rhythm, he moved like a true smith.
"Here you go," Nicolas said, handing over the blade.
William examined it closely.
—Hmm. Poor form…
He placed a block of wood on the table and struck it with the dagger. The blade didn't cut—it dented.
—This edge is awful. Dull. Nowhere near polished. If he sold this, people would laugh at him.
Then something caught his eye.
A faint bluish glow shimmered from the blade after the impact.
—Wait. Magic?
"Well? Well?!"
Nicolas practically vibrated with anticipation, waiting for his appraisal.
William smirked. "It's bad."
"—Ugh."
The words knocked Nicolas flat. Again.
—But… this kid just imbued a blade with magic. Without a mana crystal.
That was rare. Only artisans from the Ludio family were known to do that.
And yet... Nicolas Stern?
"With some discipline, we can make it work. Alright, you passed. You're in."
Nicolas sprang to his feet, energy returning all at once. "Ha! Told you I wouldn't let you down!"
—You were on the floor five seconds ago.
William chuckled. "Congratulations. You're now my apprentice. My first, actually."
"..."
"You stopped moving. Hey—did you hear me?"
Nicolas stood frozen, stunned. He had finally taken the first step toward his dream. He could feel it—his life was about to change.
Suddenly, he jumped and pumped his fist in the air. "Alright, I did it!"
William raised a finger. "You still have to prove you're worth it."
Nicolas blinked. "Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
William leaned in and flicked his forehead. "It means you'll be training hard. No slacking. If you slack off, you're out."
Rubbing his forehead, Nicolas caught onto the last part. "Wait—what?!"
William wasn't serious about kicking him out. But he figured a little fear might keep him motivated.
Before Nicolas could protest, William turned and headed upstairs to prepare the spare room. He paused in the doorway, surveying the mess.
"My... this is embarrassing. I haven't touched this room since I moved into my grandfather's."
"It's not just this room! You haven't cleaned anything since the last time I was here?!"
William had only recently returned from years of travel as a merchant. He still hadn't unpacked properly.
He moved a pile of stuff—and a few roaches scurried out.
"Oh... there go the cockroaches."
"What?!"
William laughed at Nicolas' horrified face.
"I cannot rest here! This is disgusting. A soon-to-be legend cannot be known for living in a slum! Don't you have a better place?"
"Why you—!"
William grabbed him and gave him a good noogie.
"Ow, ow, ow!"
Nicolas had no filter. He rambled on and on, insulting William's house—but the blacksmith wasn't having it.
"Damn brat. Be grateful I'm letting you sleep inside. One more ungrateful word and I'll throw you to the wolves."
"There are wolves out here?!"
William grinned. "More than just wolves. So watch your damn mouth."
"I was kidding, geez..." Nicolas sighed. "I guess that means it's cleaning day tomorrow."
William groaned, "Fine. But make it quick. We've got work to do."
"I meant for both of us!"
Still pouting, Nicolas walked over to the bed of hay William had just made for him. It had two thin sheets to cover it but felt heavenly compared to what he was used to.
William raised an eyebrow. "Not to your liking, your highness?"
Nicolas flopped down, face-first. His muscles relaxed for the first time in weeks. "It's fine, I guess. This'll do... for now."
He wasn't about to admit how much he loved it—but William could tell.
—He's too stubborn to show how he really feels.
William sighed. "Aren't heroes supposed to start from the bottom? Go through hell to become great? That's what legends are made of."
Nicolas, still lying facedown, turned to look at him. "What are you talking about? Heroes don't go through hardship. They're heroes. Perfect, strong, symbols of hope. Born for greatness—it's their destiny."
"Destiny… huh. Why do they need to be perfect?"
"Because if they're not, people won't believe in them. They have to meet expectations..."
"I see... then—"
But before William could finish the question, Nicolas had already fallen asleep.
The blacksmith glanced at the sleeping boy and murmured to himself:
"Then… why were you so persistent with me?"