"Your Highness! You mustn't!!"
Fissero rushed forward, blocking my path.
Before I realized it, I had wandered toward the holy sword, hand outstretched, just moments away from grasping its hilt.
"This sword belonged to a human hero," Fissero said softly, gently holding me back.
"It's imbued with powerful holy magic. It could harm you."
"Of course it could," I murmured.
After all, I was the one who had imbued it with that magic in my past life.
"On top of that, the smith who forged this sword must have been a master craftsman among dwarves. We dwarves can handle it just fine, but if you touch it, who knows what could happen..."
That Fissero, the head of the workshop—even though he's a prisoner—would recognize that craftsman's skill...
That guy really was a master blacksmith.
...Too bad I can't remember his name. I feel kind of bad about that.
