Chapter 21: black smith's legacy
As the second match ended, Reyn, Liora, and Alistor were buzzing with excitement, eagerly discussing the contestants and their techniques. Their attention was briefly diverted as Garret leaned over, his voice low and filled with intrigue.
"Guess what I heard last night," he began, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "While drinking at a tavern, I overheard talk of an auction house here in the capital—The Gilded Chalice. They're planning to sell one of those dwarven weapons tomorrow night. Starting bid is a whopping 5,000 gold coins."
Reyn's eyes widened, the mention of the dwarven weapon sparking a curiosity he could barely contain. "5,000 gold? That's... astronomical," he murmured, his mind racing with questions. He was eager to get a closer look at one of these masterfully crafted weapons, to examine its unique craftsmanship and learn more about the techniques behind it. Garret's story only fueled his desire to meet a dwarven smith one day.
Liora nudged Reyn, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Maybe we should go, Reyn. Think of the knowledge you'd gain just by seeing it up close!" Reyn nodded, his mind already drifting into a world of ideas and possibilities.
As the chatter continued, the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, calling forth the contestants for the third match. Edger, with his stoic expression and unwavering determination, took his place on one side of the arena. His opponent, a mage by the name of Alarcus, entered with an air of calm confidence, his robes flowing elegantly as he strode forward.
From the waiting area, Alaric Valen—the disguised second prince—observed Alarcus closely. The mage's aura was unlike any he had seen so far; power radiated from him in steady waves, and a faint, unnatural light flickered in his eyes. Alaric felt a surge of anticipation, wondering how Edger would fare against such an opponent.
The crowd roared as the announcer introduced the third match. Spectators leaned forward with eager anticipation, their voices filling the air with excitement. Bets were shouted across the stands, coins exchanged hands, and vendors wove between aisles, selling charms against bad luck and refreshments. There was a palpable energy as both contestants entered the arena, the air heavy with anticipation.
On one side stood Edger, a knight of renown, his stance calm and assured. Across from him was Alarcus, a powerful mage known for his mastery over high-level spells, his expression a mix of arrogance and barely concealed impatience. Alarcus sneered at Edger, raising a hand as though in warning. "Give up now, knight. I must warn you—sometimes my power gets... difficult to control. I'd hate to be responsible for taking a limb or two."
Edger remained unfazed, his calm gaze holding steady. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the very blade crafted by the mysterious Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales. Though the blacksmith was not yet famous, Edger knew the strength of this sword, and his faith in its craftsmanship was unshakeable.
With a flourish, the announcer raised his hand, signaling the start of the match.
Without missing a beat, Alarcus unleashed a barrage of powerful spells, filling the arena with flames, ice shards, and bolts of lightning. Each spell crackled with energy, the air shimmering as their force collided with Edger's defenses. But Edger didn't waver; instead, he advanced slowly, his sword moving with precision as it met each spell head-on, slicing through them as though they were mere illusions.
The crowd gasped, awestruck by the display. To the untrained eye, it seemed as though Edger was simply moving forward through a storm of magic unscathed, each strike perfectly timed. But those watching closely—like Reyn—saw the extraordinary skill and control he wielded with his weapon.
In the stands, Reyn leaned forward, entranced by the sight of his sword in action. The weapon moved as if it were alive, each cut clean and effortless. It handled each high-class spell with ease, leaving Edger untouched by the waves of magic that came his way. Reyn felt a swell of pride, mixed with curiosity and ambition. "That weapon…" he murmured to Liora, his eyes reflecting the admiration he rarely showed openly. "It's more than just enchanted. The craftsmanship is... something else. I have to learn how to forge weapons like that someday."
Liora glanced at Reyn, a small smile tugging at her lips. "The Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales," she teased softly. "Sounds like you're already on your way to becoming a legend."
Reyn smirked, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Maybe someday. But there's still so much I need to learn."
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, Alarcus's frustration grew with each spell that was effortlessly cleaved in half. His confidence faltered as he watched Edger continue to advance, unscathed, undeterred, and increasingly intimidating. Desperation etched itself onto the mage's face as he prepared one last, powerful spell—a combination of fire, lightning, and ice, the very air crackling as he gathered its energy.
The spell hung in the air, a massive, swirling sphere of destructive force that cast a shadow over the arena. The crowd held its breath, watching in awe and terror. Alarcus sneered, confident that no mere sword could stop such a spell.
Edger, however, did not hesitate. His eyes narrowed, his focus unbreakable. In a swift, decisive movement, he swung his blade, cutting through the heart of the spell. The magical energy splintered and dispersed, a shockwave rippling outward as the spell shattered harmlessly. When the smoke cleared, Edger stood unscathed, his sword lowered but still gleaming with an ethereal light, as though acknowledging its own victory.
Silence filled the arena, broken only by the awed gasps and murmurs of the crowd. Then, the cheers erupted, voices raised in admiration and disbelief at the knight's skill and the prowess of his weapon.
Edger, ever stoic, sheathed his sword and looked out toward the crowd. With a calm, respectful voice, he spoke. "This victory was made possible not only by my own skill but by the weapon I hold—crafted by the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales." His words echoed through the stands, and Reyn felt his heart swell with pride at the acknowledgment, even if he had yet to gain fame.
As Edger left the arena, Reyn watched him closely, his mind already racing with ideas. He wanted to push his craft further, to achieve the level of mastery that would allow him to create such weapons again and again. The thought filled him with a fierce resolve, the same spark that had driven him since he first began to forge.