Chapter 7: A Sword Is a Promise

Time almost stopped around Dain. Ruvian noticed that Dain’s gaze unintentionally found the broken sword.

It wasn’t positioned to catch attention in the way polished antiques or heirlooms were meant to glow under curated lighting. This one just sat there. A little too purposeful in its neglect.

Ruvian hadn’t meant to direct the conversation there.

Well, he had but not this soon.

‘Can't help it, this is my chance to confirm what I wanted to know.’

Ruvian’s words seemed to awaken a buried feeling inside Dain’s heart. His eyes, once glimmering with laughter, dimmed. He was recalling a memory that he had hidden away long ago.

A blanket of silence fell between them. Then Ruvian spoke calmly, breaking the quiet.

“So, was it for a client? Are you fixing it for someone?”

Dain replied to him.

“No, it’s not a client’s request. I just put it on display.” His words were like a half-truth and at the same time, he was holding on not to falter.

Ruvian tilted his head, pretending to think about the honesty in those words.

Then he stepped closer.

“Can I get a better look at it?”

Dain hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sword, then nodded reluctantly. Gared sent a warning look at him but Ruvian filed it under ‘expected response’ and moved on.

Dain lifted the weapon from the wall with a care that bordered on reverence and set it gently on the long table, then stood with arms crossed. “It’s heavy,” he muttered, sounding protective.

“Not something for a kid like you to mess with.”

Ruvian gazed at the sword, quietly curious about its shape, weight, and craft. Memories hit him; this sword sparked the first few brainstorming talks he had with the author.

A sword that held deep meaning for Dain. Ruvian then spoke.

“This wasn’t made for just anyone.”

Dain's frown deepened, yet Ruvian’s words struck harder than the blacksmith was willing to face.

And Dain, for reasons he couldn’t quite place, found himself listening. Ruvian’s fingers hovered over the blade.

“The edges used to be sharp… they’ve been tempered in a way that resists chipping, designed for prolonged combat.”

This sword was exactly how Yuzuki had envisioned it—the design and the purpose behind every detail.

‘Down to the last line in her footnotes. She’d been annoyingly precise with my suggestion…’

Apparently, the author had taken his ideas seriously. Ruvian’s eyes flicked back to Dain, his usually guarded expression faltering. Only slightly, but Ruvian had long since learned how to read people in increments.

“You were the one who crafted this, weren’t you?” Ruvian asked.

Dain’s throat moved, but no words came. Ruvian didn’t push. Instead, he added the next piece gradually.

“Were you also the one who enchanted it?”

This time, the silence was sharper. Dain hadn’t prepped for the question.

“Can you… read enchantments?”

Ruvian shook his head, the corners of his mouth pulling into a faint, knowing smirk.

“No.” he paused, then added, almost teasingly.

“But I can feel it.”

‘Well, I’m the one who nagged the author to add some enchantments to this sword in the first place.’

“This sword belonged to someone special to you, didn’t it?”

Dain’s fingers brushing lightly over the blade. A long pause stretched between them before he exhaled.

“…It did.”

His grip on the sword tightened. Then, he sighed dejectedly.

“Elfred…”

Dain’s broad frame rose, the forge’s fire threw his shadowy outline across the table.

“I had a younger brother… Elfred, that was his name.”

Gared simply remained silent and listened to his father's story, even though he already learned about it.

“That boy forever chasing the horizon, hungry for something greater than the life he was born into… While I remained shackled to this forge, hammering steel into shape day after day, he had taken a different life—”

Dain spoke with deep melancholy, Alfred’s stories were packed with lost ruins, monsters hunting and treasures buried in the silence of time.

“He used to say a sword was a promise. A pledge to never fail its lord.”

Dain let out a sour, hollow scoff.

“Hah. What did you know, I had reminded him countless times to be careful but that brat, he thought he was invincible!”

Dain’s fingers traced the jagged edge where the blade had shattered. And yet, this broken sword before them was all the proof they needed that invincibility was an illusion.

“…Still it wasn’t the sword that failed him.”

No matter how meticulously forged, no matter the strength poured into it… it had broken. And in its fall, it had claimed the life of the one who had trusted it.

Dain had forged many weapons in his years. Countless blades, each with its own purpose. But this one… this one would forever haunt him. Ruvian said nothing. Some grief isn’t meant to be interrupted.

Dain exhaled as if shaking off the heavy pressure that had settled over them. With careful hands, he returned the broken sword to its display, its presence once again relegated to the wall.

He turned back to Ruvian, his gruff voice returning as though nothing had changed.

“You’ve got a good eye for smithing.” he said, the words rough but honest.

“Not something you find every day. If you’re interested, you could work here.”

“Me? Work here?”

Ruvian raised an eyebrow, a moment of surprise crossing his face. Dain gave a simple nod, his expression unreadable.

“Tempting, but I’ll be heading to the academy in two weeks.”

Dain snorted, a dry laugh escaping him. “Heh. A scholar, huh?”

Ruvian paused, then spoke, the words slipping out almost effortlessly.

“But… if one day I ever need a weapon, I’ll come here.”

“Haa, I don’t make weapons anymore, kid.”

Ruvian moved to the exit-way, his figure framed in the threshold, yet his eyes never wavered. He glanced over his shoulder, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk.

“Well, I’ll just have to wait for you to remember what it means to forge one again.”

The words were casual, almost careless. No deeper meaning behind them, just something that fits the moment, or perhaps the result of too much fiction read.

Yet, the instant the words left his mouth, Ruvian felt a sharp sting of regret.

‘Ugh! Shit. Why did I say that?’

He secretly cringed.

Instead of clearing his throat, he casually tilted his head as though nothing had happened. “Oh, by the way, how much for the knife? And when should I come pick it up?”

Dain blinked, the words seeming to snap him out of his daze. He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh before he answered with a resigned tone.

“Ten silver. Come back in five days.”

‘Oh, a low price.’

Ruvian, always keen, noticed it immediately. He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he nodded and turned to leave. But behind him, Dain stood still watching him walk out of the store.

The kitchen knife had never been the true purpose of his visit. It was but an excuse, a small errand wrapped around something far weightier.

Dain Forgewell.

A name that had not existed in the original draft of the novel. A nameless blacksmith, briefly mentioned only to repair Zian’s sword. A footnote in a story that once had no depth.

But Yuzuki remembered.

‘I had been the one to suggest expanding on him.’

A name that carried weight beyond a forgotten line. Something to give the world more substance. And now, here Dain was. Real and exactly as he had imagined.

A confirmation.

His knowledge of this world wasn’t just useful, it was accurate. Every detail, every nuance, had been laid out before him like a map. And with that knowledge, came power. Information is a weapon, and people should wield it with ease.

Of course, he wasn’t here to fix Dain’s broken soul.

The man had long abandoned the forge, and Ruvian had no interest in becoming some kind of savior who mended shattered spirits with a few well-chosen words.

People didn’t change unless they wanted to.

And Ruvian didn’t care enough to make them. But at this moment, one thing was certain:

‘This isn't the first draft of the novel.’

This was the post-feedback version, the one shaped by his own hand.