Blacksmith – Part 10
Silence enveloped the room.
Everyone fell quiet. Hannibal’s eyes glistened, and Housman bit his lip. Cecily remembered that Hannibal was Liza Oakwood’s guardian. In that case, Housman must have known her to some extent as well.
“How stupid,” came a feeble, irritated voice from nearby.
No, you’re stupid, Luke.
You must have realized it long ago. That’s why you said you would endure anything. You would take any form of blame or punishment for the demon that your childhood friend left behind, for the girl that has stuck by your side. You swore you would protect her this time. And that was your way of fighting.
“Does she not have better options? A life more rewarding than this?”
Over time, those feelings blossomed and transformed into a genuine desire for Lisa’s happiness.
“Ridiculous.” Siegfried shattered the silence. Utterly unmoved, he let out a bored yawn. “What does this have to do with the meeting?”
“H-He’s right,” Augustus hurriedly agreed, striking the table. “Your silly fantasies are irrelevant to the discussion.”
“Admittedly, a lot of this is based on my own speculation.”
Cecily didn’t know Liza Oakwood personally. Her thoughts and actions three years ago could only be inferred from the outcome.
“But there’s one thing I’m sure of.”
And yet Cecily believed. Lisa’s existence spoke volumes about Liza’s feelings. As a fellow woman, as a fellow knight, she understood.
“I doubt any of you get it. I don’t fully understand it myself.”
Her wish to protect Luke even after her death meant only one thing.
“But isn’t that what it means to love someone?”
Cecily finally turned to the young man beside her.
“Bullshit,” Luke muttered.
Right now, he looked like a completely helpless boy.
“That’s all bullshit.”
Gone was his usual cynical look and icy stare. His mouth was drawn tight, his right eye trembled, and his shoulders slumped, struggling to keep balance. Even his defiance seemed frail. He was as vulnerable as a child.
“It’s not bullshit. You realized it too, didn’t you? You knew Liza Oakwood better than anyone.”
His right eye darted restlessly.
“Fuck that.”
This was Luke Ainsworth from three years ago. He was reverting to that broken version of himself.
“I couldn’t do anything. You know what weapon Liza had that day? A katana I forged. It was the first sword my father ever let me make. A mediocre blade, and Liza accepted it with a smile. And then… she was killed. That katana snapped like it was nothing. I couldn’t protect her—not with myself, not with my sword! So, I swore to protect Lisa, no matter what. I told myself I could endure anything for that. But now… even now, I’m the one being protected. You think I’m just gonna take that?!”
“Just take it, then. That’s how you honor her,” Cecily said. “I may be an idiot, Luke, but you’re a bigger idiot. Do you really think you’re protecting Lisa by putting up with these clowns?”
“What do you even know?!”
“Shut up and listen. You don’t just stand there and tolerate slander and mockery. Do not let them desecrate Liza Oakwood’s memory. Don’t leave her love, Lisa’s feelings, and your resolve sheathed away. Draw them. Wield them. Fight against those who seek to defile them. I’m borrowing this.”
In one swift motion, Cecily unsheathed the sword at Luke’s waist. The graceful, curved blade caught the sunlight streaming through the window, casting a brilliant gleam across the room. Its temper line shimmered.
She gripped it firmly, feeling its weight settle perfectly in her hand.
“Cecily?!”
Luke’s katana.
Cecily exhaled, admiring the blade. It was just as beautiful as she expected. A rush of exhilaration surged through her, and suddenly, her injury didn’t matter.
She pointed the sword toward the stunned assembly. “You can sit here and waste time and energy on pointless discussions, mindless insults, and petty schemes. It suits you well.”
“You insolent…! Insulting us is tantamount to insulting the nations,” Augustus snapped. “We’ve tolerated your disrespect because of your lineage, but no more!”
“Silence, knave. Keep the honorable Campbell name out of your mouth.”
There was nothing left to fear.
“I’ve had enough of your nonsense. My mind’s made up.”
She didn’t care if she turned a whole nation against her.
“I hereby swear: it will not be the Empire, the Militant Nation, the Crowd Powers, and certainly not the Independent Trade City.”
Her resolve was like steel, unbreakable. Cecily reversed her grip on the sword and drove it into the floor at her feet.
“It will be me, wielding Luke’s sword, who will slay Valbanill!”
After saying her piece, Cecily grabbed Luke’s hand and stormed out of the meeting room, leaving the katana behind.
It took a few stunned moments before Augustus erupted in anger.
“Quasar! Housman! What’s with that woman?!”
“Ah, my bad,” Quasar said. “I should’ve educated her better. I apologize for her misspeak.”
“Wh-Why are you smiling?! You don’t think she misspoke, do you?!”
“Apologies. Their youthful energy got to me. At my age, things often go unsaid, unnoticed, but they act on them like it’s nothing. It’s rather refreshing.”
“Wipe that grin off your face!”
“Mr. Arthur, I too apologize for her rudeness. As mayor, I assure you she’ll face severe punishment. Please, calm yourself.”
“So you say while smiling too!”
While Augustus fumed, the others reacted differently.
Lancelot Douglas, representing the Crowd Powers, rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. Arvie Irving, the Militant Nation’s strategist, inspected Luke’s sword with a thoughtful nod, while Justina Albright from the Continental Law Commission looked fed up by the meeting’s disorder.
And then there was Siegfried.
“Disgusting.”
His entire body seemed to bristle, his visage contorting grotesquely. In just a few moments, his face appeared to age years as deep lines carved into his skin. Tense muscles and turbulent emotions warped his features. On his face was a look of pure loathing.
“Arvie Irving.”
“Huh?”
“Hand it over.”
Siegfried’s gaze was locked on a sheathed sword before Arvie. Before Arvie could react, Siegfried marched over, snatched it, and fastened it to his waist.
“Wait, what—”
Ignoring the protest, Siegfried knelt in front of Luke’s katana, still embedded in the floor.
“What are you doing?!”
“Quiet. You’re distracting me,” he growled, staring fixedly on the sword before him with clouded eyes.
He was in an odd, half-crouched stance, sitting on his left heel, while his right leg was bent forward, knee pointing straight ahead. With the pommel of the katana at his waist slightly angled outward, he kept his back straight, chest out. The blade lay horizontally, with the back of his open right hand resting lightly on the hilt.
Hannibal’s eyes widened in shock. “An iai[1] stance.”
Everyone held their breath as they realized what Siegfried was about to do. Siegfried didn’t move, his gaze fixed on Luke’s katana.
Silence. A breath. Draw.
No one could track the movement. A soft scrape, followed by a sharp clash. Struck perfectly in the middle, Luke’s katana was ripped from the floor, spinning through the air before lodging itself into the wall. That was all the onlookers saw. A swift iai strike.
Siegfried remained in his stance for a moment, then tossed the Militant Nation’s sword aside. Arvie leaned forward in protest, only to fall silent.
The discarded sword was bent in half, warped as though it had been crushed in a vice. Arvie turned toward Luke’s katana, still vibrating slightly from the impact. There wasn’t a single scratch or bend on it.
“This katana is far from being a Sacred Sword?” someone muttered, and the room suddenly turned quiet.
The dignitaries stood frozen, while Siegfried trembled violently, hugging himself. His expression twisted further into a hideous mask of repugnance and contempt.
“Isn’t that what it means to love someone?”
Disgusting. It made him sick.
“Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die.”
He kept mumbling in a voice that only he could hear.
Cecily Campbell. Luke Ainsworth.
Siegfried would never forget their names.
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