Chapter 267
Clang—! Clang—!
The sound of a hammer striking heated metal rang out.
A small giant.
Dweno poured his soul into every strike of the hammer.
His figure was more solemn than ever before.
Whoosh—!
From his hands flared a vivid yellow flame.
A fire that seemed almost golden.
“Sharp enough to cut through the black flames.”
Dweno muttered.
Clang! Clang!
“Strong enough not to yield to the black flames.”
Usually, Dweno praised beauty and strove to imbue even his weapons with it.
But the sword he was forging now bore no such care.
He did not engrave elegant patterns upon its blade.
It did not radiate a dazzling light.
What he poured into this sword was only one thing—
The hope that its wielder would not be consumed by the flames of calamity.
Fwoosh—!
The bright yellow flame that symbolized Dweno shone brilliantly.
Watching from nearby, Kyle thought that light looked like pure gold.
At last, the fire subsided.
Dweno reached out his hand.
The sword still glowed red-hot, but he paid it no mind.
As one beloved by flame, the dwarf possessed strong resistance to fire.
Thump—!
Turning the blade downward, Dweno held it out to Kyle.
“Take it.”
Kyle hesitated.
Dweno, with his resistance, might not feel the heat, but Kyle was different.
After a moment’s pause, Kyle reached out.
Grab—
The scorching heat seared his hand.
Fwoooosh—!
But only for a moment.
The searing heat softened into warmth.
The red-hot blade cooled, its color shifting into a clear silver sheen.
A rough longsword—so crude, it was hard to believe Dweno had forged it.
Yet the sword was perfect.
The instant Kyle gripped it, it felt like a part of his body.
Vrrrm—!
The sword let out a resonant hum.
It responded to Kyle’s touch.
“I made this sword inspired by you.”
“Didn’t you say there was nothing in me to inspire you?”
Dweno, who revered beauty, drew inspiration from all things beautiful.
He had found the most inspiration in Lysinas and Luna.
Even Arron, though to a lesser degree, had inspired him.
But he had always said Kyle gave him nothing.
“That’s right. I thought I couldn’t draw inspiration from you.”
Dweno chuckled lowly.
“You seemed to me like a man without dreams.”
His idea of beauty was not limited to outward appearance.
To him, the pursuit of a dream, and the process of striving toward it, was the highest beauty of all.
Lysinas carried a grand vow to save the world.
Luna sought to create a world in full bloom like flowers.
Arron dreamed of a world where no child suffered misfortune.
Dweno too dreamed of leaving behind works of great artistry.
But Kyle had nothing.
“To my eyes, your soul looked like nothing but ashes.”
“Not an unfair judgment.”
Kyle let out a dry chuckle.
When he had first heard Lysinas’s plan to defeat Erebos, Luna had called him crazy but never scorned his dream.
Arron had trembled in fear, but soon offered Lysinas his trust.
Dweno had scoffed, but still lent his strength to that great cause.
But Kyle had been different.
When Lysinas first came to him, he mocked him.
Even when their journey began, he still scoffed at Lysinas’s dream.
Only now did he understand why.
‘Because I had no dream of my own.’
He had merely fought and clawed to survive each day.
That was why he was called the Hero Who Survived.
A cursed hero, whose every companion perished.
A man with no ideals, no goals—living simply day to day.
That was what Kyle believed himself to be.
“I really hated that about you.”
Dweno smiled bitterly.
“Perhaps that’s why I turned my eyes from you. I thought there was nothing beautiful in you.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“True. It was pitiful and ugly of me.”
Dweno stared down at his hands.
“Your gray emptiness… it reminded me of myself long ago.”
“Yourself?”
“Yes.”
Dweno clenched his fist.
“People call me the one beloved by fire. But to me, this power was a curse.”
From the moment he awakened his gift as a child,
everything he touched burned.
All around him lay nothing but ruin.
“As a dwarf, it was misery. My flames even melted anvils and hammers.”
A monster of fire whose blaze terrified even the Great Spirit of Flame and the Phoenix.
A cursed dwarf who turned all things to ash.
“And from that, how did you become a mad dwarf obsessed with beauty?”
“Leave out the ‘mad,’ if you would.”
“Then be grateful I don’t call you a perverted dwarf like Luna does.”
Dweno glared at him.
“One day, I saw her. A beautiful elf maiden.”
“So that’s why you keep pestering Luna to be your model? Because she reminds you of that elf?”
“Do not compare them. That would insult her.”
For once, Dweno grew solemn.
The true reason he asked Luna so often was simple—
When silent, she looked the very picture of elven beauty.
“She was a painter. An artist who captured the beauty of the world on canvas.”
“Famous, I take it?”
“No. Just a wanderer. She left her kin, sick of elven society.”
Dweno smiled faintly.
“But her paintings were truly beautiful.”
That was the moment he became enthralled by beauty.
“To protect beauty, I strove to control my flames. And I succeeded.”
He looked down at his hands.
“I hated the me who could not control my power. Turning away from you was just me trying to turn away from my past.”
He looked Kyle in the eye.
“Only recently have I truly looked at you.”
“So? What did you see? Some dream worth admiring?”
“No. You’re still gray. But I saw something I hadn’t before.”
“And what’s that?”
“That even without anything, you never stop moving forward.”
Dweno’s eyes softened.
“And I realized—it was for us.”
To his eyes, Kyle bore none of his own burdens—
but silently carried those of his companions.
“Then I understood. You too hold a beauty none can match.”
Dweno smiled warmly.
“That’s why Lysinas chose you. Why Luna depends on you most. Why Arron longed to be like you. Why even I, who refuse to forge for those I disdain, made you a weapon.”
He stared directly into Kyle’s face.
“As a man who lives for aesthetics, I must have seen your beauty instinctively.”
He puffed out his chest.
“And so this sword is my greatest masterpiece.”
Kyle looked down in surprise at the weapon in his grip.
Dweno never called his weapons “works of art.”
He had never even liked making them.
Yet he had just called this crude longsword his masterpiece.
“This sword is just like you. It holds no [Mana]. To others, it’s just a hard, sharp bar of metal.”
For something forged by Dweno, it was far too plain.
Dweno always loved things ornate and radiant.
“But… the moment you hold it, it can become anything.”
It could be a powerful weapon, a mighty staff, or even a catalyst for summoning.
“The one and only sword… for the All-Class.”
Kyle gazed at it.
He could feel the sword resonating with his power.
“What’s its name?”
“Posteritas.”
At Leo’s question, Dweno gave a meaningful smile.
“It means ‘Future.’”
* * *
“It’s my sword.”
Leo murmured, and Mel gasped in awe.
“How did later generations judge it?”
“The dwarves thought it might be one of Lord Dweno’s failures.”
Every weapon Dweno had ever made could be called a work of art.
Even after thousands of years, many still held their shape.
Of course, most of the weapons hailed as his greatest works—the ones used in the final expedition—had been lost.
The few that remained were battered near to breaking, but barely intact.
But this sword looked like a crude longsword, with no power emanating from it.
What’s more, its form was broken beyond recognition.
Its history was a mystery.
So the dwarves believed it was a failed work.
“To think this was Kyle’s sword…”
Mel breathed, but Leo spoke flatly.
“This was also the last sword Dweno ever made.”
“What?”
‘After he completed this blade… he gave his life in battle.’
Leo’s eyes grew heavy.
‘Go forth, Kyle. For those who follow… carve the path. This sword is for that.’
Even as the flames consumed the lower half of his body, Dweno’s eyes blazed like fire as he said it.
And Kyle carried out that will.
This sword succeeded in opening the road to the future.
“So it was Lord Dweno’s final weapon…”
Mel marveled, realizing something she hadn’t known.
Like a girl listening to an old tale, her eyes shone—until a thought struck her.
“Wait… then that means—”
“Yes.”
Leo reached for the sword.
Vrrrm—!
Though broken beyond recognition, it answered its master’s call after five thousand years of silence.
“This is the sword that slew Erebos.”
Flash—! Clang—!
The sword leapt from the wall into Leo’s hand.
It thrummed with joy at being reunited with its master after millennia.
At once—
Vrrrm—! Vrrrm—!
Dweno’s other legacies stored in the armory began to resonate.
Mel looked around in shock.
Fwoosh—!
From Leo’s hand flared a yellow flame.
It was Dweno’s fire, awakened by the divine power of Phibua within Polium.
The flame from which every weapon here had been born.
‘Dweno never called his weapons art.’
Leo looked around at the legacy of the Divine Blacksmith.
‘But that doesn’t mean he didn’t love them.’
Even when forging, he put his heart into them.
That was why he was called the Smith of the Gods.
Because his weapons had will.
Not a manufactured will like an ego-sword.
But a pure will imbued in the steel itself.
It was as if the weapons were crying out.
‘They’ve been displayed here for centuries—maybe millennia.’
The dwarves had wanted to preserve the Divine Blacksmith’s legacy.
But would these weapons truly wish to rust away like this?
Fwoosh—
The weapons spat golden flame.
And for a moment, they returned to their former brilliance.
Mel gaped at the sight.
“So that’s it.”
Leo nodded.
Once, Luna had asked Dweno why he never called his weapons art.
And he had answered:
‘A weapon’s essence is to be a tool of battle.’
Striking the hammer, he would always say—
‘In the end, these are meant for the battlefield. That’s why I cannot call them art.’
Dweno had smiled bitterly.
‘These children… their fate is to vanish in battle. Perhaps that is their greatest happiness.’
“You’re saying… you can still fight?”