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Star-Embracing Swordmaster Chapter 207: The Flag is a Red Rose (2)

Chapter 207: The Flag is a Red Rose (2)

In​‍​ the depths of​⁠​ the sea, as​‍‍ if light had⁠⁠ never reached there.⁠‌‍

Whitish‍‌‌ bubbles were emerging.‌‌

As‌ soon as they​ touched the water’s‍‍⁠ surface, the bubbles⁠‍ burst, dispersing the⁠ breath they contained‍​‍ and merging into⁠⁠ the mist of​​ the same color.⁠‌​

-······.​

If​‌⁠ you look up​‍‍ from the depths⁠‌​ of the sea,⁠​ the undulating surface‍ of the water‌‍⁠ soon looks like‌ the night sky.​‌‍

Just‌‍⁠ like what you⁠‍ see now.

Eyes‌ that had been‌⁠⁠ asleep in the⁠​ depths of the‍‌‌ sea moved slightly‌ at the golden‍ glow they hadn’t​‍ seen in a long time.

Bubbles‍⁠ were rising from‌⁠ the darkness, constantly,​​‌ without stopping. Probably,‍​‍ the denser than​⁠ usual mist was⁠ due to the‍‌​ bubbles continuously rising.‍‍​

***⁠‍⁠

“Oooh…”‌

The‍​​ Nidavellir forge was‍‍‍ filled with suffocating​ heat.

Nibelun‍‍⁠ exclaimed in amazement,‌‌ watching the brass​ tubes emitting steam⁠​ nonstop.

“I‍ don’t know how‌ these things work.”‌‍⁠

“Calm‍‍ down.”

“How⁠⁠ do they move‍​⁠ by themselves? No‍​​ matter how much‍⁠‍ I look, I don’t see anything⁠⁠‌ magical about it.”‌

As‌‌ Vlad and Nibelun‌​ surveyed the brass‍‍ tube, they saw‍‍ a row of‌‍ bellows that seemed⁠ to be about‍⁠ the size of⁠ a ship.

The⁠ bellows blowing air​⁠ on their own​ without anyone moving‍‍​ them gave Vlad​‌⁠ a strange feeling‌‍⁠ of pressure.

“Why‌⁠ did you bring‍‍ the cat by‌ your side?”

“…It’s​ not that I wanted to bring⁠ it with me.”⁠‍​

Vlad‍‍ sighed, feeling a bit uncomfortable with​ the blacksmiths who‍‍ had been glancing‍ at them for‌ a while.

“The‍ new armor you​⁠ gave me is⁠ excellent. I thought⁠‌ it would be‍‍​ uncomfortable because of‍ its size, but‌​ not at all.”‌

“Humph.​​ This young one‍⁠​ already knows how⁠‍ to flatter. How​ brazen.”

“I’m​‍​ just saying I like it. Why​‍ are you getting​⁠ so angry?”

Entering⁠​⁠ Rukhta’s workshop, Vlad⁠‌⁠ squinted his left‍‍ eye towards the‍‌⁠ tall, old furnace.⁠⁠

There,​⁠ peering through the​ world, was indeed‌ a young lizard‍ looking at Vlad,​‌ just as Baradis⁠⁠‍ had said.

“By‍‌ the way, what‌​​ about my sword?‍‍​ It doesn’t seem⁠‌ like anyone else‌⁠‌ can handle it.”⁠

“What‌‌‍ did you leave‍ me? Be content​​‌ with the armor.”​

“I‌‌ didn’t leave you‌‌⁠ anything, but doesn’t​ Jorge have something⁠‍ he left you?”​

Although‌ resorting to old‌‍ connections was a bit petty, Vlad‍‍‍ didn’t want to⁠‌ miss the opportunity.⁠​

Because‌⁠ before him now‌⁠ was the most‌‌‌ outstanding blacksmith he‌ had ever seen.​⁠

Vlad‍​‌ had a vague‌⁠ suspicion that he‍‍​ probably wouldn’t be​‍ able to sharpen‍ his sword unless⁠​ it was now.‍​‌

“…Damn⁠‍ you.”

When‍‍‍ the old dwarf‍​‌ silently extended his‌ hand, Vlad gladly⁠⁠⁠ smiled and placed⁠ his sword on⁠​ it.

The‍⁠ young lizard, who‍‍‍ was watching the⁠‌⁠ scene, began to‍​​ blink as if⁠ recognizing the sword⁠‍​ Vlad carried.

“The‍‌‌ value of life‌ is something persistent.​‍ Even at this​ age, I can’t‌ stop.”

“Sorry,​⁠ but there’s no​ one else who​ can help me.”⁠⁠

The⁠‌⁠ tone was direct,​ but the hand‌⁠​ that received it‍ was cautious.

Rukhta,‍‌‍ who was examining⁠‌ Vlad’s sword with‍​‍ sharp eyes, let‌​‌ out a small​​ sigh to himself.​‍

“No‍ wonder.”

The​ blue sword that​⁠ the craftsman examined​ with his eyes‍‍ was so shabby‍ that it made​‍ Vlad worry.

The​ blade was dull⁠‍ enough to make‌‍‌ you think it‌ had been cutting‍ enemies with ease.​​‌

“Just‌ sharpen it. I’ll​ find the materials‌‌ I mentioned earlier.”‌

“…Even‍ with the materials,‍​ this sword can’t⁠ be sharpened.”

A blacksmith who says​ that although he‌ has spent his‌ whole life near​​ the fire, he‌‌‌ can’t sharpen a sword.

Seeing‍​‌ Rukhta like this,‍‍ Vlad was stunned⁠⁠​ and seemed perplexed.‍

“Can’t​‍ even sharpen it?​ Is working with​ black iron that‍‌ hard?”

“It’s⁠⁠ not that. It’s‌‌​ not difficult in⁠​ that sense.”

A sword made by‌ the priestess of​‍​ the world tree​ calling an old​ blacksmith beyond the​​ threshold of the​ underworld.

I thought it wouldn’t⁠​ be easy to‍‌‌ handle because both‍ the materials and​‌ the manufacturing process‍​⁠ were unusual, but​‌ I never imagined⁠‍‌ even Rukhta would⁠‍⁠ shake his head.‍‍​

“Then​⁠‌ in what sense?”‍‌⁠

“It’s‌​‍ not a matter⁠⁠‌ of skill or​‌ materials. No one‌‌‍ can sharpen this‍ blade because…”

Rukhta,​‌ who was quietly⁠⁠ looking at Vlad’s‍‌‌ sword, brushed the‍​ blade with his‍‌ finger.

A humming sound spread​​ through the forge.‌⁠​

It​⁠ was a sound‍​ clearly audible despite‌‌ all the surrounding⁠ noise.

“Because‍⁠ this isn’t a sword.”

“…What?”‍‍

“The‍⁠ one who made​ it made it‍‌ look like a sword, but it’s‌‍⁠ not.”

With‌‍ the humming of‍‍ the blade, the‍​ little dragon began‌ to shake its⁠‌ head happily.

Vlad,‍ who had his‌⁠‌ left eye closed,​‍ could see faint‍‍‍ rays of light​​‌ coming from his⁠⁠ sword following the​‍ sound.

“…I⁠⁠⁠ don’t understand what‍ you’re saying.”

“You’re‍ still too young⁠‌ to fully understand.”⁠​​

Rukhta‍⁠⁠ suddenly moved away⁠‌‌ from Vlad and​‌ held the hammer‍ he had set⁠​ down.

Then‌ the dwarf craftsman​ struck the glowing⁠⁠​ red iron without‍‍ saying a word.⁠

Vlad​ just watched Rukhta’s‌‌ back as he‍⁠​ hammered without saying‍‌​ a word.

“You‍‍‌ can’t force a specific shape on‌‍ a young possibility‍⁠ that doesn’t know‌⁠‍ what it wants‌⁠‍ to be.”

Clang!‍​⁠ Clang!

Under⁠‌ the careless hammering,‍‌ the red-hot iron‌⁠⁠ gradually began to‍⁠ take shape.

An​‍ ingot of iron‍‌ that was born⁠ as a meaningless‌ stone but takes‌‍‌ on a new​ form in the‍​ presence of fire​‍ and hammer.

However,​​​ it was not⁠ clear if the‌ gradually changing appearance⁠ was really what⁠⁠ it wanted.

“Take⁠ care. Today might⁠‍ be the last​⁠ time we meet.”‌⁠

With⁠‍‌ those words, Rukhta‍​​ simply concentrated on‌⁠ his work in‍⁠ silence.

Because​ he had given‍⁠‍ all the advice​⁠⁠ he could.

Whether⁠ or not Vlad,‍‌‍ the sword’s master,⁠ understood the advice​‍​ was up to‌ him.

“…Saying​ it’s the last⁠⁠ time, what bad‌​‍ luck.”

Vlad​​​ slowly began to​​ walk the path​ he had traveled,⁠‌ looking at Rukhta’s​‍‍ back without saying⁠‍‌ anything else.

All​‍ the blacksmiths he⁠ saw upon leaving​⁠‍ seemed busy.

It​‌‍ looked like everyone‌ was sharpening their⁠‌ iron in preparation⁠ for the upcoming​ storm.

***​

“The​⁠ Barbosa fleet has‍ entered our waters.”​

“According⁠⁠​ to the report,‍⁠​ the fleet numbers​​ at least 40​ ships.”

The⁠​ complexion of the‍ chiefs began to‍‌ darken as they​​⁠ heard the report‌‍​ from the side.‌

More​⁠‍ concerning than the‌ number of ships​ was the fact‌‌‍ that the fleet​‍⁠ would likely carry⁠⁠ at least a thousand soldiers.

However,​‌‍ the number of‌​⁠ Nidavellir forces that‌‍‌ could oppose them⁠ was only 7 battleships and hundreds​⁠‌ of dwarves, so⁠⁠‌ the atmosphere in‌ the conference room‌ was understandably tense.‌⁠

“…The‌​ inevitable has arrived.”‌

However,‌‍​ even now as‍‌‍ the crisis approached,​​⁠ the eyes of‍⁠ War Chief Olmukar⁠⁠‌ showed not the​‍ slightest hesitation.

Not​‌⁠ only Olmukar, but​‌‍ everyone here knew‍ that something like‍ this would happen‌​ someday.

They⁠⁠ just hoped that​‍ day wasn’t today.⁠

“When‌ will Barbosa’s fleet⁠‍​ arrive?”

“If​⁠‍ they don’t lose⁠‍ their way and​‍ come directly… probably‍‍⁠ in less than​‌⁠ three days.”

“Three​​ days.”

It​‌ was that close.‍​‌

The⁠ distance between humans‍‌​ and dwarves was‌​ that short.

Some​‌‍ chiefs still cautiously​​​ suggested waiting for‌‍⁠ the storm to⁠⁠ pass, but Olmukar​​ sensed they could​​‌ no longer avoid‍⁠​ the threat from‍​ the Golden Duke.‌

“Joseph​​‌ Bayezid. Does the​ proposal you mentioned‍⁠⁠ still stand?”

“Of‍‌ course, War Chief.‍‌ We in the⁠‍ North still want‍ to have close⁠ ties with Nidavellir.”​

“Then,​ could the North‍⁠ provide us with‍‌​ some support against‌ this threat?”

“We​⁠ could, but time⁠⁠ would be a problem.”

The​ enemy was now‌ within reach, and⁠ for the North,​‍ the only closest‍ port was Nassau.‌

It⁠​​ was practically impossible​​​ to get ships‍‌ to sail there⁠‌ in just three⁠​ days.

“I‌​‍ understand. I just​‌‌ want to send‍ at least the⁠ children, women, and‍‌‍ the elderly to⁠⁠‌ a safe place.‌‍ Is that possible?”‍​​

The‍‍ idea of a desperate retreat only‌‍ applied to the‍ warriors. As the​‌ leader of Nidavellir,‍ Olmukar had to⁠‌⁠ think about the⁠⁠ future and planned​‌ to evacuate at‍ least the most‌ vulnerable.

“I‌‍‍ respect the War⁠‍‌ Chief’s choice. If‌ that’s the case,​‌​ Bayezid’s discretion alone‌⁠ will suffice.”

“Thank‍‍ you.”

According‍‌​ to the old‍‍ saying of the​‌‌ dwarves, only those‌‌⁠ who lend a hand in times​ of crisis are‍⁠‌ true friends.

Although‌ the North and‌‌‍ Bayezid had something​‍‌ they wanted, receiving⁠​ this level of​ favor showed they‌​⁠ were completely different‍ from the West.‌

“Gather⁠‍ all the ships⁠‍⁠ you can, except‌⁠ the warships. Even⁠‍ fishing boats will‍⁠⁠ do.”

“Understood,‌⁠ War Chief.”

From‍‍​ the most perfect‍​​ era of dragons‍‍‍ to the current‍‌ era of empires,‌⁠​ there have always⁠​‌ been beings trampled⁠‌‌ underfoot in the‌‍ great world, in‍ every time.

Only‌‍‌ the names of​‍​ those who trample‍‍‍ them have changed,‌⁠ but in a reality that has‍​​ not changed at⁠ all, the powerless‌ must once again‌‍​ leave the island​ that was their​​ home.

“Why​‌⁠ this atmosphere? We⁠​‌ know what we‍​ must do, so‍⁠ it’s better this⁠ way!”

Bang-!​⁠

As​ in the distant​⁠⁠ past, the first​ war chief once⁠ again told his​ compatriots to prepare‌‍ for a long‍‍ retreat to safety.‌​ He made no‍‌‌ effort to hide​ his trembling lips,⁠ filled with rage.‍‌​

“If​​ they approach, we‌ will face them,‍​ and if they​ threaten us, we‌‍‍ will destroy them!‌ There is no⁠‌‌ other way!”

As‍​ Olmukar prepared for⁠ his last fight,⁠​‌ passionate words came⁠​‌ out of his‍ mouth like molten​ metal.

“This‍ island is the​ last hope! If‌⁠ we lose even​ this place, our‌ descendants will spend⁠‌‍ their entire lives​⁠‌ wandering like the‍‌​ beast men who​‌⁠ have lost even‍⁠‌ their hometown to​⁠‌ return to!”

We‍⁠‌ cannot repeat the‌‌​ same mistakes as​​ before.

The​‍⁠ elders nodded at‍‍ Olmukar’s words to⁠ prepare for the‌ final resistance.

The‍​​ only thing that‌​‍ can save you‌​ is yourself.

The​​ Nidavellir Dwarven Liberation‍‌​ Front was a place where those⁠‌‍ committed to this⁠ gathered.

***‍‍

Unlike​⁠​ yesterday, the island⁠ of Lemnos began​‌​ to be busier.‌⁠

This‍‍ was because everyone​​⁠ here knew there⁠‌ wasn’t much time‍​​ left to leave​‌ the island and⁠‌ avoid the approaching‍‍ storm.

“This⁠ is the first​ time I’ve seen​‍ an evacuation procession.”‌⁠

“Me⁠‌ too.”

“Where?”​

“A‌⁠‌ place called Wisteria‍​​ Village.”

It​⁠‌ was the same‌‌​ scene as back‍‌ then.

The‌‍ current scene was​ of elderly people‌ carrying their burdens​​ on their backs‍‌⁠ and women busily⁠⁠‌ moving, holding their‍⁠​ children by the⁠‌‍ hand.

At‍‍‍ the port, there‍‍‌ was only a heavy atmosphere, where⁠ everyone tried to‍ keep pace.

“How‌⁠ many of us‍ are there?”

“About‍ 50, surprisingly few.​​⁠ Everyone knows the‌ Zemina needs repairs.”​⁠⁠

Harven‌⁠​ seemed devastated by⁠ the reality of‍ transporting unexpected refugees,‍‍‌ let alone the⁠ compensation he expected.​‍⁠

However,⁠ the reason he‍ didn’t show it‌​ might be because⁠​​ he was considerate‌⁠ of the children​⁠‍ passing by.

“Take⁠ them to another⁠‍⁠ ship.”

“Huh?”​​⁠

“Don’t‌​⁠ take any refugees.”​

After​​ observing the refugees‌‍ for a while,‌‌ Vlad saw a group of blacksmiths​‍​ boarding a ship​‌‍ carrying a familiar‍‍ high furnace in‍​‍ the distance.

When‍⁠ he closed his​‌ left eye, he‌ saw a young⁠‍ lizard sticking its‍‌⁠ head out of⁠‌​ the old furnace,‌‍​ looking depressed and‌​⁠ dejected.

“Why?​⁠⁠ There are already‍ not enough ships.”‌‌

Vlad​⁠ nodded as he‌ watched Baradis looking‍‍⁠ at him from⁠​‌ the ship.

A revelation from a priestess that can​‌​ only be recognized‍ when encountered.

Vlad,⁠ who had already⁠ experienced a revelation‌ once, decided not‍⁠​ to ignore the‌​​ warning his intuition‍‌ was telling him.‍‍

“I‌ have a bad​‍‌ feeling.”

The⁠⁠ port behind the‌‍ sunset was filled‌⁠ with ships leaving​ the island.

Following⁠ them, the Zemina‌​ began to slowly⁠ unfurl its sails.‌

Only‍​ the pink flag‌‍‍ fluttering above the⁠​‌ billowing sails pointed‍‌​ toward the island​ of Lemnos.

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