Magic Artisan

Borgien Territory, located near the northern border, had a relatively low population compared to its vast land. Being in the north, it was naturally colder than anywhere in the Empire, and the constant raids by savage tribes from the Snowy Mountains further deterred settlement.

Clang!

A black void opened in the air, and a black hand emerged, snapping the neck of a Bloody Wolf.

Such simultaneous events caused dozens of wolves to lose their lives in an instant.

'It's terrifying.'

As they followed Morne, they encountered a scene where, in order to break the wolves' necks simultaneously, individual commands had to be given to dozens of undead.

By watching Morne handle such tasks without blinking an eye, it was clear why he was known as the master of necromancers.

"Luck is on our side. The location where the assembly was held coincidentally isn't far from where the artisan is."

While Luna rummaged through the dead wolves, Morne walked with an expression as if he had just come from a drink.

"Did you know each other from the beginning?"

"If you say 'from the beginning,' it's a bit ambiguous. I think I got to know him about 50 years ago."

"50 years ago... That means Trauler had yet to create the magic sword."

"That's right. At that time, he was just an ordinary blacksmith that you could find anywhere. And when he came to find me, he was just one of the unfortunate ones who had experienced a tragic event."

Listening to Morne, it seemed that Trauler had come to Morne before anything else.

However, I was curious about how an ordinary blacksmith came to make the magic sword. It was a story I didn't know, so I couldn't help but be curious.

"It's amazing that an ordinary blacksmith created the magic sword."

"He was indeed an ordinary blacksmith at that time. But after creating the magic sword, he possessed an extraordinary skill that couldn't be called ordinary. To my knowledge, he is now the most outstanding blacksmith among the existing humans."

Morne seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, focusing on the air.

"Kid, in this cursed world, the people who come to find me are mostly those who have suffered or have tragic backgrounds. It's the destiny of well-known necromancers."

"May I ask what that means in more detail?"

"Think about it. Who do you think would come to an infamous necromancer of their own free will?"

People looking for infamous necromancers... It's probably those who come to use their powers, right? From what I've personally experienced, the influence of necromancers in war is almost absolute. Even Aura Masters knelt before them, so there's no need for a long explanation.

"Are they people who want war?"

"Hehe. It's a plausible thought, but it's wrong. Surprisingly, war enthusiasts don't like necromancers. They consider necromancers a kind of cheating and deliberately exclude them."

"Why do they exclude them?"

"You should know, but necromancy is a kind of magic that leaves traces. The moment you use it, you can't help but reveal yourself. Unless you're immune, like me, people avoid contact with necromancers. If someone hires a necromancer, everyone, including you, will summon necromancers and fight a proxy war."

In the context of war, their incredibly deceptive abilities become a liability.

In my view, it was a pitiful thought, but people in this era had a lot to consider, so it made sense.

"Then who is coming to find you, exactly?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. People who have suffered and become unfortunate. Here, tragedy mostly means the death of those around them."

"Ah..."

Finally, I could grasp it.

The people who actively sought out necromancers.

They were the ones who wanted to utilize the necromancer's fundamental ability.

"They want to bring someone back to life."

"Yes. Many people have come to me over the years. Some wanted to reverse the deaths of their parents, while others hoped to awaken their beloved again. And among them, the greatest tragedy I felt was none other than the death of a child."

As Morne mentioned that, his eyes seemed somewhat moist in a way I couldn't quite place.

I wondered if I had seen it wrong and tried to examine his face more closely, but suddenly, Morne raised his head and looked up at the sky.

"Is death really a tragedy? I've lived for a long time, but I still can't give a definitive answer."

"That's a difficult question."

"It's a question for which I can't give a definitive answer."

Having experienced Lethe's dungeon, I realized that death could also be a blessing. Of course, I had no desire to die now, but the value judgment of death seemed to change according to the current situation.

Necromancy, being directly related to death, was undoubtedly a matter worth pondering.

"In any case, Trauler was one of those people. As I said, he came with the greatest tragedy."

"Did his child die?"

"As far as I could see, yes. But he was chillingly calm, only asking to raise the cold, lifeless child. It was as if he had come to fix a toy. Yes, he wasn't quite in his right mind back then."

As we continued to talk, we could finally reach the remains of the dilapidated city walls.

The fallen walls and the rubble that had once been a castle were so destroyed that it was hard to find any intact parts.

Clang! Clang!

Strangely, within this ruin, the sound of hammering could be heard.

What was even more surprising was that we had walked this far, and the sound hadn't been audible until now.

"Is that the person grandmaster mentioned?"

"Most likely."

We approached the source of the sound.

And finally, we could witness a bizarre sight.

Clang!

In an empty plaza, a man dressed in thick clothes swung a hammer forcefully, striking something with great determination.

Around him, frost filled the air, and as we got closer, we could feel the temperature dropping rapidly.

'An excess of mana phenomenon?'

There was no other way to explain it.

Unless it was Trauler's power, which I knew he didn't possess.

"Trauler, it's been a while," Morne called out.

As Morne addressed him, the man paused his hammering and slowly turned to look at us.

"Morne? You're late," he replied.

Morne pointed at me and said, "I had to pick up this kid."

The man glanced at me once and then returned to his silent work with the hammer.

"Just wait a little bit. I'll finish up the work, and then we can talk."

Thunk!

As far as I knew, blacksmithing involved pounding a heated piece of iron with a hammer, but I couldn't see any fire here. Instead, in this freezing place, the man was pounding a black piece of metal with just an anvil and a hammer, making him appear as if he were a madman.

'If I didn't know he was Trauler, I would have thought he was insane.'

Reputation indeed mattered, as one's impression could change depending on the owner's identity.

After hammering the metal for quite some time, Trauler, to my eyes, showed no noticeable changes to the result. He then looked around before nodding his head.

"You've waited long enough. Come with me."

Craftsmen's worlds are truly hard to comprehend.

We followed Trauler to a corner of the ruined city wall.

It was a place where the rubble of the wall was embedded in the ground like convenient chairs. As Trauler led us there, he removed his thick coat and asked, "By the way, who are these two?"

"My apprentices," Morne replied.

"Apprentices? Are you getting senile?"

"Hehe, that's possible."

Morne introduced us with a smile, despite Trauler's blunt response.

"Over there is Luna Pendragon, the daughter of Eve Millennium."

"Hello?"

When Luna greeted him sincerely, Trauler expressed a strange admiration.

"Is this child really Eve's daughter? It's hard to believe based on appearances."

Then he turned his gaze towards me and asked, "Who are you?"

"It's our first meeting. I'm Adrius Cromwell."

I offered a polite greeting. However, it seemed that Trauler was more interested in my name than my attitude.

"Cromwell? Cromwell..."

Trauler slowly shifted his gaze and looked at Morne, but Moran pretended not to notice his gaze and said to me, "Kid."

"Yes, Master."

"Don't you wonder whose hands made the equipment of my undead?"

"Ah!"

Did Trauler make the equipment for the undead? Being the world's greatest blacksmith for the undead was beyond impressive.

'Wait, does this mean I might be getting a rare artifact right now?'

I looked at Morne with expectant eyes, and he burst into laughter.

"Hehehe! I didn't know you would make that expression."

"Because I have good reason to be excited."

At that moment, Trauler, who had been silently observing, furrowed his brow.

"Master, I made weapons for your skeletons because you're the master. I never intended to make such crude things again. Do you think I'd create something as unrefined as that?"

"You, this brat, didn't I call him my apprentice? How does this affect my reputation for bringing him all the way here?"

"I thought maybe you wanted to greet me after not seeing me for a while. I had no intention of taking on such trivial tasks. Find someone else for that."

Although they exchanged gruff words, it was clear that they had known each other for a long time.

According to what Morne mentioned earlier, Trauler must have gone through a difficult time, but currently, he didn't seem to display any such sentiments.

'Well, it happened 50 years ago,' I thought.

More importantly, I hoped Morne would persuade Trauler to help.

"No matter how great you are, there are things you shouldn't do. I can't allow myself to make equipment for mere undead, especially considering how many there are. My pride won't allow it."

"When did you start caring about pride, you lout? Just a little while ago, you were doing all sorts of pointless things."

"Don't call it pointless! This is all part of research. All my creations are born this way."

"Tsk, tsk. Making a fuss just because you managed to create a magic sword... Fine, you! I'm sick of it because you're dirty!"

No, Master.

If you could convince him a little more, instead of getting angry and leaving... I felt a sense of urgency.

So, with the intention of trying something, I summoned Nickel.

"Hmm?"

A black void opened, and Nickel walked out wearing a robe.

With its own consciousness, it was quite unique among undead.

Upon seeing Nickel, both Morne and Tralur showed interest.

"Is this your undead?"

"Yes."

Morne's expression made it seem like he wanted to devour Nickel right there.

"What exactly is the material? Looking at the transparent clothing, is it connected to this undead?"

"Well..."

"Wow! It seems quite impressive. Its movements are different from regular undead, as if it's thinking and moving on its own..."

Before I could answer, Morne had already started analyzing Nickel, examining and taking it apart.

Ignoring Morne's actions, I addressed Tralur, "I only have five undead, and among them, only two need equipment."

"I said it a little while ago, but I won't make equipment for mere undead anymore. If you really want it, just go to a famous blacksmith in the Empire and pay for it. That would be much more helpful."

"Trauler, may I ask you one thing?"

I decided to try and persuade Trauler.

"What is it?"

"Why exactly won't Trauler make equipment for undead anymore?"

"If you're a blacksmith, you'd understand that no blacksmith wants their crafted weapons to end up in the hands of unworthy wielders."

"If my undead were a higher level would you make weapons for them?"

"Undead are undead. There's no high or low level. Take your Death Knight, for example. It's at a level where it can easily toy with most knights. What I mean is, I want to give my swords to those who know how to wield them, not mere puppets."

I got involved.

I decided to try and persuade Trauler.

"So what you're saying is that you'd make weapons for someone who can wield them effectively, not for mere puppets?"

Trauler got interested and examined Nickel closely.

I summoned Nickel.

"Indeed."

Trauler then realized something.

"So, are you saying that this one here can wield a weapon with its own will?"

"Yes."

With his newfound insight, Trauler carefully examined Nickel and me.

"Are you trying to say that this one has its own will right now?"

I held up Galakshur, waiting for a response.

"What about it?"