I Became the Hero Who Banished the Protagonist

TN: Another chapter brought to you by Snowwhite44. You guys are really making me pump out the chapters.

I scratched the back of my head and looked at the blacksmith. She was still blinking in surprise. It was apparent why. The Hero stood before them in an abandoned alley.

“May I have a word with you?”

Her face contorted into a complicated expression. I would have preferred to keep it quiet and make it away without revealing my status as the Hero, but I had a hunch that this was the only way to win her over. I also had a suspicion that this smith could make a good sword.

The blacksmith crossed her arms and looked at me; I could tell there was some sort of conflict in her mind. She brushed past me, closing the door to the forge and pulling down the shades. He seemed to be trying to prevent any unnecessary noise.

“…Since you’re the Hero, we can talk.”

The blacksmith pointed to a table at the edge of the workshop. I nodded, walked over to the table, and sat down while the blacksmith untied her apron and wiped the sweat from her face. She went to the sink, washed her face quickly, dried her hands, and looked up at me.

“I’m sorry if it’s hot.”

“It’s no problem.”

The blacksmith sat down across from me. She looked five years younger now that she had washed her. She sat there and studied my face for a long time.

“I didn’t expect a famous person to visit my workshop…much less the Hero.”

She muttered to herself, then pulled her chair forward. Her voice and tone were animated, but her eyes were full of fatigue.

“I needed a sword, so I visited the Blacksmith Guild’s smiths, but as I said, the other craftsmen’s work was not very impressive. I tried Georges’ workshop first, but they said he was off today.”

“Then you should wait for him to return. He is rather picky with his commissions, but he’s certainly skilled, and he wouldn’t miss the chance to make a sword for the Hero.”

She didn’t sound judgmental but genuinely curious.

“I thought so too. However, there’s no harm in expanding my options.”

I glanced toward the grinding table. On a table near it was a collection of metal items. Chains, knives, and a hammer. None of them looked familiar. ‘She probably makes everything herself.’

“Then, by chance, I saw a certain artisan making a knife, and the idea of visiting Georges was erased from my mind.”

The blacksmith’s brow narrows slightly, and her gaze drifts to my left.

“By the way, Hero, don’t you wield the Holy Sword. Why do you need another one?”

I fiddled with the hilt of the Holy Sword and nodded.

“I am a dual wielder, so I need a second sword to go with it.”

“…Then why are you leaving such an important task here?”

“Because this is where you work.”

A blacksmith who had impressed me and the Holy Sword.

“So, please, can you take care of the sword’s crafting?”

The blacksmith clenched her teeth and let out a long sigh.

“…As you guessed, I used to be a swordsmith myself, though I have vowed not to make another.”

The blacksmith said, interlacing her hands.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking why. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

“It’s nothing big; it’s just a very personal reason. I’m hesitant to tell you as the other smiths would laugh at me if they heard.”

The blacksmith smiled bitterly. I could only stare at her in silence.

“…It seems I have no choice.”

She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“I started working at the forge with my father when I was young. I was told I was quite good at it. I lived in the workshop, but I was happy. I love hammering iron, shaping it, and most of all, seeing my works completed and used.”

She then clenched her hands tightly.

“But I can’t help but feel responsible and guilty that my work has made people bleed. I used to be fine with it. However…”

I waited for some time before she continued.

“Five years ago, news broke. Several knights who bought my sword fared well in a border conflict between the Kingdom of Kairos and the neighboring Kingdom of Benisha, and they praised my weapons highly. They said they could cut through armor with ease. My workshop became quite famous after that, and I turned down every request for armor that came my way.”

A smith that creates swords to kill.

“I suppose that’s what a sword is supposed to do, but somehow, after hearing that, I can’t bring myself to make another. “I won’t make swords anymore,” I told myself that ridiculous promise. You don’t have to understand. It’s not for anyone else to understand.”

“So, I can’t make your sword.”

The blacksmith said.

“I know you’re the Hero, and I’m glad you came to me, but making a sword is impossible. It’s a matter of my heart. I’m sorry, Hero.”

The blacksmith was sincerely apologizing to me. The Holy Sword clucked its tongue in my head.

(What are you going to do, Elroy? This blacksmith is the best you can hope for, but it’s not like you don’t have a second best. Your option has high credibility as well.)

‘I’d rather have the best I can get.’ There is no harm in trying to convince her.

“I will not cut people with my sword, for my sword is meant to protect, not to kill.”

I lifted my Holy Sword, drew it from its scabbard, and laid it on the table. The blade and hilt of it shone as if it had been polished yesterday. It didn’t have unique decorations or carvings, but people could feel the power that transcended its appearance.

“The Holy Sword is not a weapon for slashing people. That is not what it was made for.”

I lifted my head and looked at the blacksmith, her eyes wavering slightly as they stared at the Holy Sword.

“If you make me a sword, I assure you it will share the same fate.”

“…I believe that. You are the protector of humanity, after all.”

I slid the Holy Sword across the table for her to examine, and the blacksmith hesitantly placed her hand on the hilt of the Holy Sword and ran her fingers along it.

“I want you to make it, and I’ll prove that your swords will save more people than you could ever imagine.”

“Swords are meant to cut people; that’s a fact that won’t change.”

I remembered what the Holy Sword told me.

“If you want to cut someone, you could do it with a branch. Even if they had a shield or wore armor, if you wanted to kill someone, you could kill them.”

I took the Holy Sword back and slid it into its sheath. The blacksmith’s eyes traveled along the hilt.

“Then there’s nothing to say you can’t protect and save people with a sword, too.”

She had only heard of the hundreds who have died to her swords. But the people it protected were uncountable.

“I know you didn’t say it with that intention, but you’re just a coward. Your vow is an excuse you use, afraid to face the facts. It’s not wrong. Running away won’t change anything.”

I didn’t deny it.

“And you’re right; I’m forcing this, even when you’re trying to run away. You can blame me all you want, but to save the people, I need your sword. I can take the blame for the lives it takes.”

We stared at each other silently for a long time until the blacksmith let out a long sigh. I felt relieved inwardly as I realized she had raised a white flag.

“I know that with your status as the Hero if you formally asked me to make a sword, I would have no choice but to follow your commands. However, you’re trying to make me realize that my resolve pales in comparison to your convictions.”

“Well, you got the first part right. However, I don’t consider myself a person with a strong conviction.”

“I didn’t know the Hero was such a bully.”

“Well, if you’re short on money, I can always add more.”

As I tore out another checkbook, the blacksmith threw up her hands in front of my eyes.

“Stop, stop. You will make me sound like someone who gave in to money.”

“I hoped so as well.”

The blacksmith smirked at my words. I smiled back at her, returning a wry smile. ‘The sword will be made, thankfully.’

(This isn’t like you. There must be another reason you’re so intent on pushing that blacksmith to make the sword.)

I could hear her questioning me. ‘Of course, it wasn’t only because she was skilled.’

(You were afraid she would regret rejecting you.)

She hit the nail on the head.

‘If I hadn’t pushed for it, it would never have been made. Then she’ll be dwelling on how she ran away yet again.’

(So she’s left with one of two options: live with the additional guilt of not making the Hero a sword, or rationalize that she’s following her convictions and get even more stuck in her own head.)

‘It’s easier for her to say I semi-coerced her into making the sword. Later, when she sees what her sword has done, she can break free of the chains that bind her.’

(…You really do care so deeply for nothing. Is it okay if she doesn’t know about this?)

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s going to hate me for this. It’s cute how you worry about me, though.’

I gently squeeze the hilt of the Holy Sword in compensation. She added hastily, sounding embarrassed.

(W-who said that? I only asked because I can read your mind. Though, it’s been getting harder and harder to read your mind lately. Your mind has been growing stronger….)

I lightened my grip and looked up. The blacksmith was looking at me with a determined look in her eyes.

“I’ll make you a sword.”

“Thank you.”

I bowed, and the blacksmith scratched her head, then produced a paper and a pen.

“I need you to tell me the shape you want, the material, and if you have a sword for reference, all the better.”

“I’d like the material to be the most durable you can use, and I’m not too concerned about the weight. As for the shape… I’d like it to be wider, not too narrow at the tip.”

The blacksmith, who had been writing down my words, hummed and exhaled.

“Mithril alloy would be good, and… it looks like a shape I’ve seen before.”

“Well, I’m using Archduke Stroff’s sword as a reference as it seemed to fit my hand well.”

At that, the blacksmith’s eyes widened.

“…What? You mean you’ve used that sword yourself?”

I nodded. The blacksmith frowned and looked down at the paper.

“…You want a masterpiece of that caliber, does this mean… Give me the hand you’ll use for the sword.”

I held my left hand, and the blacksmith took it, feeling it up to my wrist.

“Okay. Since I’ve agreed to do it, and since it’s your sword, I’ll do my best to make it. It’ll probably take me a couple of weeks to get the materials and finish it.”

“I see.”

The blacksmith stood up and held out her right hand.

“My name is Robin Bell, and I will take good care of you, Hero.”

“I’m Elroy. I’ll be in your care.”

“…And, if you can,”

Robin looked at my empty right waistband.

“I’d like to see you save the world someday with the sword I’ll make for you.”

“At the next celebration ceremony, I’ll make sure everyone knows your sword saved the world.”

I said goodbye to Robin and left the forge. It was an unexpected turn of events, but I’m glad it worked out.

(…I was just thinking about something while listening to your conversation with the blacksmith, Elroy.)

‘What?’

(…The fight against the doomsday cults is not a fight against Disasters or monsters.)

The Holy Sword said with concern in her voice.

(I wouldn’t discourage you from going there as it’s something you’d have to face and deal with at some point, but…)

I didn’t respond or nod. I just kept walking.

(…It will be another problematic trial you must overcome.)

I suddenly stopped walking and looked out into the street. People strolled through the noisy streets of the smithy. Any of them could be doomsday worshippers.

(Brace yourself.)

…I should.

I nodded in silence. A cool breeze blew in, signaling the end of summer.