The Academy’s Weapon Replicator - Chapter 7

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Weapon Duplicator of the Academy Episode 7
Part 2: The Branch in the Coffin, Mistilteinn (3)
A sharp cracking sound. It was enough to freeze everyone present in place.
Divine Punishment was coming…….
No one dared open their mouth in that tension.
“What?”
“Wh—what is this?”
Then the branch inside the coffin ‘flowed out’.
Quite literally, what had been a branch mere moments before became black liquid and poured down, pulled by gravity.
“I told you. It’s a forgery.”
Frondier extended his hand toward the cascading black liquid.
The nobles around him flinched.
“You can actually touch that?”
Frondier caught the black liquid in his palm. It flowed through his hand and continued downward.
But the moment Frondier clenched his fist,
“Huh?”
The liquid became metal again within his grip, then the moment he opened his hand, it reverted to liquid and dripped away.
“A strange creature, this one.”
“……Ah.”
Then, as if something had occurred to her, Elodi opened her mouth.
“Viscoelasticity.”
“Hm? What?”
Frondier smiled at Elodi’s words in agreement.
“Precisely. This substance is a metal with viscoelastic properties.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Simply put: it hardens when force is applied, but returns to liquid when left alone.”
Yet it was impossible for metal to naturally possess such properties.
Viscoelastic materials retain inherent elasticity and viscosity even in solid form, leaving them soft. They cannot become as hard as metal.
It was not Mistilteinn, but this jet-black liquid undoubtedly was a magically valuable metal.
“Then what was that thing that looked like Mistilteinn a moment ago?”
“Someone must have used Sorcery to infuse Mana, mimicking its appearance. Since Mana is also a form of force, this coffin likely served that purpose.”
“I see…….”
Relief settled over the room. If it was not a Divine Object, then there would be no Divine Punishment.
Ortel spoke.
“But how did you know? That this thing was a forgery?”
“The same way you would reason it. Mistilteinn is the weapon that slew Baldur. If this were truly that branch, Baldur surely would not have let it be.”
Frondier concealed the fact that he already knew what the true Mistilteinn looked like.
Truths that cut too deep kill persuasiveness.
“And I have never heard that Mistilteinn was kept within a coffin.”
“That much is true, but is that alone sufficient?”
Everything Frondier had said was already known to everyone here.
The probability that this branch was the real Mistilteinn was certainly not high.
Yet no matter how slim the odds, when lives hang in the balance, one does not gamble.
To be struck by Divine Punishment is to invite torment worse than death itself.
“As I said before, I do not fear Divine Punishment. And,”
Frondier poured the black liquid into the glass bottle sitting on the table.
The liquid, which turned to metal under force, filled the bottle far more easily than expected.
And Frondier spoke with darkened eyes.
“To think that something like this could be switched with my father’s sword—I cannot bear it.”
At those words, everyone fell silent for a moment.
But soon, one hearty laugh erupted.
“Khahaha! We’ve been completely had. What a shameful display before these young ones.”
It was Heldrei, the ‘Zodiac’.
He burst into laughter most unbecoming of his years, then approached Frondier and placed a hand upon his head.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Frondier.”
“Frondier, yes—I shall not forget that name.”
Having said so, Heldrei looked toward Ampere.
“Ampere, you have raised a son of remarkable filial piety.”
“There is nothing I could add to that.”
“And so, thanks to you, I never had to part with Gram. Surely I ought to give you something in return?”
Heldrei’s weathered face belied the playful glint in his eyes.
Ampere looked decidedly unamused.
“I had fully intended to reprimand him severely.”
“Come now. You heard him yourself—he fears no Divine Punishment. Not a soul in this room would dare speak such words. Perhaps even the Divine favors such audacious youth.”
Ampere lowered his gaze for a moment.
In the end, one could say Frondier’s actions were justified. He had prevented Gram from being sold off, and he had forestalled the petty rivalries that might have festered between the houses.
Retrieving Mistilteinn was not a matter that ended there. With attacks on the house growing more frequent of late, there was no need to invite jealous eyes with unnecessary complications.
Yet,
“To praise you would be to reward mere fortune, Frondier.”
“……Yes, I apologize, Father.”
“Your actions were extremely dangerous. Incomparably so compared to anything before. Ordinarily, I would hold you strictly accountable and ensure you never repeated such a transgression. Consider yourself fortunate that I do not.”
“I shall bear that in mind.”
Frondier bowed respectfully.
Ampere sighed, watching that gesture devoid of even a trace of reluctance.
“However, given the value of Gram, I cannot simply let this pass.”
“Hmm?”
Lidwi offered an unnecessary murmur of interest.
Ampere spoke.
“If there is something you desire, you may ask for it.”
At those words, a flicker of bewilderment crossed Frondier’s eyes—an emotion that rarely surfaced in that impassive gaze.
“Well, then……”
Frondier touched his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then lifted his head.
“I would like to see Gram directly. Inside its scabbard.”
“Ah.”
“Oh ho!”
Murmurs of surprise erupted from those assembled.
Ampere’s prized possession—the Divine Object Gram.
A glimpse of the blade itself was a rare opportunity indeed.
Everyone in the room’s eyes brightened at Frondier’s request.
“Would that suffice?”
“It would be more than adequate.”
Ampere considered for a moment.
Immodest as it was to say, the gesture seemed insufficient as reward for Frondier’s actions.
Ampere placed his hand upon the raised Gram.
The sword, hidden within its scabbard.
All eyes fixed upon Ampere’s movements.
‘……How?’
But in that brief moment, only Quinier harbored a different thought.
‘How did he break it?’
Frondier’s hands were bare.
He had merely placed his hand atop the scabbard—he had not struck with his fist—yet in an instant it shattered.
Could it be magic? Without even a word of command?
Or else……
‘Aura, perhaps.’
Quinier swallowed hard.
Someone capable of releasing Aura with bare hands was no mere student.
Yet he could not be certain. If it were Aura, it would mean the projection of power—but he had sensed no flow of energy whatsoever.
However, if he truly had just used Aura, and it had been a momentary release so subtle that none could perceive it,
he would have to be brought to their side by any means necessary.
By whatever means it took.
With a soft rasp, the scabbard peeled away. The blade within caught the light and reflected it brilliantly.
“Ah, so this is……!”
The eyes of the nobility gleamed.
The legendary sword of the hero Sigurd—Gram.
For all its renown, Gram’s appearance was rougher than one might have expected.
The blade bore a finely worked pattern, rippling like flowing water, yet it lacked the ethereal beauty one might attribute to a work of divine craftsmanship.
And yet.
“…….”
Silence settled over the assembly.
This weapon cannot be judged merely by the beauty of its appearance.
Though it simply rests there, it presses the air itself into heaviness.
The hilt feels cool, and the blade, from top to bottom, seems born into its true shape—a concentrated force is evident.
‘Even I, who don’t wield a sword, can tell. A Divine Object truly is different.’
Quinier marveled inwardly.
That he instinctively sought to price this weapon was an unavoidable nature of his kind—he set that aside for now.
What expression would Frondier, who had first brought up the matter, be wearing?
Curious, he turned his gaze toward him.
“……!”
Quinier caught his breath.
Fearing Frondier had noticed his stare, he quickly looked away.
‘What is that look?’
Frondier too was gazing at Gram.
With an innocent face. With innocent eyes.
Yet that ‘innocence’ was far removed from peace.
Frondier looked at Gram with pure intensity, as though he might swallow it whole. As if he truly could.
That gaze coveting Gram was, in a word,
the eye of one who trespassed upon the forbidden.
* * *
“Aster, have you heard the news?”
“Huh? Heard what?”
Aster replied to his friend Tein’s excitement.
Tein was a commoner like Aster, and the two had quickly grown close.
Aster was so famous that Tein approached him with something akin to fan enthusiasm, but the good-natured Aster got along with him perfectly.
“You haven’t seen the news? About Mistilteinn!”
“Ah…… I went to bed a bit early yesterday.”
Aster spoke in an uncomfortable tone and scratched his head.
It was a lie.
Ellin had confiscated his WizView viewing rights yesterday evening, insisting there was a romance film she needed to watch.
And then she’d said,
-It’s not even ours anyway. Check it later. There’ll be plenty of chances.
Damn her. His sister could be steel-hard rational when it came to others’ affairs.
Yet she died for romance.
“Frondier broke open the coffin!”
“……What?”
Aster’s eyes wavered.
Not displeasure or anger—but an ominous premonition: was Frondier alive?
“The coffin they kept Mistilteinn in?”
“That’s it! Well, it’s a little different though!”
“Different how?”
“Apparently it wasn’t Mistilteinn at all. It was a fake! A fake!”
Tein continued in his excitable voice.
But truly, this was news worthy of such excitement.
A fake. Then there would be no Divine Punishment either, so he needn’t worry about Frondier.
“Wait. That means Frondier knew it was fake?”
“Who knows? Maybe he had some reason to believe otherwise? Though if it were me, no amount of grounds would make me do something so insane!”
That’s right. Who would commit such madness, however strong the suspicion?
……Unless it wasn’t suspicion. Unless it was certainty.
Something only Frondier could know?
“……It was fake.”
Aster’s pupils rolled.
Frondier’s voice from the night before echoed in his mind.
-Don’t worry, Aster Evans.
-I’ll take away your worry.
He’d believed it was a minor comfort. An impossible thing to say.
No matter which noble house gained Mistilteinn, it would have felt to Aster Evans like a sword held over his heart.
But then. He had destroyed that sword for him.
……So that’s it.
* * *
I stood alone in my Dormitory room, watching the dark liquid sloshing gently in a glass bottle.
A metal possessing viscoelasticity.
Inside the conference room, all my concentration went into maintaining an expression of indifference toward it.
In the game’s storyline, this counterfeit Mistilteinn would likely be exchanged for Ampere’s Gram at a high probability.
It would then be placed briefly in a conspicuous spot within the Roach Residence, but its falsity would soon be exposed.
Without a sorcerer, a sorcery has limits in mana input—the coffin would simply shatter on its own.
What happens to Gram after that, I never knew for certain. It changed depending on which playthrough I was in.
But no matter whose hands it falls into, it’s a fearsome thing that triggers sub-events.
At least for now, it remains in Father’s possession, so there’s some relief in that.
“Very well then.”
I set the rectangular mold onto the desk and poured the metal from the glass bottle, filling the frame.
Even when I was playing the game, I’d thought of this metal as ‘something oddly subtle.’
Crude as it is to say, this metal was probably only good for ‘forgery’—mimicking Mistilteinn or reproducing something else.
But if it were Frondier…
He might push this metal’s properties beyond one hundred percent.
I smiled, making no effort to hide my anticipation.
“From now on, I’ll call you Heukcheony.”
I held my hand over the Heukcheony in the mold. The sensation of the liquid without temperature still felt deeply unfamiliar.
Now I would add Weaving to this Heukcheony.
Weaving, Heukcheony
Workshop, Design 1
Grade—Standard
Iron Short Sword
The image of the short sword installed in the workshop was carved into the Heukcheony.
Mana flowed into the Heukcheony, and it began to shift its form.
And then,
“Done.”
In my clenched fist lay a short sword.
At last.
Not an illusion, not an image.
A Black Short Sword that existed as undeniable reality.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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