The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 174

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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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Chapter 174

I entered the Smithy at eight years old.

At twelve, I grasped the hammer. At fourteen, I forged my first sword.

In truth, it wasn’t a sword at all—merely scrap metal beaten and thinned from heated iron.

I didn’t craft a weapon worthy of the name until my fifteenth winter. A renowned swordsman took a liking to it and pressed gold coins into my palm.

Believing I possessed talent for the hammer’s craft, I rejected my father’s warnings and opened my own Smithy.

Perhaps because the swordsman who purchased my first creation gradually built his reputation, customers streamed in endlessly.

I expanded the Smithy, took on inexperienced blacksmiths, and multiplied the work. Supplying weapons to numerous organizations, I raked in gold coins at an age far too young for such success.

The Smithy grew larger, and gold accumulated like mountains. I grasped the hammer less and less, spending more time outside, squandering wealth. A life of success achieved in youth rather than maturity—truly the envy of all.

While I reveled in such a life, catastrophe struck.

Rushing to meet deadlines, I failed to properly inspect the swords and shields before mass delivery. The defective weapons caused soldiers sent to subjugate monsters to die or suffer grievous wounds.

The kingdom demanded astronomical compensation. I surrendered most of my accumulated wealth just to barely satisfy their demands.

A decade’s worth of savings vanished, but that wasn’t the true problem.

People had died because of the poorly crafted weapons I had made.

I realized that everything I had created wasn’t a merchant’s commodity, but weapons that could save or take lives.

I understood then that I was not a merchant, but a blacksmith.

Only then did I comprehend why my father had opposed my leaving the Smithy so hastily. He possessed the foresight to see that despite my skill, my spirit was unprepared, and such a disaster would inevitably occur.

From that day forward, I spent every night drowning in alcohol. Drinking, drinking, and drinking still.
Without drink, I could not bear the memory of those who had died by my weapons.

I spent ten years as a drunkard, squandered what little remained of my fortune, and returned to the ruins of the Smithy with thoughts of ending it all.

When I was about to take my life in the Smithy I had built with my own hands, a hammer resting above the furnace caught my eye.

The hammer my father had given me first. A hammer I had held for over ten years—I decided to grip it one last time before I died.

The moment I grasped the hammer, tears burst forth unbidden. As if all the emotions accumulated since that incident exploded at once, I collapsed alone and wailed throughout the entire day.

After sobbing until no more tears would come, I rose to my feet. Strangely, the desire to die had vanished along with my tears.

Gripping my father’s hammer, I kindled a flame in the rust-covered furnace. I fed scrap metal and idle thoughts into the roaring fire.

All that remained for me was the desire to swing the hammer.

I struck the steel.

I struck the steel.

I struck the steel.

Money, fame, emotion, life itself—I melted it all in the crucible and simply struck the steel.

As much time passed and I regained my senses, I found myself bearing the title of Continental Artisan, and I had forged a sword for the warrior called the strongest on the Continent.

I overcame the regrets of my youth and achieved greatness, even building a family.

Now I should have been content to simply enjoy a satisfying life, yet something was lacking. An inexplicable void had carved a hole in my heart.

It was heart demon. The despair of being unable to forge a sword greater than the Truthful Heavenly Blade pressed down upon my entire being.

I set down the hammer I had held for so long and fled under the pretense of creating Gold Thread.

I spent ten years in hollow emptiness, consoling myself that I was making an effort.

Just as I was about to abandon everything and leave, a golden-haired brat appeared.

Small for his age, gaunt and thin, yet his eyes held a cold, settled light. When he said he wished to feel the flames, I told him to do as he pleased. After all, it was obvious he wouldn’t endure it.

But I was wrong. The golden-haired brat endured the heat that had driven even skilled blacksmiths to despair and flee, persisting for months until he finally manifested an aura.

A legendary Gold Thread had been born, yet what my eyes pursued was not the Gold Thread itself, but that young one.

For the first time in decades, a desire to craft a weapon for someone had awakened within me, and I had promised to forge that weapon first.

After that, I spent five years building my body and steadying my spirit, and that young one returned. Grown splendidly, he had gathered the finest materials and circumstances through countless connections.

On the day of forging the sword, I pushed the furnace’s heat to its absolute limit with the Gold Thread, then thrust the metal ingots inside.

Watching the metals slowly melt, I burned away the impurities of my heart.

I melted away even the ambition to surpass Jincheon Sword and the desire to leave behind my greatest masterpiece before death.

What remained beneath was the blacksmith’s instinct—the urge to strike steel. I withdrew the metal ingots from the furnace, melted clean of distracting thoughts, and raised my hammer.

I struck the steel.

I struck the steel.

I struck the steel.

Like fifty years ago, alone in the ruined Smithy, I forgot who I even was and simply struck the steel.

As if answering my razor-sharp focus, three types of iron with different grains intertwined, and slowly the form of the sword emerged.

A deep black hue. Like Jincheon Sword, which had been forged with Gold Thread, the entire blade was black.

I thrust the sword back into the furnace and withdrew it, striking again. Gradually the form took shape, the edge sharpened, yet the black light covering the blade would not fade.

I sprinkled Kran powder and returned it to the furnace. Surely it should have gleamed white like the Snowy Plain, yet the blade still refused to shed its black light.

I struck, and struck again. Even if this became my final work, it mattered not. Forgetting time itself, I continued to bring the hammer down.

The form of the perfect sword took shape, and it emanated an aura so chilling it raised the hairs on my skin, yet the black light covering the blade remained unchanged.

“I don’t understand.”

Even I, who had wielded the hammer and struck steel for decades, could not precisely determine whether this sword was complete. This had never happened before.

Uuuuuung!

Not knowing what else to do, I brought the hammer down when the sword suddenly cried out on its own. It was a different resonance from the sword song that breathed with its master—a wail calling for its owner.

“Father!”
“Wait.”

I pushed back the startled Haren and observed the sword’s cry. The blade trembled violently as it lifted into the air.

Gooooo.

As if tethered by an invisible thread, the sword that had risen on its own began to drift slowly toward Raon, who sat motionless at the far end of the Smithy.

Whirrrrng!

The inverted blade reached just before Raon’s face and cried out once more. As it seemed about to fall to the ground, exhausted, Raon—who had been sitting as if lifeless—extended his hand and grasped the sword.

Zzzzzing!

The sword seized in Raon’s hand erupted with intense vibrations. The tremors intensified, and the black light clinging to the blade scattered like ash, revealing a pristine white blade beneath.

Gleam!

As brilliant light danced across the blade like sunlight reflecting off a snowy plain, Raon’s eyes opened. Blue and crimson. The two colors filled his gaze, radiating an otherworldly luminescence.

Then I understood.

That sword was truly born for Raon.

*

*

*

Raon narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the sword in his hand. Though I’d never held it before, it clung to my grip with remarkable precision. It felt like finding the missing half of myself.

Whirrrrring!

Simply holding the sword caused the energies of Gold Thread and Glacial to surge. The aura amplification abilities within Gold Thread, Flame Steel, and Cold Blood seemed to have grown considerably stronger.

“Ha, what a thing.”

Balkan let out a hollow laugh as if bewildered, then sank to the floor.

“A sword flying off to find its own master on its own—this is the first time I’ve ever seen such a thing.”
“Ah….”

I realized instantly that his words were true. If the sword hadn’t flown to me of its own accord, it would never have come to rest in my hands.

“I thought it was incomplete, but it seems it only became whole after meeting its master.”

Balkan exhaled a breath tinged with wonder.

“That is your sword, Raon Zigheart. A blade that follows only you, that only you can wield.”

His eyes gleamed with enchantment as he traced the white-gleaming blade, then continued.

“And it is my greatest masterpiece.”
“You’re saying this surpasses the Jincheon Sword?”
“That’s a different matter. The Jincheon Sword’s materials are all Gold Thread, so it’s difficult to say one surpasses the other. But the sword into which I poured everything of myself is not the Jincheon Sword—it’s that nameless blade. Back then, I simply struck the hammer again and again.”

Balkan murmured that he had finally resolved his regrets and grievances, sounding unburdened. I didn’t fully understand, but it seemed he was reflecting on days long past.

“Do you have a name in mind?”
“No, not yet.”
“Then may I name it for you?”
“Of course.”

I met Balkan’s gaze and nodded. There was no reason to refuse when the master craftsman who forged the blade wished to name it.

“Jincheon means ‘to make the heavens resound.’ So what of Jecheon—’to lead the heavens’?”
“To lead the heavens—is that the meaning?”
“Yes. Do not break. Lead the heavens yourself. With that sword at your side, it will be possible.”
“An arrogant name, but I find it pleasing.”
“I’m glad.”

Balkan and I smiled together as we gazed upon the sword.

‘The Jecheon Sword.’

As Raon gripped the sword firmly, a message materialized before his eyes.

[You have absorbed all the heat from the Red Dragon Turtle.]
[The achievement of Ring of Fire has increased.]
[The achievement of Mana Crafting has increased.]
[The achievement of Glacial has increased.]
[All stats have increased by 3 points.]

The message indicated that I had accepted the unrefined energy from within. But that wasn’t all.

[For the first time, your own weapon has been created.]
[The legendary weapon 【Heavenly Sword】 recognizes you as its master.]
[All stats have increased by 2 points.]

The system granted stat increases for acquiring my first true weapon.

Judging from the elevated stats, the increased achievements of Ring of Fire and the auras, I had crossed the Master’s Wall nearly seven-tenths of the way up. Now the realm beyond that wall was beginning to come into view.

‘Not much time left.’

It seemed I could shatter the Master’s Wall by next year at the latest.

‘From now on….’
-Kughhhh!

As Raon clenched his fist with anticipation, Wrath suddenly burst forth from the bracelet.

-Again! Here we go again!

He glared with a message that radiated fury.

-How much more must this king’s body be damaged before you’re satisfied, you wretch!
‘Roasted Tutan Pig.’
-Huh? What?
‘Roasted Tutan Pig is waiting for us.’
-Kughhhh….

The moment I mentioned roasted Tutan Pig, Wrath’s sharp coldness began to settle down like soft down feathers.

—Damn it.

He seemed angry but was restraining himself in anticipation of the roasted meat. It was a fitting display of the Demon King of Gluttony masquerading as wrath.

“You worked hard too.”

Balkan smiled as he looked at Haren, who was leaning his back against the wall.

“Both Raon and I were completely absorbed. We survived thanks to you moving without breaking that concentration. You scurried about quite well.”
“Tsk, you say nice things, but what do you mean by scurried?”

Haren grumbled while frowning.

‘Indeed.’

I nodded in agreement. Moving at precisely the right moments without breaking concentration when both Balkan and I were completely absorbed was an extraordinarily difficult task.

It seemed Haren possessed genuine talent, just as Balkan had praised.

“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Ahem….”

When I offered a nod of acknowledgment, Haren scratched behind his ear, looking embarrassed.

“Let’s get some air! I’ve been trapped in here for two days and I’m absolutely suffocating—Ugh!”

He swung open the tightly sealed iron door, then suddenly stepped back in shock upon seeing the person standing before it.

Standing at the entrance was Lunan Slion, her silver hair draped over her left shoulder. Her eyes were slightly reddened, suggesting she had been waiting for quite some time.

“Are you finished?”

Lunan Slion tilted her head, cradling an unfamiliar silver sword in her arms.

“It looks like you’re done too.”
“Yeah.”

Lunan Slion drew the sword she had been holding and extended it forward. The blade gleamed with a silver radiance matching her hair, and a cool, formidable aura permeated it. One could tell at a glance that it was an exceptional blade.

The scabbard bore an elegant engraving of blue petals scattering in the wind. Though Lunan’s expression remained composed, the faint blush creeping across his cheeks betrayed how deeply the sword had moved him.

“A blade befitting that boy perfectly. You’ve crafted it well.”

Balkan nodded vigorously, his admiration evident as he gazed upon Lunan’s sword.

“Raon. I intend to fashion your scabbard from the carapace of the Red Dragon Turtle. I’ll bind it with both elegance and durability, making it sturdy enough to wield like a cudgel.”

He clenched his fist reassuringly, though weariness was plainly written across his features.

“Haren. Lend your hands as well.”
“Yes! I mean, understood, sir!”

Haren struck his chest with a tightly clenched fist, signaling his readiness to take on the task.

“Thank you.”

I rose to my feet and bowed deeply to Balkan and Haren.

“I was able to obtain this blade thanks to the fortune of meeting a true master craftsman.
“Fortune?”

I lifted my head at Balkan’s questioning tone.

“Among the materials needed to forge that blade, there were some I obtained by chance. That this child gave you the Frostblood, that Gold Thread was created, that I resolved to craft this sword—all of it exists because of you, a person of profound connection.”
“A person of connection….”
“The Heavenly Sword was forged not by fortune, but by the bonds you have woven.”

Balkan approached with a gentle smile and patted my shoulder.

“The path you have walked thus far has not been mistaken. Continue forward with unwavering resolve.”

The word “bonds” and the assurance that my path was not mistaken stirred something deep within my heart. Even the hellish existence of my past life felt consoled.

“…Yes.”

I bit down on my trembling lips and bowed once more.

“Thank you.”

Truly.

*

*

*

Two days later.
At my waist hung a scabbard bearing the Heavenly Sword, its sheath a harmonious blend of gold like the breaking dawn and the deep crimson of twilight—a fitting vessel for a blade that commanded the very heavens.

I couldn’t help but marvel at Balkan and Haren, who had crafted such a masterpiece from nothing more than the hardened carapace of the Red Dragon Turtle.

“Then I shall take my leave.”

I bowed my head to Balkan, who stood before the Smithy.

“A pity. You could have stayed a while longer.”
“My duties will soon demand my attention, so I must prepare as vice-leader.”
“Well, with a reckless fool as leader, I suppose you’ll have your hands full.”

Balkan clicked his tongue, lamenting the state of the world.

“Indeed, sir.”

I chuckled softly and nodded in agreement.

“So what do you intend to do with that?”

Balkan gestured toward the Red Dragon Turtle’s carapace, claws, and teeth still scattered within the Smithy.

“I’m too exhausted now to craft anything else from it.”

He waved his hand dismissively. His words held truth—since completing the sword and scabbard, wrinkles had deepened across his face as if he’d aged a decade.

“My apologies.”
“No need to apologize. I simply wanted to forge a blade. I’m satisfied enough.”

Balkan laughed without reservation, his expression free of regret.

“Then that is….”
“Leave it to me!”

Just as I was about to speak, Haren bounded forward from behind me with sudden energy.

“If you entrust this to me, I will forge the finest weapons from these materials.”

He dropped to one knee and bowed his head deeply.

“I don’t care either way.”

Balkan shrugged indifferently, as if to say do as you wish.

“You haven’t settled the wager we made when we first met, have you?”
“Eek!”

Haren let out a startled cry as the memory suddenly returned to him.

“Since you agreed to hear anything, I’ll state my condition. Work as the exclusive blacksmith for the Gwangpung Unit until you forge a sword that satisfies me.”

I watched as a serious light kindled in Haren’s eyes and smiled. He possessed talent that even Balkan acknowledged, and over the past four days he had begun to focus himself. He would undoubtedly become an exceptional blacksmith.

Having someone of his caliber as the Gwangpung Unit’s exclusive blacksmith would prove invaluable.

“I-I’ll do it unconditionally! Thank you!”

Haren nodded eagerly without hesitation.

“Then I’ll give you your first task. Forge basic armor from the Red Dragon Turtle materials for thirty-four swordsmen.”
“Basic armor….”
“Can you manage it?”
“Of course! Without question.”

He flashed a confident grin, as if asking me to trust him.

“I’ll keep an eye on things too. To see whether this fool actually does the work properly.”

Balkan tapped Haren’s head affectionately and smiled.

“Then we’ll be on our way.”
“We’ll be back soon.”

Raon and Lunan bowed to the two of them before grasping their new swords and descending the hill.

“Hmm….”

Balkan watched their retreating figures with a faint smile.

“I’m curious to see how much they’ll have grown by the next time we meet.”

A seventeen-year-old swordsman within the Master’s reach—if his name became known, the entire Continent would be shaken.

Anticipation for the magnificence of the Divine Heavenly Sword that Raon would wield in the future made my hands clench with excitement.

“Father! What are you doing over there! Come help me! I can’t lift this alone!”

Haren’s voice echoed from inside the Smithy. A man who had lived as a cripple for two years, yet regained his senses in just four days and displayed the same passion as his former self—it made me laugh despite my exhaustion.

Raon had said he was grateful, but the one truly grateful was me.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Balkan offered his blessings to the departing Raon and Lunan, then entered the Smithy where the clamorous sounds were coming from.

*

*

*

Raon headed toward the Dwarf’s Hammer in a corner of Mirtan Village with Lunan. Just as Haren had said, it was famous—despite being located on the Village Outskirts, it was filled with many patrons.

-Whoosh, the aroma alone is enticing. I can smell that sauce made from fifty ingredients, I can.

Wrath was excited from the entrance, licking his lips.

‘Calm down a bit.’
-It’s been days since I’ve had a proper meal. How can you expect me to stay calm? I absolutely cannot sit still.
‘Then be patient. We’ll eat soon.’

I forcibly grabbed Wrath to settle him down and entered the Tavern.

“Welcome!”

The Restaurant Staff hurried over with a bright smile.

“Will it be two of you?”
“Yes.”

I nodded, and she guided us to a table inside.

“What would you like to order?”

The Restaurant Staff handed over the menu and clasped her hands respectfully.

“What do you want to eat?”
“What Raon eats.”

Lunan Slion simply blinked, indicating he wanted the same thing.

“Then two servings of roasted Toutan pig….”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”

The Restaurant Staff furrowed her brow and bowed her head.

“We’ve run out of ingredients.”
“You’ve run out of ingredients?”
“News that a Red Dragon Turtle was recently caught has brought people from all over, and we’ve sold out of supplies.”
-Aaaagh!

The moment she said the ingredients were gone, a strange cry erupted from Wrath’s throat.

“Well then, when might the ingredients….”
“It will likely take at least a week.”

I’m sorry, but this is where I draw the line. I can’t wait a week.

-W-why in the world…?

Frost-blue flames flickered and blazed across Wrath’s entire body.

-Why is there always nothing whenever I try to eat?!
‘There’s no helping it. The ingredients…’
-It’s all your fault! You brought that cursed turtle here and caused this mess! You should have sold everything off long ago!
‘Hmm…’

I scratched the back of my head. He had a point, and I couldn’t argue against it.

‘I need to appease him with something else.’

Perhaps if Wrath ate something other than the roasted Titan Boar, his mood might improve even slightly.

“Do you have any other menu recommendations?”
“It’s not quite as famous as the roasted boar, but we do have one rather popular dish.”
“What is it?”
“The Blacksmith’s Set! Warm onion stew, soft bread, and roasted chicken smothered in sweet sauce. It’s impossible not to love it!”
“Ugh…”

I swallowed hard and lowered my head. Wrath despised set meals most of all, and the menu here was identical to what they served at Habun Castle.

-Set meals. Always set meals. Wherever we go, there are set meals…
‘Well, of course there are…’
-Silence!

As expected, brilliant azure lightning erupted from Wrath’s eyes.

-This is infuriating! Is this some kind of conspiracy?! How can the menu be identical to that cursed castle’s Scout Unit set meal?!

He glared up at the ceiling and let out a roar of frustration.

-The world despises me!

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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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