Clang! Clang! Clang!
Zeke rhythmically swung his large hammer, striking the already-heated materials with practiced precision. The metallic sounds weren't jarring—instead, they were like notes of a song, pulsing with life.
As the forging sounds echoed across the arena, more and more people began to gather in front of the weapons that had caught their interest.
Crowds had already formed around each forge station.
Only a small group stood in front of Zeke's station, and interestingly, most of them were women. After all, who wanted to stare at rugged, sweaty blacksmiths when they could admire the handsome young man before them?
More importantly—he was wealthy, and unmarried!
Unlike Weiss, who was there to observe the weapons, the women had a different focus—they were watching him.
The crowd around Phoenix was the largest. Not just because he was one of the top contenders to win the entire competition, but also because many had placed heavy bets on him.
Some were drawn by the weapon he was forging.
A sword.
…
…
A single-edged blade, commonly seen in the world of pirates.
Phoenix harbored great ambitions. For this tournament, he brought out the best materials he had spent the past ten years collecting. He prepared thoroughly in every way.
Even spent the previous night in bed with someone!
He discovered that doing so could temporarily boost his physical condition.
This time, he aimed to forge a Supreme Grade Great Blade.
In the past eleven tournaments, the best weapon forged by a champion was always of Great Blade quality. The worst was also Great Blade quality. No one had ever surpassed that benchmark.
He wanted to be the first.
If he succeeded, he would become the first person in the history of the forging competition to craft a Supreme Grade weapon—a truly unprecedented honor.
He knew, of course, that many so-called "Supreme Great Blades," like the famed Black Blades, weren't just forged that way. Their users had to nurture them over time with their own blood, aura, and will. But Phoenix still wanted to try.
Just because it hadn't been done didn't mean it was impossible.
This was his belief, his resolve.
As he focused entirely on his craft, the noise of the world around him seemed to fade. The crowd noticed the shift in atmosphere and quietly fell silent, as if afraid to disturb the moment.
One day passed.
Some contestants had already completed their weapons and submitted them for judgment. One weapon was declared to be of Skillful Grade—good, but not exceptional. Its creator left right after, selling it to someone else.
Why keep the weapon? Might as well sell it. After all, I'm just a blacksmith, he thought.
In a shabby tent, the judges sat watching the blacksmiths at work. Only a day had passed, and already a fifth of the contestants had been eliminated.
There were ten judges in total—each a former master smith, some of whom had won previous tournaments. Though their bodies had grown old, their eyes were sharper than ever.
"Who do you think will win this year?" asked a white-bearded judge.
"Hard to say for sure, but I think it's between two people," replied a bald elder.
"Two?" muttered another judge. He'd seen five potential winners, but saying that aloud would suggest his judgment wasn't as sharp—so he kept quiet.
"Yes. That kid in the third row—Eriksen—and Phoenix. Those two," the bald man continued.
"I also see two possible winners, but not Eriksen," said another judge with a full head of silver hair. The others turned toward him, curious to hear more.
This man was Enri, the tournament champion from thirty years ago. He had forged a pheasant blade so remarkable that other contestants gave up the moment they saw it.
"Did none of you notice that kid from the Peck family?" Enri asked, his eyes gleaming as he watched Zeke work. It was like watching a masterpiece take form.
Everyone turned to look. Compared to Eriksen, Zeke did seem more impressive. But a few judges still believed in their original picks.
And so, the panel was split.
Half believed the champion would be either Eriksen or Phoenix.
The other half believed it would be between Zeke and Phoenix.
Five judges on each side.
Had they not been judges, they would've started betting right then and there.
Silence returned to the judges' tent as they continued to observe the competition.
By nightfall, most spectators had gone home. Only those eager to learn remained.
A cool night breeze dispersed some of the heat from the volcanic forge fires.
Some contestants reheated their materials and rested with closed eyes.
Others continued to hammer away tirelessly.
Some had completed their weapons, had them graded, and sold them immediately.
At that moment, Weiss noticed someone—he watched as a young man walked up with his completed weapon. Seeing that no one was disturbing Zeke, Weiss headed over.
"Judges, this is the weapon I've prepared for the tournament," said the young man, around twenty-five or twenty-six.
"A revolver? That's quite an unusual choice for this kind of competition," murmured the bald judge. He picked it up and, with lightning speed, disassembled it—laying out each part with practiced ease.
The other judges also joined in, inspecting the pieces.
"The margin of error is incredibly small. Even more precise than machine-crafted parts," said the white-bearded judge. "Being able to craft such intricate components by feel alone—that's very impressive."
"But it's a shame. He spread himself too thin."
"What do you all think?"
"Probably a Skillful Grade weapon," one of the judges offered. The others nodded in agreement.
"Thank you for your evaluation," the young man said, clearly satisfied. He reassembled the revolver and walked out of the tent.
"Wait!"
He turned to see Weiss approaching and instinctively took a step back. He had read the newspapers—he knew exactly who this person was.
"Is there something you need, Lord Sword Demon?" the young man asked cautiously, staring at someone younger yet far more famous.
Comparison really is the thief of joy, he thought. While others had made names across the seas, he was still here hammering metal.
"I was wondering if you're willing to sell that revolver," Weiss said. "I'd like to buy it."
Jack hadn't told him about it—Weiss had noticed on his own.
"Of course. I was planning to sell it anyway. If the buyer is Lord Sword Demon, that's the best outcome possible," the young man said. Forming a connection with someone like Weiss? Perfect.
They sealed the deal for five million Berries.
Definitely an above-market price!
Guns weren't nearly as popular as swords—and no one else had even tried to bid.
One night passed.
Many contestants had sold their weapons.
Only twenty competitors remained.
After another day and night—
Only ten were left!
At that moment, Zeke placed a stone filled with starlight into his forge.
Three days had passed since the competition began.
Only two people remained on the field—
Zeke and Phoenix!
Eriksen had already completed his weapon and was waiting for the final judgment.
In the morning, Phoenix finished his sword—a Great Grade Blade quality weapon. But he wasn't happy.
He hadn't reached the goal he had set for himself.
Still, he had no regrets—he had given it his all.
In the afternoon…
Zeke's sword was finally complete.
---
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