Since the duel at the Moon Pool, the legend of the "Black Mamba" sword—capable of cutting through steel—and the story of Arthur, the famous bravo Angela Wolf, and the Black Pearl, had been woven into catchy ballads by singers and bards. These songs were now widely sung across Braavos.
Some singers praised the Black Mamba's sharpness, durability, and the exquisite patterns on its blade.
Others, inspired by Arthur's description of the black mamba snake, embellished the tale, claiming the sword would not be drawn without drawing blood.
Some praised Arthur's forging skills and swordsmanship, saying that gold alone could not buy his blades; one had to earn his recognition through combat to order one.
Even more singers extolled the beauty of the Black Pearl, Bellegere Otherys. They claimed it was her kiss upon the Black Mamba that gave it the power to shear through Angela Wolf's steel.
And the "Snow & Peach" smithy, named by the Black Pearl herself, was hyped to the heavens before it was even built.
Arthur had originally intended to ride the Black Pearl's fame, but it had evolved into mutual promotion.
Braavosi courtesans were indeed formidable.
The rewards were immense. Without the Black Pearl, Arthur and his smithy wouldn't have gained such widespread fame so quickly.
From the start, Arthur positioned his swords as high-end luxury items. The higher the status, the better.
Beyond the sword's undeniable quality and stunning appearance, Arthur had racked his brains to achieve this goal.
He layered on stories for emotional value, used hunger marketing, chased trends, created gimmicks, and set high barriers for entry.
He used every marketing trick he knew from his past life.
The results were gratifying. Swordsmen and bravos flocked to challenge him.
Arthur didn't accept challenges for free, of course. Every challenger had to pay a fee in goods valued in Gold Dragons.
After all, his primary goal was to make money selling swords, so he had to filter out the poor ones.
Besides selling swords, Arthur also planned to recruit skilled swordsmen and assassins for his own use.
He had a rough idea, but he was waiting for the right opportunity.
---
"Your attacks are too rushed. You're too eager to strike. Your footwork is rigid, leaving you full of openings. One counterattack is all it takes to disarm you."
After easily defeating his fourth opponent of the day, Arthur offered some pointers as usual. After all, the man had paid tuition—a fine agate stone.
"Go back and practice your footwork. Adjust your mindset. Your swordsmanship isn't good enough for me to forge you a Black Mamba yet."
"Thank you for your guidance." The young swordsman rubbed his swollen hand, picked up his rapier, and bowed.
"Master Smith, I will go back and improve myself. One day, you will forge a Black Mamba for me."
It had been over a month since the Moon Pool duel. Arthur was now considered a famous swordsman in his own right.
The bravos and assassins of Braavos had given him a nickname: "The Master Smith."
This wasn't just because he was a blacksmith. It was because his precise guidance over the past month allowed challengers to identify their weaknesses and improve after every defeat.
The challengers often compared themselves to unfinished blades, with Arthur as the master smith forging them into shape.
The day they wielded a Black Mamba would be the day the sword—and the swordsman—was complete.
"How many more today?" Arthur took a few bites of a peach to recover his stamina. These duels were exhausting; his opponents were skilled, even if they used blunted swords.
"One last one. Says his name is 'Shorty' Weiss." Ledger Pate flipped through the challenger registry.
"But he doesn't have any valuables for the fee. He's been coming here almost every day this month, just standing at the gate."
"Let him in."
Soon, the Sisterman guard brought 'Shorty' Weiss in. He was indeed a short Braavosi.
Weiss had brown hair and very ordinary features. His only distinguishing characteristic was a face full of freckles, making him look very young and green.
"You don't have a real sword?" Arthur noticed a wooden sword tied at his waist. "Are you an assassin or a bravo?"
"My master teaches me with a wooden sword. I only have this lead-filled waster." Weiss scratched his head sheepishly. "Master says I'm an unqualified water dancer."
Arthur's interest piqued. In Braavos, it was said that true water dancers could fight on the surface of water without causing a ripple.
"Who is your master?" Arthur gestured to the weapon rack. "You can choose a sword from there."
"He's outside. He won't let me say his name." Weiss looked at the various iron training swords but shook his head.
"Master says I can only use steel when he allows it. Because I'm not a true water dancer yet, I can't control myself well enough not to hurt others."
"Then why are you here?" Arthur looked at the awkward, wooden-faced shorty, puzzled. Surely he didn't intend to fight with a wooden stick?
"Master told me to earn a real sword myself. It's his final test for me." Weiss drew his lead-filled wooden sword.
"I heard that if I beat you, you'll forge me a real sword for free, right?"
"If you can beat me, I will forge one for you." Arthur felt like this Weiss might truly be a bit dim.
"You really want to fight me with wood? Even with a blunted sword, I can snap that stick in one blow."
"You won't hit me." Weiss turned sideways, holding his wooden sword flat in a stance. "Can we begin?"
Seeing Weiss's serious expression, Arthur told him to wait and ordered the Sisterman guard to bring two wooden practice swords.
"Now we can begin." Arthur tested the weight of the wooden sword and nodded.
As soon as Arthur spoke, Weiss's awkward expression vanished, replaced by intense focus.
His steps were light and dense, not fast, but his short body swayed rhythmically side to side, a dance that blurred reality and illusion.
"Not fast, but excellent footwork." Arthur attacked, swinging his sword with alternating hands at the approaching Weiss.
Weiss's small frame gave him a massive advantage in dodging. He simply danced away from the attacks, his eyes locked on Arthur's vitals.
"Knees, head, belly."
Arthur could feel Weiss's gaze scanning him from bottom to top, searching for weaknesses.
After a dozen exchanges, Weiss still hadn't attacked. He only parried occasionally when he couldn't dodge. He even hid his sword, originally held flat, behind his back.
"Careful."
This was the first time Weiss spoke during the duel. As his words fell, his speed exploded. With two sudden, twisting dodges, he slipped past Arthur's guard and charged straight in.
The wooden sword hidden behind his back struck like a scorpion's tail, stabbing straight for Arthur's midsection.
The thrust was fast, vicious, and sudden. But Arthur was faster. His body twisted like a phantom, dodging the blow.
Weiss froze for a split second as his thrust hit nothing but air. No one had ever dodged his charged strike before—not even his master.
Seizing the moment, Arthur tapped Weiss on the shoulder with his sword and leaped back.
"You lose."
Arthur wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, looking at the shorty who had forced him to use a [Dodge] card.
[Dodge]: Used to perform an emergency evasion.
If he hadn't used the card just now, Weiss would have hit him.
Although carelessness played a part, if Weiss hadn't warned him, he wouldn't have been alert enough to use [Dodge] in time.
Weiss's small stature and plain, youthful face made him too easy to underestimate. He was born to be an assassin.
"I lost." Weiss nodded, hung his wooden sword back at his waist, and returned to his usual wooden demeanor.
He bowed, turned, and started to walk away without hesitation.
Arthur called out to him. "Your swordsmanship is worthy of a Black Mamba sword."
"But I have no money." Weiss looked back. "And I lost to you."
"I don't want money. I want to meet your master." Arthur tossed his wooden sword to the guard. "I'm very interested in water dancers and the water dance."
"I can't promise for my master."
"Just tell him what happened today, and tell him I wish to ask for his guidance in person."
"Okay." Weiss nodded simply. "I tell Master what happens to me every day. That is his requirement."