Chapter 43: All Are Too Light
When Denvar asked that question, Derek went silent. ’What should I say?’ he thought. ’I became too desperate to convince him and completely forgot that he doesn’t talk about this matter with anyone. What a blunder! Looks like along with my body, my brain’s shrunk too.’ He cursed inwardly. ’What do I do now? How can I get out of this? There’s no way I can tell him I was sent back in time.’
Lost in his thoughts, Derek didn’t say a word for several minutes.
Denvar narrowed his eyes at Derek’s silence, then took another slow sip from his bottle. "What’s wrong? Making up a story? If you lie, I’ll know right away," he said flatly.
Derek finally looked up and exhaled a long sigh. "Mr. Denvar, I’m sorry," he said calmly. "But I can’t tell you how I came to know about you. Aside from that, you can ask me anything."
This time, it was Denvar’s turn to fall silent. He hadn’t sensed a hint of deceit or malice from Derek so far. Even earlier... before the stunt with the dummies... he had somehow felt the boy was telling the truth. It was just too unbelievable, so Derek had been forced to prove himself.
After a moment of thought, Denvar finally spoke again. "And what do you plan to do with this sword? Show it off to impress some girl? Or maybe bully the weak? If that’s your reason, you can leave."
Derek gave a faint smile. "Impress a girl and bully the weak, huh?" he repeated softly. "Mr. Denvar, as you can see, I’m a cultivator. I wasn’t born lucky, nor was I blessed with immense talent. But..." he paused briefly "when I fought those dummies, you must’ve sensed my cultivation level, right? Do you really think I could’ve reached it without hardship? Or without something more than hardship?"
Denvar froze for a moment as Derek’s words echoed in his mind. ’No... he’s right. Hardship alone isn’t enough. For someone without talent to reach his level, they’d need conviction, unyielding determination.’
Realization dawned on him. Derek hadn’t wanted to boast or explain directly. Instead, he had shown him a glimpse of that conviction and left the rest for Denvar to understand himself.
Denvar remained silent for several minutes.
Seeing him deep in thought, Derek finally spoke again. "Mr. Denvar, I understand it’s hard to trust a boy who’s brought up something he shouldn’t even know about. But I have no ill intentions. Someday, I’ll tell you how I came to know what I know but now isn’t the time. What I’m about to do, I can’t do it alone. I need your help. Please forge a sword for me... the best you can. I promise, you won’t regret it."
Denvar didn’t respond right away. After a few seconds, he finally muttered, "Alright. What kind of sword do you want?"
"A claymore," Derek said without hesitation. "Not too big.. make it the right size so I can use it for at least the next four years. As sturdy as possible."
He spoke clearly, describing every detail as he pictured the sword Denvar had once forged for him in his previous life.
"A claymore, huh? Fine. I’ll do it," Denvar said. "But once you grow taller, it’ll be useless for you. You’ll have to come back for another one. And I’ll be watching closely... how you use this sword will decide whether I ever forge another sword for you again."
"Sure," Derek replied without a hint of hesitation.
"Now that the type and size are decided, let’s determine how heavy it should be," Denvar said. "Go ahead and try those weapons and swords. Tell me which weight feels most comfortable for you."
"Alright," Derek replied, standing up from his seat.
He then walked over to the wall where various weapons were displayed and began testing them one by one. He started with the swords, but none of them felt right. Each was far too light for his liking. Frowning slightly, he moved on to the other weapons, yet to his disappointment, even those lacked the weight he desired.
After testing every weapon in the hut, Derek turned back to Denvar. "I think all of them are too light for me."
"What?!" Denvar’s eyes widened. "Some of those are too heavy even for those who have already become hunters but are under eighteen, and you’re saying all of them feel light to you?!"
"Yes, I guess so," Derek said, scratching the back of his head. "Should I just pick one from them, the one that feels the most comfortable?"
"No," Denvar replied with a sigh. "If the sword’s too light, it’ll reduce both efficiency and striking power." Saying that he started thinking for a while and then said, "Come with me."
After that, Denvar walked toward a corner where several metal spheres of different sizes and shapes rested, each fitted with a sturdy handle for grip.
Derek followed closely behind.
"Now, pick up each ball starting from the smallest one and tell me which weight feels most suitable," Denvar instructed.
Derek nodded and stepped forward. He lifted the first ball with ease, then set it back down and reached for the second. That one too came up effortlessly. Moving on, he grabbed the third.
"This should be it," Denvar thought, observing intently. "What a strange kid! To think someone his age has already reached the peak of F-Class."
But to his utter shock, Derek picked it up without any strain and calmly proceeded to the fourth.
"What?!" Denvar muttered, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "Who the hell is this boy? Is he even human?"
Derek went on, lifting the fourth and fifth balls just as effortlessly. Finally, he reached the sixth one. He lifted it, gave it a few experimental jerks to test the balance, then smiled in satisfaction.
"This one’s perfect," he said, turning to Denvar. "This should..."
He stopped mid-sentence, noticing Denvar’s expression. The blacksmith’s mouth hung open in sheer shock, as though he had just seen a ghost.