Chapter 45 : Chapter 45
Chapter 45. Silver and the Heir
Eli’s fingers closed tightly around the sword hilt, warm and smooth as jade, yet still carrying the distinct chill of metal.
A strange sensation spread from his palm through his entire body in an instant.
The sword felt as though it were an extension of his arm itself, impossibly light.
The moonlit sheen flowing across the blade gave off a cold, razor-sharp radiance, while the deep blue sapphire seemed like an eye of the night sky, silently watching.
“Come. To the drill ground,” Eli said, his voice carrying a trace of excitement and urgency that he could not quite suppress.
He needed to feel for himself just what kind of power this divine weapon, born from top-grade mithril under the hands of the legendary craftsman Glenn Parr, truly possessed.
At the edge of the drill ground, Leon had already followed orders and, panting with exertion, directed the soldiers in hauling over several sets of hard objects for testing.
There was an ordinary iron bar about a finger thick, several hardwood stakes as thick as a man’s thigh, and a standard wooden shield faced with iron plate that was still largely intact.
Eli stood in the center of the field, silver sword in hand.
He did not use even the slightest trace of battle aura. He merely lifted his wrist and brought the blade down in a casual diagonal slash toward the heavy iron bar.
There was no shrill clang of metal striking metal.
No shower of sparks.
Only an extremely soft hiss.
The finger-thick iron bar was split smoothly in two as though it were tofu.
The cut was smooth as a mirror, reflecting a dazzling silver gleam beneath the sunlight.
A collective gasp rose around the drill ground in an instant.
The watching soldiers, including Leon and the Bol and Aika who had rushed over after hearing the news, all stared with wide eyes at the two halves of iron lying on the ground, unable to believe what they were seeing.
A sharp light burst from Eli’s eyes, and his wrist moved again.
The sword-light flashed through the air like a silver ribbon, bringing with it a faint slicing whistle.
Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!
The hardwood stakes as thick as a wrist—or rather, as thick as a thigh—snapped apart at once, their cuts equally smooth.
That iron-faced wooden shield was pierced through from the center as easily as if it had been made of paper.
The iron plate covering it and the hard wood inside it were no different before the edge of “Silver.”
The entire sequence flowed like water, and Eli hardly felt any resistance at all.
The sharpness of this sword far exceeded even his imagination.
“Our lord is mighty!” Bol could not help but erupt in thunderous praise.
Eli drew the sword back and stood still, his fingers lightly brushing across the cold, polished spine of the blade as he felt the matchless edge hidden within it. A storm surged through his heart.
And after that shock came an even grander thought, one that spread through his mind like wildfire.
“If...”
Eli’s gaze swept across the comparatively ordinary weapons carried by the elite soldiers around him.
“If even my elite troops could be equipped with weapons containing only a small amount of mithril—
they would not need to be forged entirely from mithril like this.
Their sharpness and toughness alone would still be enough to utterly crush the standard equipment used by armies in the rest of the kingdom.”
This was no fantasy.
At this moment, the superiority of mithril had revealed itself beyond all doubt.
Just imagine it: when two armies clashed, his own swords could easily sever the enemy’s weapons and split open their leather armor or even their inferior chainmail...
What a terrifying advantage that would be.
He looked at the sword in his hand, and the more he looked, the more he loved it.
“From now on, your name will be ‘Silver,’” Eli declared softly, as though he were bestowing life upon it.
The blade seemed to hum faintly, the cold moonlit sheen flowing over it as though answering its master’s naming.
“Leon!”
“My lord!” Leon straightened at once.
“Go to the mine immediately and tell Master Glenn,” Eli said, his tone filled with gravity and delight,
“that this ‘Silver’ is one of the most precious gifts I have ever received in my life!
I... like it very much. The Master’s craftsmanship has reached a transcendent level!”
“And tell the Master this as well: if the mine has any need at all—
whether for manpower, tools, materials, or funds—
so long as the Black Territory can provide it, let him ask without hesitation! He is to be fully supplied!”
“Yes, my lord! I will deliver every word exactly as spoken!” Leon replied excitedly, then turned and ran at full speed toward the mine.
Eli rubbed the hilt of “Silver,” his heart surging with emotion.
What the mithril vein had brought him was not merely wealth, but a power capable of changing the entire balance of things.
......
Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in Orlandia, the royal capital.
The grand yet oppressive doors of the Prime Minister’s office closed heavily, shutting out a group of high ministers of the royal capital, each wearing a different expression.
The upright figure of Grand Duke Federico La Roche stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window like a spear planted in stone.
He resembled an old lion, weary and covered in wounds.
Several straight days of wrangling, probing, and covert struggle with every faction had drained him of strength.
The internal injuries he had suffered during the Northern Frontier war had still not fully healed.
At this moment, a dull ache throbbed deep within his chest, reminding him of the cruelty of reality.
He was old now.
He forcibly suppressed the surging of blood and fatigue within him.
Then he turned and, his steps still steady, walked toward the prince’s residence in the depths of the palace.
Prince Aiden’s room was spacious and bright, furnished with books and toys suitable for a nine-year-old child.
Yet it carried a heaviness that did not belong to someone of his age.
The little prince was sitting at his desk with a thick atlas of the kingdom spread open before him, but his eyes were obviously unfocused.
When he heard the door open, his small body trembled slightly.
He looked up and saw Federico entering.
A flicker of joy flashed through his eyes, along with a timid sort of hesitation.
“Grandfather,” Aiden rose to his feet, his voice clear, yet tinged with nervousness.
On Federico’s stern and imposing face, he forced out a trace of warmth that belonged to a grandfather.
Though under the weight of fatigue and pressure, even that warmth seemed stiff.
“Your Highness, it is time for your lesson,” he said in a low, even voice.
Prince Aiden did not answer obediently as he usually did.
Instead, he lowered his head, his small hands unconsciously twisting at the corner of his clothes.
Silence spread through the room, carrying a weight that made one uneasy.
At last, the little prince seemed to gather his courage. He lifted his head, and on his childish face was an earnestness that belonged to an adult.
“Grandfather...” He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully.
“Can we... can we stop looking for my sister?”
The faint warmth on Federico’s face froze instantly.
He was stunned.
Then a chill colder than winter suddenly erupted from the depths of his eyes.
Slowly, step by step, he walked over to Aiden.
His tall figure pressed down like a mountain, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of oppression.
He bent slightly at the waist and locked his gaze onto the little prince’s eyes, which were filled with panic and forced composure.
His voice was so low it sounded like a freezing wind, each word pronounced one by one.
“Who... taught... you... to... say... that?”
Every single word was like an icicle driven mercilessly into Aiden’s body.
The little prince’s face turned deathly pale at once, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.
The coldness and disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes—something he had never seen before—wounded him deeply, and enormous fear seized him.
He suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and shouted with all the strength in his body, his voice carrying the shrill edge unique to a child.
“It was me! I thought of it myself! No one taught me!
Grandfather, I will become a worthy heir! I promise!”
His small chest heaved violently.
“A worthy heir?” Federico repeated the words.
A smile curved at the corner of his mouth, cold to the extreme.
There was not the slightest warmth in that curve, only endless sorrow and a fury carved to the bone.
“She is your family, Aiden. Not your enemy.”
His voice became level again, but it was even colder than his earlier questioning.
He straightened and no longer looked at the little prince’s pale face or his tear-filled eyes.
Federico turned away, his back looking lonely and unbearably heavy.
“Today’s lesson is canceled.”
His icy voice echoed in the silent room, utterly devoid of emotion.
“You will reflect on this properly.”
With that, he did not remain another moment, but strode out of Aiden’s room.
The solemn, luxurious door closed soundlessly behind him, cutting off the suppressed sound of sobbing from within.
In the shadows of the corridor outside, Marquess Toscana Fernando, who had been standing guard like bedrock, immediately stepped forward.
He saw the fury on the Grand Duke’s face, so intense it had almost taken on substance.
“Tos,” Federico’s voice was like a blade steeped in ice, utterly without inflection. “Investigate.”
“Find out who has had contact with His Highness over the past month.”
“Every maid. Every guard. Every tutor.
Every... noble who stepped through that door under the pretense of concern.”
“Especially...” Federico paused, and cold light flashed through his gray-blue eyes like lightning.
“Those who came from the Eastern Frontier, or those with close ties to it. Dig three feet into the ground if you must.
I want to know whose ambitious tongue dared reach the prince’s ear.”
“At once, Your Grace!” Marquess Toscana struck his right fist heavily against his chest, his voice low and firm.