Mushoku Tensei Redundancy (LN) - Volume 2 - Chapter 4.6

Chapter 6:

Talhand of the Harsh, Large Mountain Summit

TALHAND OF THE Harsh, Large Mountain Summit was the thirty-seventh of fifty-one siblings. He had been born into an ordinary dwarf family and grew up surrounded by his many brothers and sisters. Obviously, not all fifty-one of them had the same mother. A little-known fact about dwarves was that their villages raised all children of the same generation together. It was similar to a school, except that they thought of each other as siblings for the rest of their lives. The villages did this so none of the children knew whose family was rich or poor, which made it easier for everyone to get along when, in the future, they assumed positions of responsibility in the village. Someone would be chief, some would support the chief, and others would be wives. This was only the case for those privileged enough to live in a village. Dwarves who left the villages had no such customs.

In any case, Talhand grew up an ordinary child with dozens of brothers and sisters. He was interested in earth and iron, he liked the taste of alcohol, and he looked up to the smiths and builders. The only thing about him that was a little unusual was that he preferred men to women. One of his siblings, however, was far less ordinary.

The odd one was his younger brother, the thirty-eighth of their fifty-one siblings: Godbard of the Proud Heavenly Peak. Godbard had talent. All dwarf children began to learn smithing, crafts, and basic earth magic when they were barely out of the cradle, but Godbard outshone each and every one. Give him a hammer, he’d forge steel as hard as any adult’s. Set him to crafting, he’d produce ornaments so marvelous they defied belief. Show him a building, he’d fix everything wrong with it in the blink of an eye.

Dwarves lived longer than humans. Around the time that Godbard’s talents started to manifest, there were still old folk alive who remembered the Laplace War. In Godbard, they saw the very image of the Ore God who had died in that battle. Because of that, Godbard was regarded as the Ore-God-in-waiting and given special treatment. It was impressed upon the other children that they must defer to him as their future leader. 

After that, Talhand changed. His interest in smithing and craftwork evaporated. He realized that no matter how much painstaking effort he put into his work, it would always fall short of what Godbard could knock together without a thought. It wasn’t that anyone was comparing them, of course. In order to make comparisons, the adults would have had to look at anyone other than Godbard’s creations. Then, was he driven to be the best, or did he hate living in Godbard’s shadow? No, it was neither. 

Actually, Talhand and Godbard got on well. When they all became brothers and sisters, Godbard was his first friend—and his first love. Talhand was happy that Godbard would become the Ore God, and all he wanted was to be useful to him. He imagined that he could make up for what Godbard lacked, acting as his right-hand man. 

With that in mind, Talhand devoted himself to magic. He focused in particular on mastering water and wind magic, which the dwarves saw no need for. The first Ore God was said to have been a Saint-tier earth magician who created a marvelous sword from ore he produced with his own magic. However, it was also said that an elf skilled in wind and water magic had been essential to that great blade. A smith needed more than just earth and fire. There had to be air to stoke the flames and water to quench the steel, yet the adults were not interested in understanding these other elements. They brought up every excuse under the sun to try to dissuade Talhand from pursuing water and wind magic: it wasn’t tradition; it was against propriety; none of their ancestors did it; dwarves were no good at it.

Talhand was more naturally talented at earth magic than water or wind magic, but when Godbard told him, “I think it’s a fine idea. The adults of the village are too stuck in their ways,” Talhand took courage and devoted himself even more to his magic. 

As a result, Talhand found himself growing apart from the other dwarf men, and some of his brothers started to criticize him. They said he was soft, that not smithing was effeminate, unbecoming of a dwarf man. All a dwarf needed magic for was breaking up hard bedrock, they said; for smithing, nature provided everything they needed. Talhand, though he found these slights tiresome, continued to gradually hone his skills. All of it, he did for Godbard. Once Godbard grew up and became the Ore God, he would need Talhand’s powers. He was sure of it.

After he came of age, the critical guidance gave way to resigned incredulity. His brothers treated him like an outcast, and he developed a reputation as the oddest oddball in the village. Even then, his certainty never wavered.

The day finally arrived—the day that Godbard would be ordained as the Ore God. Tradition dictated that the one who would assume the title of Ore God forge five swords. For each, he would select someone from those he trusted above all others to assist him. In doing this, he himself picked out the core leaders who would support the dwarf village after he became Ore God.

Naturally, Talhand put his name forward. This was what he had been honing his skills for. To his shock, Godbard did not choose him. First, he chose the three who were considered the village’s most talented at the time, and then he chose his lover. Those weren’t so bad. It was the final person Godbard chose that upset Talhand: the old man who had called him a fool.

Talhand protested. It was outrageous, he said. He’d devoted his life to Godbard!

Godbard asked him, “Can you even forge a decent sword?”

Of course. Talhand said, “A sword is nothing. I can do it. Just give me a chance.”

Godbard didn’t look happy about it, but he agreed to humor Talhand’s plea. The narrow-minded old man and Talhand would each forge a sword. Whoever made the better sword would win. To ensure impartiality, Godbard opened up the contest to anyone who thought he could win.

To Talhand’s alarm, a great many people came to compete. For all that he had trained in water and wind magic for this moment, he hadn’t picked up a smith’s tools since he was a child. He could count the number of decent swords he’d forged on one hand. His disadvantage was too great.

“Wait,” he begged. “I want to help you forge a sword.” 

To his shock, Godbard turned him down. “How could a man who can’t even forge a proper sword on his own understand what I want? If you can’t understand that, you can’t help me.”

This made no sense to Talhand. He thought he knew Godbard better than anyone. How could this happen? 

His mind was still reeling when he entered the contest. He had no plan—and he lost. Talhand walked away from the contest devastated, feeling the others’ cold gazes like a weight upon his shoulders. A few days later, after watching the ceremony to name the Ore God from afar, he left the village.

In time, he became an adventurer, never staying in one place. He found it hard to trust anyone following Godbard’s betrayal, so he spent his time alone. Being an outcast for so long made it hard to relate to anyone, and he also felt inferior to others because of his preference for men.

Although he was one of the lousiest dwarf smiths around, his many years of honing his skills had made him a halfway decent magician, even if he was no great talent. To suit his skills, he had to fight wearing heavy armor somewhere between the style of a warrior and a magician. Still, the life of a solo adventurer was not so arduous.

It was around when he moved up to B rank that Talhand met Elinalise Dragonroad. At first, her interest in him had been physical. She thought she’d bring a young dwarf into her bed for a change, but he wasn’t interested in Elinalise. No matter how hard she tried to tempt him, he didn’t bite. But she was too persistent to just give up, so he finally told her he wasn’t interested in women. 

Elinalise gaped at him, then she cackled with laughter. It grated on him, but he put up with it, thinking he’d now be rid of this amorous elf. Only, Elinalise didn’t leave. Why, he didn’t know, but he suspected that Elinalise thought that at least she wouldn’t have to worry about him keeping his hands to himself.

Following that, Talhand and Elinalise teamed up a few times. Elinalise, a skilled fighter, was a good partner for a magician in heavy armor like Talhand. It was strange but, despite the fact that he’d found her irritating, Talhand didn’t mind being in a party with her. It might be because Elinalise lived unconstrained by any norms, traditions, conventions, or rules. 

That being said, they never discussed making their party permanent until the appearance of a young man shook things up a little: Paul Greyrat. At the time, Elinalise, Talhand, Geese, and Ghislaine were all solo, but Paul brought them together to form a party, which they named Fangs of the Black Wolf. There was a bit of a squabble over that name, but that’s a story for another time.

All the members of Fangs of the Black Wolf had been cast out from their former lives. Although Talhand was the only man who liked men, they were free to pursue their desires. Paul in particular was uninhibited and free-thinking. When he found out Talhand liked men, he simply laughed it off. 

“So I’ll bed the women, Elinalise the men, and you’ll take the rest—no one goes to waste!” Paul said. 

He was a rascal, easy to read, and constantly getting up to antics that made Talhand want to put his head in his hands, but his behavior was never restricted by anything, and he liked to dream about the unconventional. Even when society said what he did was wrong, Paul just followed his instincts, spitting on the ground and saying, “I don’t give a damn.” 

Paul bore things with a smile that felt revelatory to Talhand. While his behavior made the Fangs of the Black Wolf notorious, Talhand found it fun. In true dwarf fashion, he guffawed at everything Paul did. His feelings toward the other man resembled falling in love but weren’t quite the same. It had to be trust. These members of his party were the first friends he’d ever trusted.

His trust, however, was eventually broken. It shattered when Zenith joined the party. The formerly uninhibited Paul started sticking to the socially acceptable in an attempt to win Zenith over. No doubt, these changes helped Paul to grow as a person. But nothing was the same after that. The strife he caused by marrying Zenith left deep scars on the hearts of everyone involved.

To an outsider, it might have seemed trivial, but it made Talhand decide to never join a party again. For a while after that, he traveled on his own. Then came the incident that decimated Fittoa. He reunited with Elinalise, got to know Roxy, and they formed a party together. His determination not to be in a party faded…but his feelings around Paul were as fresh as ever. 

It wasn’t until they traveled to and from the Demon Continent that he saw Paul again. When he laid eyes on Paul after all that time, there was no sign of the young rascal Talhand had known. Paul had become a man, a father, and was now devoting everything he had to search for his family. He’d changed, Talhand thought. He’d grown up.

He met Paul’s son Rudeus for the first time on the Begaritt Continent. With Paul as a father, he’d expected the boy to be a little bit useless, but he turned out to be unexpectedly mature. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t so surprising—his father was the Paul who’d grown up. 

When Talhand looked at Paul and Rudeus, he felt his chest grow tight, but he could never understand why.

Then, Paul died. It was an unspectacular end. Talhand was shocked, but he recognized that for Rudeus, the shock was even greater, so he avoided letting it show. He went on like nothing had happened, drinking like always. In the aftermath, he left the Begaritt Continent.

Later on, he met Rudeus’s family. He saw that the boy was living well, in a house he’d built, with a fine family he’d created. Talhand visited Paul’s grave and had a drink there, then set off from the Magic City of Sharia once more.

As he traveled, something inside him finally gave up the ghost. It was something that had been with him ever since he’d set out as an adventurer. In the midst of the emptiness he was left with, Talhand had an idea. 

He was going to learn to be a smith.

He couldn’t quite say where the idea came from, but he immediately headed for the Asura Kingdom. Once there, he rented a blacksmith’s forge to train with while continuing to work as an adventurer. He didn’t even take a break when he set off to Millis to earn some money after losing nearly everything he had when Geese was arrested for gambling.

He used all the magic at his disposal in his smithing—fire, earth, water, wind. He supplemented everything he did with it. He forged swords, gauntlets, shields, more swords, armor, helmets, and still more swords. He began to understand what Godbard had said to him back then. He grasped finer details that couldn’t be expressed in words, like how to breathe, the timing and rhythm, and the right amount of force to use. Talhand improved rapidly. The way that Godbard had smithed was burned into his mind’s eye and, thanks to his life as an adventurer, he knew what made some weapons and equipment superior. His mastery of magic was also a level above what it had been back in the village. Talhand’s time adventuring had made him stronger.

As he continued to work on his skills, the Ruquag Mercenary Band started asking after his wares. Thanks to his acquaintance with Rudeus, the mercenary branch chief became his patron, allowing Talhand to set up his own forge in Millishion. 

But just as before, Talhand didn’t know why he was doing all this. What was the point of an adventurer playing at being a blacksmith in his spare time? It was only when Rudeus brought his whole family from Sharia to visit that it made sense. 

When he saw the son of Paul (of all people) on better-than-equal footing with the Latrias, all while raising children of his own, it came into focus. 

He had to go back to the village. He had unfinished business. That was why he was smithing.

***

After Rudeus gave him the pieces of black stone, Talhand returned to his forge. For a long time, he’d had an idea of what he’d make if he were able to craft stone like this. He’d thought through the theory. Once, it had been no more than a dream, but now, he had all the experience he needed.

First, he shattered Rudeus’s black stone with earth magic and a hammer. This he mixed with iron sand, then heated the combination in the forge. Because the normal heat of the furnace wouldn’t be enough, he applied fire and wind magic to raise the temperature as high as it would go. Using the superheated powder, he made both the core of the blade and the metal that would form its outer skin. The ratios differed, but they were essentially the same materials. With the scales of a red dragon or the hard bones of a hydra, he could have forged a yet more formidable blade, but Talhand did not use these—if he had, all this effort would have been meaningless. Next, he thoroughly quenched and ­tempered the blade, then worked vigorously through the night, pouring into it a steady flow of energy and mana.

In the end, he was left with a single sword, its blade both strong and black. Although it had no special adornments or properties, Talhand was satisfied with his work. He crafted a scabbard for it, then wrapped it in a cloth of fine wool and strapped it to his back. That done, he packed the remaining blocks of black stone into a bag and left Millishion. His destination was the dwarf village he hailed from.

He had been away for a long time, but the village hadn’t changed at all. Its stone-hewn buildings were set into the side of a cliff, and the sound of hammers on steel rang out from within the high stone walls that surrounded it. No one challenged Talhand at the gate, and he passed through. He was no longer one of them, but the dwarves didn’t keep such tight security that they’d question an unfamiliar dwarf.

Talhand saw a great hole in the cliff where pulleys worked in constant motion. Men, naked to the waist and dripping with sweat, hauled out coal and iron ore, while women walked to the rest area in front of the mine with mountains of steamed sweet potatoes balanced on their shoulders. The scene filled him with nostalgia. Time hadn’t changed them, even though it had turned most of them into strangers. He got a few curious looks as he walked around, but no icy stares. Either none of them knew him, or they’d all forgotten him. Either way, Talhand was unfazed. He had only one destination, and he hurried there: the chief’s house.

But, of course, there were some who remembered him.

“Harsh, Large Mountain Summit? Haven’t seen you for a spell. What are you doing here?”

One of his brothers stood before him, blocking his path. This man was one of those who had laughed at Talhand when they were children, and who had been chosen for the Ore God’s inner circle.

“I came to see the Ore God.”

“Don’t put on airs. He’ll never stoop to seeing the likes of you.” 

Without a word, Talhand reached for the bundle on his back. He unwrapped the fine woolen cloth, then pulled the sword from its scabbard. The man gasped. The blade was jet black, so black that it seemed to absorb ­every glimmer of light. Despite that, it didn’t feel at all vile or sinister. If anything, it exuded pride and the freshness of a cool breeze. The beauty of it gave him chills.

“What is that?” the man asked.

“I forged it.”

“The hell you did!” 

For a dwarven smith, swords were everything. Great dwarves forged great swords. This could never be Talhand’s work.

“It is an offering,” Talhand said. 

The title of “Ore God” was regarded as another name for the world’s greatest smith, and a source of pride for dwarfkind. When any smith in the world forged something they thought was exceptional, it was incumbent upon the Ore God to view it—though any submissions first passed under the expert eyes of another dwarf who turned away anything subpar. The man who stood in front of Talhand now was that dwarf. He held no love for Talhand, but swords told the truth. The black blade had no adornments, nor did it utilize any shortcuts. It was probably immensely hard, and not a blade that could be easily broken. It was, in short, a masterwork. No dwarf could lie in the face of such a sword.

“I will permit it. You may pass, Talhand of the Harsh, Large Mountain Summit.”

“I thank you, Doutor of the Flaming Blade Steel,” Talhand replied, finding the name of his brother of old in his memory. With a bow, he returned the sword to its scabbard, wrapped it in the woolen cloth, and put it once more on his back. He was stopped several more times like this before he reached the Ore God, but the sword always earned him passage.

The Ore God—Godbard of the Proud Heavenly Peak—looked a little older than Talhand remembered. That was no surprise. Many moons had passed since Talhand left the village.

“You’ve gotten old, Talhand,” said Godbard.

“I could say the same to you,” Talhand replied.

“I thought you’d died in a ditch long ago.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying.”

They exchanged only brief greetings. At Godbard’s side sat his wife and his inner circle. They didn’t conceal their alarm at seeing the village’s greatest eccentric back after all this time, but there was no crackle of tension between Talhand and Godbard. As Talhand faced Godbard, his heart was at peace.

Neither of them spoke. Talhand might have been calm, but he had no intention of talking to Godbard. There was plenty he might have said—the things he had seen, the experiences he’d had outside the village, but there was no need for words. Instead, he silently proffered the sword to Godbard, who took it and just as wordlessly slid it from its scabbard to look at the blade.

“Oh, my.” No sooner had Godbard laid eyes on it than he let out a sigh of admiration. He raised the black blade up to the light to appraise it. “A fine blade, full of conviction… There is nothing uncertain or halfhearted in its make, but your inexperience shows in every part. A blade I forged with the same materials and methods would be far superior.”

At this, Talhand smiled faintly. Naturally. No matter how much work he had put into forging and smithing over the past few years, the idea that he could match the Ore God, who had been honing his craft for over a century, was laughable. Talhand knew that well. He chuckled.

“Something funny?” Godbard asked.

The thing was, that wasn’t the point to Talhand. “Would you like to know what those materials and methods are?”

“I am curious. It is a strange sword.”

It was normal for a smith to tell the Ore God the materials and methods by which they had forged their offerings. The reason they offered the swords to him was so that their techniques would be passed on to future generations. There were many who wished to leave a record of what metals they had used, their process, and their tweaks and improvements for posterity.

“I made it from rods of stone created with earth magic,” said Talhand. “With magic, I turned them into a powder, which I mixed with iron sand. With fire and wind magic, I stoked my forge to a temperature hot enough to melt the powder. After that, I hammered it out and quenched it the usual way. I cooled it with water magic.”

“Stone made with earth magic, hmm?” These words caught Godbard’s notice, and he suddenly recalled why: the process was one he had heard of before. The crackpot dwarf in front of him had told him about it many times when he was young. “This is your revenge, then?”

“Nay,” replied Talhand. “I only wanted to settle something between us.”

“Did you think that when I saw this sword, I’d tell you to return?”

“Nay. But you said what I wanted to hear, and that’s enough for me.”

Godbard had said that he could forge a far superior sword, and that alone had satisfied Talhand. It was as if the feelings that had festered in his heart since he was a child had been excised. Oh, yes, if he used the same ­materials and method, Godbard would undoubtedly produce a far finer blade. But without magic, he couldn’t crush the stone, and the heated iron could not be fully cooled by water alone. Indeed, without a magician with the requisite skill, he’d be lost. That being said, a genius smith like Godbard could probably find a clever way to work the stone without using Talhand’s methods. 

“And this ‘stone,’” Godbard went on, “can you make it, Talhand?”

“Nay,” Talhand admitted. “It was made by my friend’s son.” 

He took three pieces of stone from his bag and placed them in front of Godbard. When Godbard reached out to pick one up, his eyes widened at the weight. He tried to split it to get a look at the cross-section but couldn’t, and he had no more success trying to smash it with a hammer. The hardness and toughness of the material astounded him. 

Talhand could see a desire bubble up within him to use it. A smile tugged at Godbard’s mouth. 

Talhand saw it and nodded, pleased. Godbard’s expressions hadn’t changed since they were children. He had no trouble reading his face.

“In a few days, he will come and present himself to you.” Godbard was silent. With Rudeus’s face in his mind’s eye, Talhand asked softly, “Would you meet with him?”

He had already achieved what he set out to do. He had heard the words he’d hoped for from the person he wanted to say them. Now, he just had to repay the man who had made this possible. 

“I’ll admit he doesn’t look too dependable, and you can be sure he’ll have some beastly request that isn’t worth the trouble…but even so, he’s got guts,” Talhand continued. “You won’t regret meeting with him. I’ll swear that on that sword.”

Godbard looked from the sword to the stones and back. His wife and advisors at his side were holding in their own opinions, but Godbard didn’t plan on asking them. Talhand was barely recognizable as the man he’d been. Godbard suspected this magician who created the stone had been involved. His curiosity was piqued.

“Very well,” he said. “What is his name?”

“Rudeus Greyrat.”

“I see.” Committing the name to memory, Godbard nodded. 

With that, Talhand rose to his feet. It was only a verbal agreement, but that satisfied him. Godbard wasn’t one to break a promise. Talhand had once felt as though he had, but there’d been no promise between them to break. Talhand had been inexperienced and overreached. That was all.

“You’re leaving?” asked Godbard.

“Aye.”

“No one will object to your presence here.”

“I’ve my own forge in Millishion. I mean to stay there for the rest of my days,” Talhand said.

With that, he left the house of the Ore God. At some point, his former siblings had gathered outside. Their gazes were hard, and some didn’t bother to hide their scorn.

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Talhand. As he started walking, they parted to clear his path. Looks of confusion and contempt followed him on his way out of the village. No one spoke to him. No one came after him. Yet Talhand walked with a spring in his step, his heart as clear as a cloudless sky. At last, his curse had been lifted.

One month later, the Ore God would agree to an alliance with the Dragon God in exchange for a large supply of the dark stone.