Chapter 15
“So, what does my dear wife plan to do after insulting the blacksmiths like that? How exactly does she intend to build a drainage system?”
Amin asked Esben.
The fact that a sword aura coursed through her body—and that he was familiar with that aura—was a secret he couldn’t tell anyone. Not even Diana.
[In this castle, people would trust the Marquis of Rochen more than me.]
Amin recalled his unruly wife, chewing bread with absolutely no grace.
Judging by how casually she spoke, she didn’t seem to have much faith in the Wilhelm family either.
Which meant even if he asked her about the sword aura running through her body, he wouldn’t get an answer.
“She said she’s going to meet the blacksmith who pulls the nomadic cart.”
“Meet him?”
At that moment, Amin Wilhelm’s eyebrows rose at Esben’s answer.
“The Grand Duchess is going outside the castle herself?”
In the village of Urd, the Yon Trading Company held a market every fortnight.
Even outside the Wilhelm estate, most of the North suffered from shortages.
While rich in iron and timber, the land was barren and hard to cultivate, making it difficult for people to live there. That resulted in a lack of labor and, ultimately, a lack of goods.
To produce processed goods from iron and wood, trade with other regions was essential.
Unrefined iron ore was sent to other regions to be turned into iron powder. Since they lacked the capacity to process it themselves, they bought iron goods used in daily life from elsewhere to compensate for the shortage.
That’s why even villages with iron mines or massive forests would eagerly await the merchants to buy scissors or paper.
Urd was no exception.
The only difference was that Urd had a nomadic blacksmith who pulled his forge behind him, so the villagers didn’t pay much attention to the Yon Trading Company’s scissors, hinges, or tableware.
The wandering blacksmith—Johan.
He had a grotesque burn scar under the right side of his jaw, which he didn’t seem to bother hiding.
Unless it was winter, he usually wore sleeveless clothes and worked in front of a blazing forge, instantly crafting whatever was ordered.
Lumps of copper or iron became scissors, needles, or hinges in his hands.
“Are you an alchemist, mister?”
That’s why…
Mikhail, the youngest son of the family famous in Urd for their chick-shaped bread, would always sit in front of the cart, nose out, watching Johan work.
“Alchemist?”
Johan’s face twisted. His tanned skin, rare in the North, gleamed under the heat.
“Alchemists can make gold, right? Then why do you only make scissors? If it were me, I’d make gold and live the high life.”
At the absurd question, Johan lost the timing to shape the scissors and clicked his tongue, dropping the misshapen metal into oil.
Whoosh—the fire flared, and Mikhail gaped in awe.
“Wow! I knew it! You’re an alchemist!”
While Mikhail marveled, Johan climbed off the cart to fetch more scrap.
Mikhail trailed behind him, chatting.
“If you had lots of gold, you could get a pretty wife and a nice house, right?”
Johan ignored him, not even sparing him a glance, until Mikhail blocked his path.
Johan gruffly spoke and picked Mikhail up, moving him aside.
“I don’t need that stuff.”
Every time he moved something, the muscles on his forearms flexed, and two women in line giggled.
Johan didn’t spare them a glance.
“Why not? I think I’d be happy with just a pretty wife and a house. I’d never let my wife or kids go hungry or hit them. My mom said a good husband is like that. My dad wasn’t.”
“……”
Johan, digging through a bundle of scrap, paused to look at Mikhail.
Mikhail grinned.
“You feel sorry for me now, don’t you? Now you’ll teach me how to handle fire, right? I knew it!”
“What?”
Johan stood crookedly, looking down at Mikhail.
“Grown-ups always feel sorry for me when I talk about my dad. They try to give me a potato or something.”
Johan scoffed.
“…Nonsense.”
“It’s true.”
“You must’ve only met nice adults. When I was your age, people would jump at the chance to exploit a kid’s weakness.”
“So, all the people around you were like my dad? Was your dad like that too?”
Johan had just gripped the cart post to climb back up when he suddenly stopped.
Mikhail didn’t understand why he froze.
After a few seconds, Johan tightened his grip and climbed onto the cart, speaking.
“No. He… he was the best adult I ever met.”
Mikhail, not sensing the regret in his voice, simply watched in awe as Johan put another piece of scrap into the forge and shaped it into a new pair of scissors.
Like an alchemist, Johan swiftly finished the order and moved on to the next.
Most of his customers came to have broken items repaired or knives sharpened.
Commoners preferred fixing what they had to buying new.
“Sharpen this dagger, please.”
And most of them were women.
This time too, the customer in a robe handing him a dagger was a woman.
Mikhail, catching a glimpse of her profile beneath the robe, was impressed.
‘…She’s pretty.’
She really was beautiful.
He knew many women came just to watch Johan work—even young, attractive ones—but this was the prettiest woman Mikhail had ever seen.
‘She looks like a doll talking…’
Mikhail stared at her in a daze and made a resolution.
He would become Johan’s apprentice. He’d become an alchemist.
That was the shortcut to getting a pretty wife.
Even Johan, who acted like a rock around the famed beauty Ine, the hunter’s second daughter, seemed flustered in front of this woman.
He couldn’t even accept the dagger right away, just staring at it and the woman’s face for a while.
As Mikhail watched with fascination…
Johan finally accepted the dagger and spoke.
“This doesn’t look like something I made.”
What did that mean?
Mikhail knew Johan would sharpen blades he hadn’t made himself.
‘Is he… hitting on her?’
As Mikhail wondered in confusion, the woman replied.
“I thought you might still be able to. I heard the nomadic blacksmith who comes to Urd is quite skilled.”
She looked up at Johan.
Mikhail clearly saw Johan’s eyes tremble at her gaze.
Like the time he saw Ine and Erik kissing behind the pigsty, his heart fluttered for some reason, and he quietly ducked behind the cart to spy on them.
“You look like a noble lady, but you don’t seem to understand speech very well.”
Now it was the woman’s eyes that trembled.
“I asked if you know who made this dagger.”
She narrowed her eyes.
But Johan stared back with unwavering eyes.
That puzzled Mikhail.
Were they not flirting? Were they… wary of each other?
But why?
“How did you know I was a noble lady?”
There was sharpness in her voice now.
Johan raised his voice.
“Mikhail! Stop hiding and come here.”
Mikhail flinched and bit his lip.
“Now.”
Johan’s low, growling tone left no room to argue.
When Mikhail came out, Johan said,
“Tell the waiting customers to come back in 30 minutes.”
“Huh?”
But the women weren’t waiting for goods—they were here to watch Johan work.
When Mikhail hesitated, Johan added,
“If you can get them to come back in 30 minutes, I’ll let you make scissors next market day.”
“…!”
Mikhail’s eyes widened.
Johan urged him on.
“You doing it or not?”
“I-I’ll do it!”
Mikhail darted off.
While the cheerful boy worked to persuade the customers one by one, Johan glared at the woman.
“There’s no woman in this town who’d maintain pink hair that glossy. And—”
He jerked his chin toward two burly men loitering at the village’s edge.
“Those men have been looking for a pink-haired woman since earlier.”
The woman’s eyes widened beneath her hood.
They were bright green—like a doll’s.
Her lips tightened in frustration as she looked at the men.
“I thought I’d lost them…”
“What—”
Johan started to ask, but the woman thrust the dagger at his chest and glared.
“Take me somewhere we can talk privately. Leon Kowalski.”
Johan’s eyes widened in shock.
The woman smiled thinly.
“Hiding your name doesn’t mean you can hide your skill. Ungrateful bastard.”
The skill you inherited from my father, no less.
That last part, the woman—no, Diana—swallowed back down.
