The Regressor and the Blind Saintess - Chapter 75

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Natty

◈ The Regressor and the Blind Saintess ◈

Chapter 75: Masterpiece

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There were times like this.

Times when one grew accustomed to repeated failures, until even after failing again, one simply accepted it with, ‘Of course.’

Times when failure became a habit.

When one realized they had begun to take failure for granted, the feeling that arose was usually a kind of emptiness.

Why say such a thing? Because Rene was feeling that emptiness right now.

Clang!

The hammer rang throughout the smithy. Dovan had begun work.

As Rene sat beside Vera in the smithy’s backyard, listening to the sound, a deep sigh suddenly escaped her.

‘Of course...’

There had been no progress in her relationship with Vera.

Since early that morning, Rene had let every sort of fantasy fill her mind as she hoped their relationship might move forward. Yet Vera treated her exactly as he always had, not differing by even the slightest bit. Seeing that, and seeing herself feel relieved by it, left her with a profound sense of emptiness.

Really, how was she supposed to describe this?

She wanted a deeper relationship with Vera, yet at some point, she had grown afraid that what they had would fall apart. Now, she found herself reassured just to think, ‘At least we haven’t grown apart.’ Was it not difficult to describe the emptiness born of such inertia?

As Rene thought, anger suddenly rose inside her.

‘...No, of course Vera would be like this.’

She was angry at herself.

It was not as though she did not know what kind of person Vera was. She had known, and still harbored unrequited love for him for years. Of course she was the one who had to approach him. Yet she was angry at herself for being unable to gather courage because of this damned shyness.

All she managed was holding his hand a little tighter or walking a little closer to him than usual.

Even then, she could not keep it up for ten minutes before the feeling of her pounding heart made her return to their usual distance. At this point, would her frustration not become an illness?

Clang!

Even as her emotions boiled, the hammering continued.

Rene listened to it for a long time, lightly biting her lip as she began choosing what to say.

It was courage, in its own way.

Using her rising anger as fuel, she pondered what to say while clinging to a resolve that might vanish at any moment, a resolve to show Vera even the slightest sign of her feelings.

Her brow drew together slightly, her lips pressed tight, and her hands, which had been fidgeting all along, clenched firmly.

Vera was watching Rene as she struggled with her thoughts.

For some reason, he felt unable to take his eyes off her today, watching every little movement she made.

Her expression changed from moment to moment, as though something weighed on her mind, until she finally began agonizing over it like this.

For some reason, all of it overlapped with the image of her asking him to stay by her side the day before, and it held his gaze.

It was a feeling Vera himself did not quite understand.

His gaze would not leave Rene, while Rene, unaware of it, only grew more distressed on that particular morning.

* * *

Clang!

The hammer struck with a ringing blow. The shock traveling up its handle shook Dovan’s entire body. Their skin burned from the heat. Their breath came in heavy bursts.

It was work that could only be called grueling, yet Dovan did not find any of the sensations overwhelming their body difficult at all.

Perhaps it was because they had long grown used to this work. Or perhaps it was because every thought in their mind was focused on a single Intent, leaving no room to care about such trivial matters.

Clang!

Sparks flew. The pure white iron changed shape with every blow.

As Dovan continued hammering, the Intent filling their thoughts as they forged the sword was the image of the man’s back as he had departed alone, sword in hand.

Clang!

-I am going to protect.

It was the utterly unwavering conviction of a man with a knight’s bearing, who had come before them with nothing but sincerity.

Clang!

In that moment, Dovan felt the man’s sincerity heat their heart.

Longing was likely the right word. Facing that resolve without a trace of doubt, Dovan felt a deep longing to somehow shape that formless conviction into something tangible.

Clang!

That longing was all there was.

The pride of a craftsman, the desire to leave behind a great masterpiece, and every other extraneous thought had been erased from Dovan’s mind. With only that one longing in mind, they continued striking the sword.

Clang!

It could only be called a state of self-forgetful absorption.

They simply hammered.

Erasing all thoughts and holding only that one longing in mind, Dovan struck the sword for a long while.

Clang!

And so, in a shabby smithy in a remote mountain range at the edge of the continent, a masterpiece that would be spoken of for a very long time was being born.

* * *

It was a sword made entirely of pure white.

Even in the darkness of night, it shone alone, a sword that brought nothing to mind but white radiance.

It was a completely unadorned, utterly basic straight sword.

Holding that sword, which at first glance could even seem crude, Vera felt an emotion that could only be called awe rise within him.

“...This.”

His words came to an abrupt stop.

The sword Dovan had finished and offered him was...

“It simply turned out that way.”

A masterpiece.

There was nothing especially grand or extraordinary about it.

The moment he grasped it, he simply felt an almost abstract certainty that this was a completed sword.

It did not flaunt itself. Yet neither did it conceal itself.

Dovan’s masterpiece merely existed there, giving off a white radiance.

Vera turned his gaze toward Dovan. Their face was thick with exhaustion, yet more alive than ever before.

Seeing that expression, which could almost be called detached from worldly concerns, Vera wore a dazed look.

Dovan saw at a glance that Vera was too shocked to continue speaking. With a hearty laugh, they continued.

“Thanks to you, I was able to complete it. With this, I have cast aside every last lingering regret.”

The obsession that might have been called stubbornness, the anxiety that they would never reach their goal, all of it had been resolved thanks to this man. Naturally, Dovan had to offer their thanks.

Yet after those grateful words, Vera still looked dazed.

In that strange silence, Aisha, who had been listening to their exchange, shouted in a voice full of force.

“You should be more grateful! You’ve been given our master’s masterpiece!”

She spoke with pride as though she had made it herself. Her expression was exceedingly arrogant, her shoulders raised high with tension. Her ears stood straight up, and her tail stretched out in a straight line.

She looked like nothing more than a lively girl her age.

Only then, seeing the white sword and Aisha’s appearance, Vera realized something.

He had changed the future to come.

There would no longer be a Demon Sword spewing resentment upon this continent, nor a swordswoman filled with bitter resentment to wield it.

Instead, that empty place would be filled by an old blacksmith and a young girl.

An indescribable emotion rose within him. It was the feeling of realizing what he had protected.

Vera, who had only ever taken from others and therefore knew only how to be cruel, felt his heart stir as he saw in tangible form that he had taken a step forward.

Of course, it could not be said to be wholly good.

One hero who would stand against the Demon King was gone. The Alliance of Kingdoms was still in conflict. And with Aisha gone, the future would now move in a direction he knew nothing about.

This was a moment when he should have been worried, but Vera was not.

Because there was something he had learned through this.

‘...What I can do.’

No matter what moment came, all he had to do was give his utmost to what he could do.

If Aisha Dragnov, the owner of the Demon Sword, was absent, he would fill that empty place. He would fill a place even greater than that.

If an unknown future came, then when it arrived, he would carve out his own path through it.

In a way, it was only natural.

Who in the world moved forward with certainty about the future? If one could move forward only after being certain of the future, could there be anyone more foolish or cowardly?

Standing before that simple, utterly obvious truth, Vera spoke.

“...What should I call this sword?”

He turned his gaze to Dovan.

Standing before that obvious truth, standing in the same place as everyone else, Vera spoke those words. Dovan answered him.

“You should decide, Sir. You are the one who will wield that sword.”

“May I do that?”

“You must.”

Dovan smiled.

“A sword is defined by what its wielder swings it for. So please, give it a name.”

After speaking, Dovan quietly waited for Vera’s answer.

They had forged the sword for the man before them. It therefore felt right that he should give it a name fitting for what he desired and the path he wished to walk.

Vera looked at Dovan, who had finished speaking and was awaiting his answer, then looked down at the sword.

What would he wield it for?

The question arose, and then the answer came.

‘The most natural principle.’

It was a sword to be wielded in defense of that.

A sword to be wielded to protect what stood behind him.

A sword to be wielded for the longing he had held in his heart since the beginning of this life.

His thoughts continued.

Memories of his previous life passed through his mind.

The Demon Sword Aisha Dragnov had wielded was gone, so something would be needed to replace it.

“...Holy Sword.”

And so Vera gave it that arrogant, simple name.

“I will call it the Holy Sword.”

The Demon Sword that had poured out resentment was gone. In its place, it was right to place a Holy Sword, wielded with conviction for the future he desired.

Vera looked toward Dovan.

Dovan looked back at Vera.

Dovan asked,

“What is this Holy Sword for?”

It was a question of how he would define their masterpiece.

Vera answered.

“It is a sword I will wield for the principle I believe to be right.”

He did not stop at offering a simple answer.

Vera knew better than anyone the emptiness of a vow made of words alone, so he added tangible proof to the words he had spoken.

It was proof offered with due ceremony.

Vera carefully knelt, laid the sword across one knee, and spoke.

“I swear it.”