BTSECP 21

Chapter 21

He didn’t let go of my hand.

His cold fingers gripped me tightly, as if trying to take away all of my warmth.

It felt… a little strange.

There wasn’t any logical meaning behind it.

He held my hand like one would hold a sword.

Firmly, but not painfully.

Looking into my eyes, he spoke.

“People called it ‘Gram.’ Said it resembled Walter’s ‘Gram.’”

“Technically, they called it an imitation,” I replied, my voice laced with sarcasm.

In Diana Isla’s memories, my ‘Gram’ was referred to like that.

An imitation of Walter’s legendary ‘Gram.’

I tried to pull my hand free from his grasp.

But he held on tightly, as if he wouldn’t let go, then slowly released it.

“No way.”

“…?”

“The aura of the two swords may be similar, but they’re completely different swords. I thought you would recognize that.”

His words left me confused.

Diana Isla would’ve recognized that?

What did he mean?

His words sent chills down my spine.

But then came his next, teasing remark that made me breathe easier.

“You recognized that blacksmith Jahan or Leon’s swords, didn’t you? Thought you had an eye for swords.”

Ah.

So that’s what he meant.

“…Still, everyone said the two swords were practically the same. Naturally, the imitation would be weaker.”

“That sword… that woman’s Gram… isn’t an imitation of Gram.”

He answered in a low voice and then sat down next to me.

When his face suddenly came close, I furrowed my brow.

He pulled my chin toward him and smiled.

“Your cheeks are red. Your lips too. Even your hands are hot.”

His playful gaze seemed to search every inch of my face before vanishing.

Only then did I realize that the dizzy feeling I got every time I opened my eyes wasn’t from the storm shaking the ceiling.

‘Damn Diana Isla.’

Just like Armin had said, she had the stamina of trash, collapsing after just one kiss.

I’d only drunk a little, but I was already drunk.

But this was an important conversation. I couldn’t pass out now.

I forced my eyes open wide.

My Gram.

My sword.

That’s what we’d been talking about.

And just now—

“You said ‘that woman’s’ Gram?”

He’d said “that woman.”

As if he knew the maker of ‘Gram’ was a woman.

I gripped the blanket tightly.

My body tensed instinctively.

Armin shouldn’t know who forged that ‘Gram.’

After all, I was an anonymous blacksmith who hadn’t even left behind a name.

“Diana, of course.”

But how did her name come out of this man’s mouth?

My eyes widened.

Seeing my flustered expression, he let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah. The woman that blacksmith punk liked.”

“He didn’t like me.”

There’s no way Leon Kowalski liked me.

He only sought me out to find his master’s body.

“Ma’am… you really don’t understand men.”

Me?

Me, who had rubbed shoulders with gruff old men every day?

Who breathed in iron dust at the forge, living and sweating with rough, brawny men?

“A man wouldn’t risk his life for a woman he doesn’t care about.”

Nonsense.

Leon Kowalski isn’t just some man.

He’s a blacksmith.

A blacksmith obsessed with swords.

My father’s son.

While I was busy thinking that, a chilling voice rang in my ear.

“I think I know where she is.”

No way.

He knows where Diana is?

That woman—

She’s right here.

As I furrowed my brow, Armin said,

“On the way to the Hamel estate, there’s an endlessly long forest. It’s where the Bjorn mountain range begins. Not exactly flat, more like a mountain, really. Anyway… I met her there. No… I definitely met her.”

Those words pulled me straight back into that dark forest.

To the middle of the battlefield where the blacksmith Diana lay.

Blacksmith Diana was sprawled messily amidst the dense forest, and above her was a beautiful white moon.

Goddess of the Moonlight.

Diana.

I was thinking of the father who gave me that name.

As I listened to the endless whispering of Gram—or whatever that voice was—I felt my name slowly disappearing.

The life I gave to overcome Gram was being consumed by it.

“She was cradling Gram. As if… as if her whole body was a sheath made for it, she protected it with everything she had.”

That’s when Armin found me.

I thought he had found Gram, not me, but he had seen me.

Armin Wilhelm.

I bit my lip.

“Probably just got killed by a soldier on the battlefield. How can you be sure she was the one who made the sword?”

“No swordsman would leave behind a sword like that.”

He looked at me.

His face spun in front of me due to the alcohol but then settled.

That’s when I clearly saw the burning intensity in his gaze.

He spoke with eyes filled with true longing.

“I told you. It was the best sword I’ve ever touched.”

You.

I thought I heard those words at the end of his sentence, but maybe that was just the alcohol talking.

I buried my head under the blanket and muttered,

“Then you should’ve told the blacksmith that she was dead. She’s probably been eaten by wild animals or rotted away by now anyway.”

Why didn’t he tell Leon?

As I swallowed back those words, he said something completely unexpected.

“Her grave is on that mountain.”

“…!”

I turned to him in shock.

“I buried her. Clothes, shoes, everything still intact.”

He buried me.

Armin Wilhelm did.

Unbelievable.

My heart pounded violently.

“Right in the middle of the battlefield?”

When I asked, he nodded.

Staring at the fireplace with an unreadable expression, he said,

“Luckily, Walter ran away at the time, so I had time. And also—”

“…”

“She looked… lonely.”

Crackle.

Crackle.

I heard the sound of the fire consuming everything.

My life, which I’d been guarding alone.

My grave, which I’d been guarding alone.

And there stood Armin Wilhelm.

His presence burned everything like a fire.

“I closed her eyes.”

I gritted my teeth, trying not to be overwhelmed by that immense force.

I clenched the blanket tighter.

I bit my lip lightly.

Was it fortunate… or unfortunate?

At that moment, a sound came from the door.

“Lord Armin!”

Armin turned to look. Then glanced at me, pulled my blanket up further, and said,

“Come in.”

“I brought the hot water you asked for. Also found clothes. Two sets.”

When I frowned at that, he said in a low voice,

“If I said I already had clothes ready, you wouldn’t have undressed. My wife freezing to death would leave me a widower.”

At that, I punched him in the thigh with my clenched fist.

Hearing him groan softly, I sat up.

The alcohol in me seemed to burn away instantly.

‘Overwhelmed? Yeah right.’

Damn it.

Even for a moment, letting myself fall for this guy… I was an idiot.

“More.”

Right after bathing and changing, I went downstairs and sat at the bar, asking for more alcohol.

I didn’t want to see Armin Wilhelm’s smug face, and now that I’d sobered up a little, I wanted to drink more.

It had been a while since I drank freely.

‘I’ve stayed away from alcohol too long because of sword-making…’

“…Tastes good.”

I murmured, raising my hand to order something stronger.

“Your face is already red. Maybe stop now.”

Armin whispered in my ear from the seat beside me.

I scowled, scrubbing my ear as if to wipe away his voice.

“Mind your own business. Pervert.”

At the word “pervert,” Armin’s jaw tensed.

“For the record, it’s not because I want to see you undress—”

“Something stronger, please.”

I cut him off, ordering more from the innkeeper.

Armin frowned, ordered his own drink, and disappeared to the other side of the room.

I didn’t spare him a glance. As I picked up my drink, ready to sip, someone spoke from another table.

“That’s a strong drink. Are you sure you’re okay?”

It was Sir Soren, sitting with the merchants downstairs.

Even in such a setting, he couldn’t stop acting like the perfect noble, worrying about the lord’s wife’s dignity.

“You think I ordered this without knowing?”

Annoying.

I smirked at Soren.

His face stiffened.

“Looks like you’re already a little tipsy.”

“Me? Or you?”

I pointed at Sir Soren as I spoke.

The merchants around us exchanged surprised glances and started giggling.

Hearing their laughter, Soren’s face turned red.

Even as the lord’s wife, being told by a woman that he couldn’t handle his drink hurt his pride.

I chuckled, accepting the drink I’d ordered.

That’s when I noticed a man sitting across from Soren, quietly sipping his drink.

‘…Looks familiar…’

While I was thinking that, Soren spoke again.

“Do you really think I’d be weaker at drinking than Your Highness?”

His indignant voice made me narrow my eyes.

A provocation.

This was a classic provocation.

Among the blacksmiths back home, provocations like this usually led to one thing.

‘A drinking contest.’

Ending in mutual drunken collapse.

After a brief moment of thought, I lifted my glass.

“Yep. That’s exactly what I think.”

Tonight… I’d accept this challenge.

“Shall we bet? First one to collapse grants the winner a wish. And if you want…”

I glanced at the merchants and workers seated with Soren and grinned.

“You all can join in too.”

Their eyes lit up.

From what I knew, men were suckers for bets.

They all rushed to bet on Soren.

Though, a few cautious types held back to watch.

Including that familiar face I’d just recognized.

Ah. That’s right.

That guy.

The head of the largest distribution network in the North—the master of the Rauta Merchant Guild.

Jon.

“There won’t be any winnings left if everyone bets on this knight!”

Just then, as the coins piled in front of Soren, a man laughed and teased me.

As if no one would dare bet on me.

As I was digging into my pocket, someone placed a heavy bundle on the bar table.

“I’ll bet.”

I turned to look.

There stood Armin Wilhelm.

Smiling sweetly at me.

“I’ve seen how well my wife can drink.”

What the hell… this guy.

Before I could react, a voice came from the corner.

“Isn’t it cheating for a husband to bet on his wife?”

Leon Kowalski.

He’d been sitting there?

Since when?

While I was still shocked, Leon walked over, dropped a pile of coins in front of Armin’s bundle, and said,

“Then I’ll bet. On the lady.”

Leon Kowalski’s brown eyes locked onto mine.