Chapter 128: Boss, I Want to Learn Smithing!
Arthur was jolted by the numbers Percival was throwing around a greatsword weighing over fifteen pounds? Was this truly intended for human use?
One had to understand that a two-handed greatsword, unlike a club or a mace, functions as a classic third-class lever. Any additional weight is reflected exponentially back onto the user's arms. Furthermore, due to their design, even relatively light two-handed swords usually possess "overkill" lethality.
Take Arthur's Sword of Temeria as an example. Its original weight was under three pounds, and even after being reforged, it barely approached four yet its momentum was already sufficient to cleave an unarmored target in two with a single stroke.
Fifteen pounds? Was the King planning to split a man and his plate armor down the middle?
"Do it as I've asked. Only a blade of such magnitude can reflect the majesty of a King," Eist insisted.
Calanthe gave a subtle nod and added, "Be swift. You have a limit of one week. For every day you deliver ahead of schedule, you shall receive an additional bonus of one hundred crowns."
Percival let out a sharp squeak. He jammed a monocle into his right eye socket and spun around to hunch over his workbench, his long, pointed nose nearly brushing the tabletop as he began sketching.
As the street began to grow crowded, the King and Queen did not linger. Flanked by their guards, they made their way back toward the castle. Only Arthur remained standing at the entrance of the forge.
"Hey, what about my swords?" Arthur reminded him gently, seeing that the gnome had seemingly forgotten his presence.
"A thousand apologies, but as you saw, Royal commissions cannot be delayed..." Percival replied without looking up. "Alas, if you only wanted a slight improvement to your silver sword's quality, I could recommend a few decent dwarven smithies. But if you want the latest techniques..."
His hands moved incessantly as he spoke. Within moments, he had finished a rough sketch and hurried off to begin selecting steel stock.
Arthur was naturally unwilling to compromise on quality. Crowns were easy enough to earn back by selling a few batches of modified potions, but the opportunity to obtain a world-class blade was rare.
He asked patiently, "To finish the King's commission, how long will you need on your own?"
By now, Percival had shoved the selected steel into the furnace. He finally had a spare moment to vent his woes to Arthur:
"You heard the man. The greatsword the King wants requires at least sixteen or seventeen pounds of the new alloy. This isn't Mahakam; just hammering the billet into shape will take four or five days."
Arthur frowned. "Why so long?"
Percival pointed to his own arm. "You see the muscle on these limbs?"
Arthur stared intently for a long time, seeing absolutely no sign of bulging muscle. Realizing the gnome was making a self-deprecating joke about his lack of strength, he asked curiously:
"If you lack the power, why not hire the dwarves to assist you?"
He remembered Zoltan saying that many gnomes lived in Mahakam and that most got along quite well with the dwarves.
Percival let out a heavy sigh. "If I were just making a 'reasonably good' sword, I'd certainly call in the dwarven smiths. But the King demanded 'tier-one' craftsmanship. Do you know what that entails?"
Arthur ventured a guess: "You mean, if you ask for their help, they might not be able to resist stealing your secrets?"
Percival's eyes bulged. "What do you mean 'might'? They absolutely would! Those big-beards... no matter how honest they seem, the moment you mention Gwent, ale, or smithing, they turn into lunatics. You cannot imagine their fanaticism!"
The gnome paced agitatedly around the shop, his feet nearly wearing the finish off the floorboards.
"No, no... if I let the dwarves steal my trade secrets just for the sake of one commission, how am I supposed to remain Cintra's premier bladesmith?"
A sudden idea struck Arthur. He suggested:
"You could let me help! I have strength to spare. I'd be the perfect assistant for you."
"You?"
Percival eyed Arthur skeptically. "I may be looking for a hand at the forge, but it isn't just about swinging a sledgehammer like a madman. Have you got the knack for it?"
Arthur pointed toward the Sword of Temeria. "That blade was once utterly shattered. I was the one who reforged it."
Percival's gaze lingered on the sword for a few moments, his tone softening slightly. "To produce a blade like that... I suppose your skill is decent enough for a human blacksmith, at least. But if you want to take part in crafting a first-rate masterpiece, you have much to learn!"
Arthur grinned and pulled another bulging coin purse from his tunic. "That is precisely my other reason for being here! Beyond owning a fine blade, I am fascinated by the craft itself. If you agree, consider this my tuition!"
The purse hit the workbench with a heavy clank, sending brushes, awls, and rulers jumping into the air. Percival stared at Arthur for a long time before speaking calmly:
"If that is your play..."
Thump, thump, thump.
Three more bulging purses slammed onto the table. Rulers rolled onto the floor, brushes snapped into three pieces, and an awl flew upward, its sharp tip landing dangerously close between Percival's fingers.
"If you're worried my learning the craft is a move to steal your business, don't be. We can go to the Cintra Town Hall and have it notarized: if I compete with you in the smithing trade within Cintra over the next ten years, this money is yours to keep."
Under Percival's upward gaze, Arthur's smile was almost devilish.
Percival turned to a counter by the wall, grabbed a bottle of beer, and downed half of it in one go. He asked with feigned indifference, "And if we don't have any business conflicts within those ten years?"
Arthur flashed that bewitching smile once more. "Then the money is returned to me assuming we ever cross paths again."
Percival couldn't help but let out a knowing smirk, though he quickly suppressed it. He readjusted his monocle and asked solemnly:
"That much gold is enough to replicate a Mahakam 'Thunder-Fire' furnace. Where did you get it? Did you sack the royal treasury of Brugge?"
Arthur chuckled. "As you said yourself, the six of us took down thirty enemies. Their gear and warhorses were top-tier; turning them over made us quite a tidy sum."
Percival's expression shifted as he muttered, "So you did sack a royal treasury..."
"Ah, what does it matter where it came from? Are you teaching me or not? If not, I'll find the dwarves. As you said, I have much to learn..."
Seeing the gnome's resolve wavering, Arthur decided to give him a push, reaching out as if to take back the purses.
Snap!
A wooden ruler whistled through the air, passing through the afterimage of Arthur's hand and shattering into pieces against the workbench, shards flying to every corner of the shop.
Veins bulged on the gnome's neck and forehead. His heavy breathing drowned out the sound of the forge bellows; in this moment, he looked a bit like a Nekker fueled by a chieftain's rage.
Percival, eyes bloodshot and teeth clenched, growled:
"I'll teach you! Why wouldn't I? As long as you can learn it, I'll teach what the dwarves teach, and I'll teach what the dwarves can't as long as you never mention my name when people ask who forged your blade!"