Killed… by the very sword I forged with my own hands, huh?
He spat out blood, eyes trembling as he looked down at the shining blade buried in his chest. At the other end stood a golden-haired boy clad in white armor — his expression empty, his face splashed with the crimson stain of Blake's blood.
This… is the end of the world's greatest blacksmith.
---
The sound of hammer striking iron echoed through the air, each strike slightly louder than the last.
Inside a rusted old workshop, swords lay scattered across the floor. The furnace glowed like the fiery breath of a dragon, the air thick with heat and the smell of molten iron.
At the heart of it all stood a rugged man, his hands scarred and burned, his muscles glistening with sweat. Every swing of the hammer released sparks that danced in the air. Despite the exhaustion on his face, his eyes shimmered — filled with a deep love for his craft. A wooden pipe hung loosely from his mouth.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Finally, the man stopped, breathing heavily.
"It must be time now," he muttered to himself.
Through the dirty window, the glow of distant fireworks painted the sky. In the distance, a grand white castle stood proudly, surrounded by a sprawling city protected by wall after wall — forming a pentagon from above.
The cheers of the people reached even his small shop. The kingdom was celebrating.
The Hero had defeated the Demon King.
"So… the brat really did it, huh? I'm glad."
He smiled faintly. "Guess I can die happy now. But… not yet."
Setting his hammer aside, he removed his apron, grabbed a worn leather bag, and stepped out into the night. The creak of the closing door was swallowed by the sounds of celebration.
---
The streets were alive — laughter, music, the rush of people drunk on victory. As he walked, the man turned into a smaller street and stopped before a familiar building. A sign hung above the door:
Light Guild
The moment he entered, noise and joy blasted from within. Someone noticed him and shouted, a mug of ale raised high.
"Yo! Look who's here! The world's greatest blacksmith finally joined us!"
The crowd erupted.
Blake! Blake! Blake!
But Blake simply smiled, lowering his head as he walked through the lively crowd, heading for the reception desk.
Across the counter, a young woman with short auburn hair looked up, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, Blake! How have you been? Shouldn't you be at the castle by now? You, of all people!"
Blake chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.
"You know me, Neff. I'm not really into all that formal hero stuff. Anyway… can I get the crystals?"
Her smile instantly vanished.
"What?! Blake, seriously?! You're the blacksmith who made the Hero's sword! The one that ended the Demon King! Everyone's celebrating you!"
He just laughed. "Thanks for the praise, but I've still got work to do."
Neff sighed, shaking her head. "You're hopeless. Fine, fine. Here."
She dropped a small leather pouch onto the counter. It clinked faintly with the sound of crystals inside.
"Save some time for yourself, will you?" she said softly.
Blake waved as he turned toward the door. "You just enjoy the party, Neff!"
---
As soon as he stepped back into the quiet street, his face changed — frustration written all over it.
"Damn it!" he hissed, biting his lip. "Every time I'm ready to ask her out, I lose my nerve…"
He kicked at the dirt, blushing slightly.
"I can forge the finest blades in the empire, but I can't 'forge' a relationship? What kind of blacksmith am I?!"
He sighed.
"Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow…"
Blake trudged down the dim path toward his workshop, not noticing the faint shadow slipping through the alley behind him.
---
As the sun set, streaks of red and orange painted the horizon. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed again, steady and determined. The world outside faded into darkness, leaving only the fiery glow of his forge to illuminate the shop.
With a hiss of steam, he quenched the latest blade in dark water. It shimmered with a crystal-blue light, runes faintly glowing along its edge.
The reflection of the sword glinted in Blake's eyes. For a moment, he smiled — reminded of his first blade, back when he was just a boy chasing a dream.
Then — creak.
The sound of the workshop door swinging open pulled him back to reality.
He didn't even turn. "So, you finally came, huh… Mister Hero."
A young man with golden hair and radiant white armor stepped in, the golden crest of a wyvern shining over his chestplate. He laughed softly.
"Haha, you got me, Sir Blake!"
Blake smirked faintly. "What's the Hero of the Realm, Lokay, doing in my dump of a shop this late? Shouldn't you be at the king's feast?"
Lokay smiled thinly. "I came to fulfill the king's orders… and my final duty."
His hand brushed the hilt of his sword.
"You know, Sir Blake, if not for you, we would've lost that war. You were like a hero fighting beside me."
Blake shook his head slowly. "No… I'm just glad my creation did what it was meant to do. When I forged that sword, I had no expectations — only fear."
His words halted mid-breath. He glanced down.
A blade — his blade — protruded through his chest.
His blood poured freely, its heat mixing with that of the forge.
He looked up, eyes wide, meeting Lokay's cold, expressionless gaze.
"Blake, you served the empire well. Your name shall be honored for eternity. Rest peacefully, my friend."
As Lokay's voice faded, Blake's vision blurred. The world grew distant, sounds disappearing one by one. Thoughts flickered — confusion, betrayal, sorrow.
He tried to laugh, choking on his own blood.
Thrown away like a dog… after everything I gave them
He forced the words out through a trembling throat.
"Th-this empire… will fall…"
Lokay twisted the sword free, the wet sound of steel leaving flesh echoing through the silence. Blake collapsed to the wooden floor. The Hero turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading into nothingness.
Blake lay there in a growing pool of his own blood, his vision dimming to black.
"They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die…" he rasped weakly. "So why don't I see anything? …Guess I never had happy memories after all…"
He laughed faintly, a bitter, bloodied laugh.
"Killed by the very sword I forged… Heh. Life really is a bitch…"
He coughed violently, his last breath trembling from his lips.
"If there's a god… or even a devil… just give me one wish… please— give me another chance…"
And with that final whisper, Blake's eyes went still.
The firelight flickered weakly against his motionless body —
That was the end of the world's greatest blacksmith.
Somewhere doing the dark silence a voice spoke
"...Huh?"
A voice echoed in the dark. A voice that shouldn't exist.
"Wait— why's everything... dark? And stiff? …I definitely died."
Silence.
Then the voice again:
"...But why sound like metal?"
A faint clink echoed.
"...Wait, don't tell me I've been buried in with my sword ?! Oh, hell no—"
Time passed.
Then years.
Then centuries.
For a thousand years, only silence. No sound, no warmth, no movement... just consciousness trapped in darkness.
Until one day…
Thud.
A weak groan broke the silence gasping for air .
A boy — bloodied, limping, half-dead — collapsed beside it seems to be the blacksmith body.
The faint warmth of the boy's hand brushed against a cold black steel.
"...I know this well?" the voice echoed in disbelief. "Stupid gublin Don't die next to me, that's disgusting."
The boy's hand twitched slightly — and a faint blue glow pulsed through the blade.
Suddenly, pain and life surged again. The blacksmith's soul jolted awake.
"What the— wait, I can move?!"
He blinked — or at least felt like he blinked — and realized he had arms, legs, and blood again.
"HOLY— I HAVE A BODY!! …wait, though it skinny but I could make it walk. And why does this body feel like it's has weak has a wooden sword?!"
He inspected himself, noticing wounds sealing with a faint blue shine.
He eye shifted to his hands where he was holding a familiar sword he thought to him self slumped against the cave wall "First I die... then wake up as my worthless old sword... and now I'm in a strange boys body in a dongeon?!??
He looked up at the pitch-black ceiling, exhaling dramatically.
"Yep. Definitely rock bottom.