The Academy’s Weapon Replicator-Chapter 6.2: The Branch in the Coffin, Mistletoe (3) Part 2

“Huh.”

“Wow!”

Short exclamations of surprise burst from the people around them.

Enfer’s heirloom, the divine sword, ‘Gram.’

It’s a rare opportunity to see its true form.

At Frondier’s suggestion, everyone’s eyes sparkled.

“Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course.”

Enfer pondered for a moment.

Even he himself had to admit that this felt insufficient as compensation for Frondier’s actions.

Enfer reached out to Gram, which was placed in front of him.

The sword that was concealed within the scabbard.

Everyone watched Enfer’s movement intently.

‘……How?’

In that brief moment, only Quinie was thinking differently.

‘How did he break it?’

Frondier was barehanded.

He had merely placed his hand on the coffin; it shattered in an instant without him even striking it with his fist.

Could it be magic? Without even a spell?

If not...

‘Perhaps, Aura.’

Quinie swallowed hard.

Someone who can emit an aura with their bare hands is not at a student level.

But, it was too early to be certain. If it was an aura, it meant releasing Qi, but she had not felt any flow of such energy.

However, if Frondier really did use an aura just now, and it was an instantaneous release that others couldn't perceive.

At any cost, he must be brought to our side.

No matter what it takes.

Swiftly, the sheath was heavily stripped away. The pristine blade inside reflected the light.

"Ah, this is...!"

The nobles' eyes sparkled.

The legendary sword of the hero Sigurd, Gram.

Despite its fame, Gram looked more rustic than expected.

Although there was a rather beautiful pattern flowing like waves on the blade, it wasn't the kind of beauty one would attribute to divine craftsmanship.

Yet.

"..."

Silence settled among the audience.

This weapon couldn't be judged merely by its aesthetic beauty.

Merely placed there, it seemed to press down the air heavily.

The aura was chilly, and from top to bottom, the blade felt as though it was born with condensed power in its very shape.

'Even I, who do not wield swords, can tell. Indeed, divine artifacts are different.'

Quinie inwardly marveled.

It was her nature to inadvertently try to put a price on this weapon, but she let that thought pass for now.

What expression might Frondier, who first mentioned the weapon, be wearing?

Curious, she turned her gaze and,

"…!"

Quinie held her breath.

Worried that he might have noticed her looking, she quickly averted her gaze again.

'What's with those eyes?'

Frondier was also looking at Mistilteinn.

With a pure face. With pure eyes.

Yet, that 'purity' was far from peaceful.

Frondier gazed purely, as if he could swallow Gram whole. As if it were truly possible.

Those eyes longing for Gram, they were,

Eyes that transgressed a taboo.

* * *

"Aster, have you heard the news?"

"Huh? About what?"

Aster responded to his friend Thane's excitement.

Thane, like Aster, was a commoner, and the two quickly became friends.

Since Aster was quite famous, Thane almost approached him with the admiration of a fan, but their personalities meshed well, with Aster's affable nature.

"Didn't you see the news? About Mistilteinn!"

"Ah... I went to bed early last night."

Aster said with an awkward voice, scratching his head.

It was a lie.

Ellen had confiscated the Wizard View viewing rights the night before, insisting there was a romance movie she had to watch.

Then she said,

-It's not ours anyway, check it out later. There will be other chances.

Damn it. My sister is as rational as steel when it comes to others' affairs.

But she's a sucker for romance.

"Frondier broke the coffin!"

"…What?"

Aster's eyes wavered.

It wasn't displeasure or anger, but a sinister premonition: Is Frondier still alive?

"Are you talking about the coffin that stored Mistilteinn?"

"Yeah! Well, it's a bit different!"

"What's different?"

"Turns out it wasn't Mistilteinn. It was a fake!"

Thane still spoke with an excited voice.

But indeed, this was worth making a fuss over.

A fake. Then, there's no divine punishment, so no worries about Frondier, but,

"Wait. So, Frondier knew it was a fake?"

"Well, maybe he had some belief in it? I mean, I wouldn't do it regardless of any evidence!"

Exactly. No matter how strong the suspicion, who would do such a mad thing?

...So, it wasn't suspicion, but certainty.

Something only Frondier could know?

"...It was a fake."

Aster's eyes rolled.

He recalled Frondier's voice from the day before.

-Don't worry, Aster Evans.

-I'll take care of your worries.

He believed it was a minor consolation. It seemed impossible.

No matter to whom Mistilteinn would go, Aster Evans must have felt like there was a knife placed before his heart.

But, indeed. He broke that sword.

...Indeed.

* * *

In my dormitory room, I quietly observed the black liquid sloshing around inside a glass bottle.

A viscoelastic metal.

In the meeting room, I focused entirely on maintaining an indifferent expression towards it.

Originally, in the progression of the game, this fake Mistilteinn is highly likely to be exchanged for Enfer of Gram.

It is then temporarily placed in a visible spot in the Roah Residence, but its falseness is quickly discovered.

A spell without a sorcerer has a limit to mana input, so the vessel breaks on its own accord.

What happens to Gram afterward is truly unknown. It varied each time I played the game.

But in whosever hands it ends up, it triggers a sub-event—a terrifying entity.

For now, it is still safely in my father's hands.

"Now, then."

I placed a rectangular mold on the desk. Then, I poured the metal from the glass bottle into the mold, filling it.

Even when I was playing the game, I thought of this metal as 'quite a peculiar thing'.

It's a bit awkward to say this, but originally, this metal's most viable use was perhaps for 'forging' something to imitate Mistilteinn.

However, with Frondier, maybe.

This metal's properties could be enhanced beyond 100%.

I smiled, not hiding my anticipation.

"From now on, you will be called 'Obsidian'."

I placed my hand over Obsidian in the mold. The sensation of the temperatureless liquid still feels very unfamiliar.

From now on, I will add 'weaving' to this Obsidian.

Weaving, Obsidian

Workshop No. 1

Grade - Normal

Iron Dagger

The image of the dagger mounted in the workshop is engraved on Obsidian.

Magic is infused into Obsidian, and Obsidian began to change its shape.

And then,

"It's done."

In my clenched fist was a dagger.

Finally.

Not an illusion, nor an image.

A black dagger that exists as a clear reality.