At this moment, Aslan had just finished washing himself clean in a wooden tub and promptly threw himself onto the soft bed. As soon as his body relaxed, the accumulated fatigue surged all at once. Battling so many wyverns during the day was definitely no easy feat. Now, Aslan only felt that every muscle in his body ached and throbbed.
It was much like hammering iron for three days and nights without rest. Fortunately, he wasn't an ordinary person—and his current body was still youthful enough to recover from something like this every now and then.
"I should find a magus to take me as a disciple as soon as possible and then leave this place…"
Aslan buried his face in the soft pillow. Although he didn't know what decision the girl who had come to him earlier had made, that was her problem. Aslan had no desire to see her again. Disgust was disgust. He had no close or important relationships in this life, so there was no need to make himself uncomfortable for the sake of a stranger.
Ever since he arrived in this world, he had always felt out of place. So, he had no reason to cater to its people either—at least, not right now.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Aslan reflexively called out, "Who is it?"
"Hello, Master Blacksmith. We're the castle's maids. Do you require a massage?"
Oh… so it was the castle's maids, and they were asking if he wanted a massage… Aslan suddenly raised his head from the pillow, rubbing his temples. This sort of development felt strangely familiar. This massage—was it proper?
"Just a massage?"
Aslan sat up and asked without thinking. Outside the door, the maid blushed and cleared her throat softly before whispering, "If… if you require other services, we can provide them as well…"
"No! No need! Just a normal massage is fine!"
What a joke. He wasn't some love-starved fool, and there was no need to settle for a random maid he didn't even know.
Though truth be told, his muscles were indeed sore. Still, he really didn't want a maid entering his room. Compared to those maids, he'd be at a disadvantage.
Aslan walked to the door and opened it slightly, peering out to confirm that it was indeed just maids. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief, turning to return to the bed and allow them in.
Huh? You ask about Melusine?
Of course she was in another room. Melusine's possessiveness was quite strong. Though she usually appeared gentle and reserved, just in case—after all, her desire to "devour" him wasn't something new. Sleeping in separate rooms at night wasn't for her safety, but his own.
"Hey, go to bed early. It's just a proper massage. Absolutely nothing like what you're imagining."
Aslan shouted loudly toward the next room.
Pressing her ear to the wall and door, Melusine pouted. Of course she trusted Aslan—it was those other females targeting him that she worried about. If they had the guts, they should try fighting her for him instead of sneaking around!
A beauty should belong only to the strong! Only she, Melusine, was worthy of Aslan!
But just as Aslan stretched and turned around, a figure suddenly darted out from the side, bumping the maid out of the way. She held a collar in her hand, aiming to fasten it around Aslan's neck.
Unfortunately for her, Aslan was no ordinary blacksmith who knew nothing of combat.
Especially in a strange place surrounded by strangers, lowering one's guard would be the height of stupidity. A flash of magic flickered in Aslan's hand, and the forging hammer resting by his bed flew into his grip. With a swift spin, he clashed the hammer against the collar, shattering the magical accessory on impact.
The girl was knocked to the floor by the sudden counterattack. The force of the upward swing stirred a wind that messed up her hair. At the same time, Aslan's focused attention caused the girl's invisibility ring to lose effectiveness.
Looking down at the daughter of a lord sprawled before him, Aslan's fury surged. Veins bulged on his forehead, but he restrained himself from bashing her with the hammer.
"Let me guess… you still want me to forge you your own knight's sword?"
Hearing Aslan's question, the girl pushed aside her shock and immediately lifted her head, her eyes filled with obsession and a hint of desperation.
"Why not?! Why won't you agree?! I've never failed to get something I wanted since I was a child! What do you want? Money? Power? Women? I can give you anything you want!"
Aslan's pale blue eyes turned increasingly cold. Staring at her fanatical gaze, he let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. I'll forge you a sword."
The girl's expression instantly changed to one of pure joy. She jumped up, grabbed Aslan's hand, and dragged him toward her room, chattering non-stop without noticing the indifference in his eyes.
"I like red, so the hilt should be red. Oh, and I'm God's most faithful servant, so the sword must carry a holy aura…"
As she rattled off her demands, Aslan committed every detail to memory. Forging a knight's sword with holy attributes wasn't difficult. What was absurd was how this kind of girl dared dream of possessing such a weapon.
From her room, Melusine peeked out. Her golden eyes coldly watched the noble girl's back. She knew Aslan well and understood he was truly angry.
But this girl had brought it on herself. When Aslan returned, he'd probably need comforting. Melusine smiled slightly and slipped into Aslan's room, curling up on the bed that still carried his scent.
Aslan was already mentally prepared. Upon entering the girl's room, he saw all kinds of swords hanging on the walls and a variety of rare materials stored in ornate boxes. He raised his forging hammer and quickly used his magic to construct a proper workstation.
Ordinary people might need a long time to forge a sword of this caliber. But Aslan, inheritor of fairy forging techniques, needed only a few hours.
Time passed amid the clang of metal.
Before him now lay a sword with a crimson hilt. Its blade shimmered with intertwined gold and silver hues—luxurious, understated, and brimming with holy light.
Aslan sheathed the sword and tossed it to the girl. She clutched it eagerly, but its weight far exceeded her expectations. It bent her back instantly and forced her to her knees. Her knees struck the stone floor hard, and she gasped in pain.
Realizing something was off, she tried to set the sword aside, only to discover it wouldn't leave her body no matter what she did.
She looked up to ask what was going on—only to meet Aslan's cold, emotionless gaze.
"Didn't you want a knight's sword of your own? Then this sword will forever—tightly—cling to you. It seems you're unworthy of bearing the weight of this holy sword.
Only a knight of the highest virtue, one who has never been deceitful, can remove it. So pray that such a person exists and will free you from it."
With that, Aslan turned and walked out of her room. He wasn't some kind of saint. Let that sword press down on her spine forever. Of course, if someone really could draw it one day, he wouldn't object.
Little did he know, this sword would one day fall into the hands of Balin, and after his death, be embedded into stone by Merlin and cast into the river—only to float to Camelot years later.
As Aslan made his way back to his room, he hadn't even rounded the next corner when he heard a series of sneaky footsteps—and even sensed magic in the air. His instincts kicking in, Aslan quickly slipped into the shadows.