At that moment, Aslan had just washed himself in a wooden barrel and collapsed onto the soft bed. The moment his body relaxed, the fatigue he'd been holding back hit him like a tidal wave. Battling wyverns all day wasn't easy; every muscle ached fiercely.
This feels just like working as a blacksmith for three days straight without sleep.
Fortunately, he wasn't an ordinary man—his youth and strength allowed him to recover from such weariness occasionally.
"Tomorrow... I'll find a magician to teach me, then leave this place..." Aslan buried his face in the pillow. He didn't know what choice the girl who visited him earlier had made, but that was her concern. He didn't want to see her again. Disgust was disgust. Besides, he had few close relationships in this world. No need to feel awkward for a stranger.
After all, since arriving in this world, Aslan had always felt out of sync with it. There was no need to pander to its people—not now, at least.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He subconsciously called out, "Who is it?"
"Hello, Mr. Blacksmith. We are the castle maids. Would you like a massage?"
Ah... maids offering a massage. Aslan raised his head from the pillow, rubbing his temples. Why does this plot development feel so familiar? Is this massage... serious?
"Just a massage?"
Aslan stood, still cautious. The maid outside blushed, coughed twice, and whispered, "If the master needs other services, we can provide those too..."
"No! No thanks! Just a normal massage!" Aslan protested firmly.
No way was he the type to fall for flirtations from maids he barely knew. If his muscles hadn't been truly sore, he wouldn't have let the maids into his room. After all, he was no match for their charms.
Cautiously, he opened the door just a crack. After confirming it was only the maids, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Then, turning to reenter the room, he heard a familiar voice nearby.
"Hmm? Asking for Melusine?"
Of course. Melusine had a strong possessiveness. Though usually gentle and reserved, she was always cautious. After all, Melusine had been wanting to 'eat' him for more than a day now. Sleeping in separate rooms wasn't for her safety—it was for his.
"Hey, just relax. It's only a massage. Nothing like what you're imagining." Aslan called out loudly to the next room.
Melusine, eavesdropping at the wall and door, pouted. Of course she trusted Aslan's words, but she worried about these female creatures pursuing him. If they had the courage, they should confront her instead of sneaking around.
Beauty is only worthy of the strong! Only I, Melusine, am worthy of Aslan!
Just as Aslan stretched and prepared to turn back, a figure suddenly lunged from the side, knocking the maid aside. Before he could react fully, the girl tried to clasp a collar around his neck.
But Aslan was no mere blacksmith with no martial skill.
Surrounded by strangers in unfamiliar surroundings, he had learned never to lower his guard. A flash of magic surged through his hand. The forging hammer resting beside the bed appeared in his grasp. Spinning around, he struck the collar with the hammer. The magic garment shattered instantly.
The girl collapsed backward, hair wildly tousled by the hammer's forceful wind. Since Aslan had focused all his attention on the girl's attack, her ring of concealment lost its power.
Now standing face to face with the lord's daughter, Aslan felt anger flare sharply within him. Veins bulged on his forehead, yet he restrained himself from striking her with the hammer.
"Is your plan to have me make you your own knight's sword?"
The girl, undeterred by his question, lifted her head defiantly, eyes gleaming with desperation. "No? Why wouldn't you agree?! I've never failed to get what I want—from childhood until now! What do you want? Money? Power? Beauty? I can give you anything!"
Aslan's icy blue eyes grew colder, his voice low and bitter. "Fine. I'll make a sword for you."
The girl's expression vanished, replaced by pure joy. She took his hand eagerly and pulled him toward her room, oblivious to the indifference in his gaze.
"I like red," she babbled, "so the hilt of my knight's sword must be red. Oh, and since I'm God's most loyal servant, my sword must have a sacred aura..."
As she spoke, Aslan memorized her demands. Forging a knight's sword with holy attributes was no great challenge—but it pained him that someone like her coveted such a sacred weapon.
At that moment, Melusine peeked from her room, her golden eyes narrowing coldly as she watched the girl's retreating back. She knew Aslan well enough to see his anger simmering beneath his calm.
But this was the lord's daughter's own doing. She would need comforting after such a visit.
Melusine curled her lips and slipped into Aslan's room, collapsing onto the bed scented with his presence.
Prepared and focused, Aslan entered the lord's daughter's chamber. The walls were lined with swords and precious materials carefully arranged in boxes. He raised his hammer, conjured a magical workbench with a few whispered incantations, and began forging.
Where an ordinary smith might labor for days, Aslan, inheriting fairy forging techniques, completed the legendary sword within hours.
The clang of hammer on metal echoed steadily.
Finally, before them lay a sword with a red handle of interwoven gold and silver—luxurious yet understated, exuding an unmistakable sacred aura.
Aslan slid the sword into its scabbard and tossed it to the girl.
She caught it, but its weight was far beyond her expectations. She bent at the waist, knees buckling against the cold stone floor with a painful gasp.
The girl tried to set the sword aside but found it wouldn't leave her grasp.
Looking up, she caught Aslan's cold stare.
"Didn't you want your own knight's sword? Then this sword will always be tightly bound to you. It seems you're not worthy to bear its weight."
"Only the noblest knights who have never committed a sin can draw this sword. Pray someone worthy will come to release you."
Aslan turned and left the room without another word.
He was no saint—if the sword weighed her down forever, so be it. If someone could truly draw it out, he would have no objections.
He never imagined the sword would one day fall to Balin, and after Balin's death, be embedded in stone by Merlin, floating downriver to Camelot years later. But that was a story for another time.
Just as Aslan was about to return to his room, a series of stealthy footsteps echoed nearby. He sensed magic in the air. Instinctively, he melted into the shadows, ready for whatever was coming.