Chapter 199 – Reyna and Belin
Lochter and Dorneth faced each other across the violet forge.
Though their paths had crossed many times throughout Tobaron’s history, this was the first time their fates had truly intertwined.
‘This is an unusual sight.’
A strange feeling washed over me.
One was the ruler of Beneta, a land that had been destroyed by Kamel’s hands. The other was Lochter, the leader of the Anti-Kamel Alliance, the hero who had fought to the very end against Kamel’s tyranny.
This meeting was something that had never occurred in the novel. Yet, because of my influence, it was unfolding right before my eyes.
From this encounter, a new weapon—something never written in the original story—could be born.
This moment.
Could this be what the entity that sent me into this world had intended?
The thought struck me suddenly.
“What’s your name?”
At Dorneth’s question, Lochter gave a slight nod, a gesture of respect.
Dorneth was a ruler, after all. For Lochter, who had lived by the principles of knighthood, he was a difficult figure to face.
“I am Lochter Felice.”
“Lochter. A familiar name. Are you Lochter, the Knight Commander of Blyer? I’ve heard of your reputation, but this is my first time meeting you in person.”
“I once visited Beneta with the former head of my house, but we never had the chance to meet.”
“Those were better days when Liamson was still a viscount. Now some wretched bastard has taken his place, and Tobaron is in chaos.”
“…It’s all my fault.”
“That’s not for the Knight Commander to shoulder.”
“I am not a Knight Commander anymore. I am merely Lochter—a fugitive with a bounty on my head.”
“Whether you are merely a fugitive or someone worthy of Arthur’s attention… I suppose we shall see.”
Dorneth looked like he had more to say, but he held back. Instead, he extended a pair of tongs toward Lochter.
Gripped in the tongs was a blazing-hot, red-hot metal rod.
It was the Damascus metal, freshly forged in the Witch’s Flame.
Even from this distance, I could feel the searing heat.
“Can you hold it?”
“With my bare hands?”
“Yes. Try it.”
It was an odd command.
To grab that scorching metal rod with his bare hands?
The moment he touched it, his palms would melt away.
I didn’t understand what Dorneth was thinking, but I remained silent. A Great Master Blacksmith was a title only given to dwarves acknowledged by all their kin.
Though his ridiculous baker’s hat annoyed me, his skill was undeniable.
Lochter did not hesitate.
He simply stared at the rod for a moment before grasping it with his bare hands.
Ssssshhh—!
Lochter’s face twisted slightly.
The unbearable pain struck the instant his hands wrapped around the molten metal.
It felt as if his palms were melting.
Dorneth observed him without expression before issuing another command.
“Use both hands.”
“Dorneth!”
I let out a short laugh of disbelief and quickly moved forward.
A swordsman’s hands were everything.
Especially for Lochter, whose hands had been honed through countless thousands of sword swings.
His hands were his life.
I couldn’t just stand by and watch him destroy them.
But—
“Stay back.”
Lochter’s fierce gaze stopped me in my tracks.
“Didn’t you tell me you would open a path for me to grow stronger?”
“But this is—”
Lochter glanced at me briefly before turning back to the rod.
I stood behind him, watching his back.
A moment later, his deep voice rumbled through the air.
“Arthur.”
“I’m listening.”
“If you’ve opened the path, then trust me. Watch how I walk it.”
Lochter gritted his teeth and grasped the red-hot metal with both hands.
“GRAAAAAHHH!”
A piercing scream tore through the chamber.
Dorneth slowly closed his eyes, as if listening intently—seeing, feeling, sensing something beyond.
And in that moment—
“...!”
My eyes widened in shock.
The countless flames that had been rushing toward the violet forge suddenly froze in place.
It was as if time had stopped.
This place—
The Witch’s Forge—
Was definitely no ordinary space.
When the pain grew so unbearable that even his bones felt like they were melting, familiar voices echoed in Lochter’s ears.
[It seems you have no talent with the sword. You’ll hit your limit soon.]
[Even now, I can see it—swordsmanship isn’t for you. You should find another path.]
[How ignorant. If you lack talent, at least learn to take a hint.]
If his life had been defined by the sword, then those voices had been the shadows that followed him.
Doubtful whispers that had always surrounded him as he wielded his blade.
Words spoken with feigned concern, but underneath them was always the same condescending sneer—‘He’s ordinary. He’ll give up eventually. What a fool.’
Once, all those people had been swordsmen superior to him.
But over one year… five years… ten years—he had surpassed every single one of them.
Through sheer, relentless effort, he had climbed higher and higher.
He had earned his knighthood, met a woman who understood him, fallen in love, and married.
Then, he had a daughter—his one and only child.
[No attributes. Your energy is just Aura. Plain and ordinary.]
Even when he awakened to Five-Star Swordsmanship, that voice had pressed down on his chest like a heavy weight.
No special attributes.
No gifts from the gods.
Yet, he never gave up.
The sword.
Yes, through the sword, he wanted to overcome everything he lacked.
He clung to it, and in doing so, he had to sacrifice much.
[Picnic! I want to go to the park and eat lunch with Dad!]
His wife and daughter’s greatest wish had been something as simple as sharing a meal with him.
He had been neglectful.
No—he had lacked the emotional capacity to focus on them.
He had believed that if he just reached the end of his swordsmanship, everything else would fall into place.
But in losing everything, he had finally understood.
His wife.
His daughter.
Spending time with the people by his side was one of the true joys of his life.
The dream he had in the garden still lingered in his vision.
The image of his wife and daughter’s joyful faces at a picnic.
And then—
[Daddy!]
He saw the flames before him flicker.
Two flames wavered, then took shape, morphing into the silhouettes of the figures he longed for the most.
Arthur’s words resurfaced in his mind.
[These flames are lost souls. Most of them died unjustly.]
Slowly, their forms became clear.
A woman and a small child stood before him.
His wife, Reyna.
His daughter, Belin.
They smiled at him.
Reyna and Belin stood before him, beckoning him gently.
It was as if they were inviting him to come with them.
Lochter looked down at his hands.
They were burning, heavy with agony.
A part of him wanted to let go of everything he was holding and follow them.
But instead, he bit his lip and lowered his head.
[Will you come with us?]
Belin’s voice called out, and Lochter lifted his gaze.
Tears streamed down his face.
He wanted to go.
But even if he wished for it, there was no going back now.
“No… I still have something to do here.”
[Then, should we go first?]
“Belin… Go and play happily with your mother. One day… I’ll come find you.”
[Then promise me, Dad. Fulfill your dream first.]
His daughter’s words struck a deep chord.
There was a time when she would tug at his sleeve, whining for him to play with her or have a meal together.
And back then, he would always smile and tell her about his dream.
Remembering it now, his mind felt as if a dense fog had finally lifted.
For so long, he had been consumed by his obsession with vengeance against Kamel, forgetting even his own aspirations.
“Yes. I will become the strongest knight in the world and then come find you.”
It was the destiny of one who wielded the sword.
Lochter smiled, nodding firmly as he watched his wife and daughter fade away.
Their flame-like forms dissolved into the violet blaze.
And when the dream-like vision ended, he returned to reality—
Dorneth stood before him, a knowing smile on his lips.
“…You are truly remarkable.”
“…What just happened?”
“I took a brief look at what resides within you. The unconscious mind holds secrets even you may not know.”
“The unconscious…?”
“The Witch’s Flame makes it possible. Did you see what you desired?”
“I remembered something I had forgotten.”
“That’s all you needed.”
Dorneth gave a small nod before giving the metal rod in his hands a firm shake. Lochter instinctively released it and took a step back.
He looked at his palms.
They were completely unscathed.
He had felt the pain as if his very bones were melting—yet now, his hands were cold, as though they had been encased in ice.
That was when it dawned on him.
Dorneth wasn’t merely a master blacksmith—he was a ruler of frost.
The pain in his hands hadn’t come from heat—it had been the biting cold.
“This was a test,” Dorneth admitted. “To see if you were truly suited to wield this metal.”
“…And I failed?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because that’s how my life has always been.”
Lochter’s expression was calm, almost indifferent.
How many failures did it take for a man to accept them so naturally?
But in front of him stood a warrior who had overcome every failure with relentless effort.
Indomitable Will.
A man whose resolve was as unyielding as steel.
A man who seemed like he would never break.
And that realization stirred something within Dorneth.
The Damascus metal.
It called to him.
It cried out, demanding to go to this man.
“You belittle yourself too much,” Dorneth said firmly. “You have no idea how many people have fought and sacrificed themselves for your sake.”
“...”
“Stop diminishing yourself. That is the least you owe to those who follow you.”
“…I will remember that.”
Dorneth nodded in satisfaction, then turned to me, extending his hand.
It seemed Lochter had passed his test.
I had misjudged Dorneth.
I had thought of him as a simple blacksmith, but he had the wisdom of a sage.
Perhaps the reason he so easily believed my words was that, on some level, he had already acknowledged me as the rightful blood pact holder.
Dorneth let out a sigh as he inspected the remaining Damascus Crow.
“My fiancée will be disappointed.”
“Sharbadin?”
“I’m afraid my return will be delayed. I can’t rush the forging of a weapon bestowed by revelation, can I? It’s been a long time since I’ve taken up my hammer for something serious.”
“A true master’s resolve. But… was there a specific reason you tested Lochter separately?”
“There is a difference between a revelation and worthiness.”
Dorneth lifted the Damascus metal and narrowed his eyes.
“The name Indomitable Will suits this metal well. It’s incredibly stubborn. If not for the Witch’s Flame, it would have been impossible to forge in the first place.”
“This metal needs a special wielder. Otherwise, it would be just another weapon.”
“What do you think? Is Lochter worthy?”
Dorneth smirked and tapped the white hat perched on his head.
“In the dwarven world, we have a saying.”
He grinned widely.
“The stronger the inspiration, the greater the masterpiece.”
“…Did you feel inspired?”
“It struck like a lightning bolt.”
Dorneth’s eyes gleamed as he moved to the workbench, his hands already sketching out the weapon’s design.
As the shape of the weapon gradually emerged, I tilted my head in curiosity.
Lochter, on the other hand, let out a small groan.
The design was completely unexpected.
“…A pair of swords?”
Not only that—
One was short, while the other was long.
An unbalanced, rugged twin-blade set.
“This shape suits you best.”
“You think so?”
“You’ve never used dual blades before?”
“I have, but I’ve never formally trained with them.”
“A Great Master Blacksmith’s intuition tells him exactly what kind of weapon suits its wielder best. You’ll be a twin-blade user.”
“…Twin-blade technique.”
Lochter stared at the twin swords drawn on the table.
Dorneth prepared his tools, then gestured toward the designs.
“You should think of names for them.”
“…Names?”
“If it’s too troublesome, I can name them for you.”
“I’ve already decided.”
“…Already?”
Lochter nodded.
Within his unconscious mind—where he had reunited with his loved ones—he had recalled an old promise.
A promise as a father.
‘To become the strongest knight in the world.’
And he would carve that vow into his very soul.
“…Reyna and Belin.”
He would engrave his wife and daughter’s names into the twin swords.