Chapter 115: Lords Are Allowed To Be Greedy [Bonus - ]
Chapter 115: Lords Are Allowed To Be Greedy [Bonus Chapter]
The atmosphere around Silas violently change.
The celebratory joy in the immediate five-foot radius around him evaporated, replaced instantly by the suffocating atmospheric pressure of two fiercely competitive predators closing in on their prey.
Silas felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up.
He stopped smiling.
Morwenna stepped up to his right side.
The pirate queen didn’t sheath her sword. She held her glowing, two-hundred-and-fifty-six fold naval cutlass out across her open forearms, presenting the dark kraken-leather hilt directly toward his chest.
Her stormy gray eyes were burning with intense pride and unyielding arrogance.
Her skin-tight canvas mining outfit was completely covered in dark coal soot, oil stains, and sweat, but she carried herself like a conquering empress standing on the deck of a flagship.
"Look at the grain, Captain..." Morwenna rasped, stepping so close her sweating shoulder pressed directly against his bicep. "Two hundred and fifty-six layers of virgin mountain silver woven into a storm-steel edge. It cuts the air without friction and the ocean runes project wider than any spell. Take the hilt and feel the balance of a real warrior’s weapon."
Before Silas could even reach a hand out to touch the leather grip, Eluned floated over to his left side.
The Goddess of Nature aggressively shoved Morwenna’s elbow out of the way with her bare hand and presented her own glowing, one-hundred-and-twenty-eight fold double-edged elven longsword.
Her long silver hair was matted and tangled with sweat, her face smeared with gray ash, and the sleeves of her shirt were pushed up around her shoulders, but her glowing green eyes radiated pure happiness.
"Ignore her crude, rusted pirate cleaver, My Lord," Eluned demanded, pressing her silver-braided sword handle right into Silas’s field of view. "Look at the perfection of my fuller... Look at the symmetry of the double edge. My nature mana purified the sulfur out of the steel during the quench. The forest runes weave faster than her ocean storm so take my blade and feel the balance of divine perfection."
Silas physically froze.
His survival instincts started screaming alarm bells at maximum volume inside his skull. This was quite literally a Death flag!
He looked at Morwenna’s stormy gray eyes.
He looked at Eluned’s glowing green eyes.
’Oh fuck,’ Silas realized in dawning horror. ’Naturally didn’t just spend six hours hammering steel in a roasting brick oven to learn how to blacksmith... Like I suspected earlier, they wanted me to choose’
The math was brutally simple and completely fatal to his peace of mind.
If he reached out and took Morwenna’s cutlass, declaring her two-hundred-and-fifty-six fold weapon the winner of the forge, Eluned’s divine ego would shatter.
The Goddess of Nature would have a complete tsundere meltdown, accuse him of favoring a filthy trench-rat over his divine tether, and probably spend the next month turning his bed sheets into thorny poison ivy or refusing to heal him when he took damage.
If he reached out and took Eluned’s longsword, declaring her double-edged elven design the superior craft, Morwenna would take it as a direct insult to her centuries of naval combat experience.
The Dread Queen would immediately conclude that he thought her swordsmanship was second-rate, lose her temper, and probably challenge him to a bare-knuckle no-holds-barred death match in the muddy courtyard just to prove whose force was superior.
He was standing right on the edge of a military mutiny, trapped between two SSS-rank women who were actively demanding he pick a favorite child.
’Think, Silas, think...’ His inner voice panicked, sweat beads forming on his forehead that had nothing to do with the temperature of the Foundry. ’How do I defuse a bomb when both wires are attached to high-tier explosives?’
He tried to play the objective Warlord.
He carefully reached his right hand out and hovered his fingers over Morwenna’s cutlass, studying the blade with intense exaggerated concentration.
"The forward cutting geometry on this cutlass is undeniably aggressive, Morwenna," Silas noted diplomatically, nodding his head. "The extra folds give the spine a very dense, heavy forward momentum. Incredible slashing potential for breaking through heavy breastplates."
Morwenna smirked, casting a triumphant sneer toward Eluned. "Hear that, weed? He knows real power when he sees it."
Silas didn’t stop there.
He quickly reached his left hand out and hovered his fingers over Eluned’s longsword, inspecting the center fuller with equal, exaggerated intensity.
"However," Silas continued smoothly, shifting his gaze to the Goddess. "The center of gravity on this longsword is engineered closer to the crossguard... The double-edged symmetry allows for much faster directional changes and rapid thrusting recovery in tight combat."
Eluned’s chest puffed out proudly, her green eyes flashing as she glared back at the pirate.
"A wise assessment, My Lord. Precision and speed always conquer brute force."
Silas slowly pulled both of his hands back, crossing his arms over his chest and offering them both a calm, neutral, perfectly balanced Warlord nod.
"You both did incredible work. I’d say it’s a dead tie. Two completely different weapons built for two completely different fighting styles. Flawless execution across the board."
He tried to take a half-step backward toward the assembly table, hoping to make a clean tactical retreat while they digested the diplomatic praise.
They didn’t buy it for a single microsecond.
The fence-sitting diplomacy completely failed.
Morwenna aggressively stepped forward, closing the half-step he had retreated.
She pressed her bare, sweating shoulder firmly against his right hand, holding the cutlass tray higher until the leather grip was touching his shirt.
"Don’t play the safe fence-sitting politician with me, Captain," Morwenna rasped, her stormy gray eyes narrowing into dangerous, predatory slits as she looked right up into his face. "I don’t want a participation trophy and I don’t care about versatility. Who hammered out the superior piece of steel? Whose blade won the forge?"
Simultaneously, Eluned stepped forward on his left side, grabbing his left bicep with her bare hand and pulling him securely back toward her.
She held her silver-braided longsword tray high, pressing herself against his arm.
"Yes, My Lord. Stop trying to flatter us both to escape the judgment," Eluned demanded, her voice ringing with stubborn divine authority. "You are the Lord of this territory. You are the Master of everyone here. You must have standards! Tell us right now: whose craftsmanship is superior? Which sword do you choose?"
The entire Warlord Foundry went completely dead silent.
Over by the anvil benches, the celebration abruptly ceased. Brida stopped banging her battleaxe against her shield.
Tasmin froze with her chained shortswords half-sheathed. Fenna, Elara, and even Thora completely stopped talking.
All five girls turned around, leaning against their tables with wide eyes and popcorn-eating entertainment, silently watching their Gold Core Lord get backed into the most dangerous inescapable social trap of his entire life.
There was no running away...
Both SSS-rank women leaned their faces in close with their eyes locked intensely onto his, presenting their finished silver-patterned handles directly to his hands.
"Choose, Captain..." Morwenna demanded.
"Choose, My Love..." Eluned insisted.
Silas stood in the center of the Warlord Foundry, trapped in the dead silence of the room, staring at the two masterpiece weapons presented to his chest.
On his right, Morwenna’s two-hundred-and-fifty-six fold naval cutlass practically vibrated with deep ocean power.
On his left, Eluned’s one-hundred-and-twenty-eight fold elven longsword radiated a blinding pure starlight aura.
Both women were covered in sweat, soot, and oil.
Both of them were glaring at him with apex-predator intensity, waiting for him to declare a winner.
’This is a lose-lose situation...’ Silas thought, his mind racing through the dialogue tree. ’If I pick the pirate, the goddess burns my bed to ashes. If I pick the elf, the pirate cuts my bed in half. The only winning move here is maximum greed.’
Silas didn’t flinch.
He reached out and placed his right hand firmly around the kraken-leather grip of Morwenna’s cutlass.
At the exact same time, he reached his left hand out and gripped the silver-braided hilt of Eluned’s longsword.
He pulled both blades out of their hands, stepping back and holding them up in the dim light of the dying hearths.
"Like I said before, the cutlass has a brutal forward weight," Silas announced.
He gave Morwenna a nod. "It’s a perfect weapon for shattering a boss monster’s guard."
Morwenna smirked, crossing her bare arms. "Damn right it is."
Silas smoothly shifted his attention to the left blade.
"But the longsword has flawless center-line balance. It’s light and the double edge means I don’t have to waste time turning my wrist to land a backhand strike. It’s a masterpiece of precision."
He lowered both swords, looking at the two SSS-rank women.
"I choose both..." Silas declared.
Morwenna’s smirk vanished.
Her thick eyebrows smashed together in a fierce scowl. "That is a coward’s answer, Captain. You have two hands, but you only fight with one primary stance. Don’t play nice. Who won the forge?"
Eluned immediately backed the pirate up, her glowing green eyes narrowing.
"For once, I agree with the trench-rat. You cannot simply claim both, my Lord. It is an insult to the individual craftsmanship! One blade must be superior!"
"Show me the rulebook," Silas countered flatly.
He didn’t back down an inch. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"Show me the exact rule that says a Lord can’t carry two weapons," Silas challenged them with his golden-ringed eyes locking onto theirs. "I fight whatever jumps out of the dark... Sometimes I need a heavy chopper to break armor... Sometimes I need a fast blade to parry quick strikes... You both built legendary, indestructible weapons so I am taking both."
He slid the longsword into the empty leather loop on his left hip, then rested the heavy cutlass over his right shoulder.
"I’m the Warlord," Silas finalized with a shrug. "I’m allowed to be greedy."
Morwenna opened her mouth to argue, her instincts demanding a clear victory, but the words died in her throat.
The confidence in his voice, combined with the fact that he was physically claiming her weapon to use in life-or-death combat, stroked her ego just enough to pacify her.
Eluned puffed her cheeks out, letting out a long dramatic sigh.
"Fine. If my Lord demands to wield a rusted iron club alongside a divine artifact, I suppose I cannot stop himbut you will clearly use mine more."
"In your dreams, weed," Morwenna grunted, though the homicidal edge had left her voice.
Crisis averted.
’Phewwwww!’
Silas let out a silent breath of relief and turned his attention to the rest of the room.
Brida was strapping her massive Kraken shield to her forearm, Tasmin was spinning her chained shortswords, and the scouts were admiring the tension on their new bows.
"You all did incredible work today," Silas announced to the squad. "We pulled a lot of rare ore out of that mountain, and we built gear that puts the standard merchant guilds to shame. Take the rest of the night off. Get some food, get some rest."
"You heard the Boss!" Thora cheered from the back of the shop, wiping her greasy hands on her apron. "Class dismissed! Come back when you girls want to forge some custom breastplates!"
The girls gave their Warlord a tired but victorious salute and began filing out of the hot, humid Foundry.
Silas, Morwenna, and Eluned were the last ones to leave.
Stepping out of the workshop and back into the cool damp evening air of the Umbral Basin felt like walking into a freezer.
The monsoon rain had finally stopped, leaving the courtyard muddy and covered in low clinging fog.
The three of them walked silently toward the main Keep.
The adrenaline of the forge was rapidly wearing off, leaving behind a deep crushing wave of physical exhaustion.
Silas felt heavy.
His dark canvas undershirt was stiff with dried sweat, soot, and borax powder. Morwenna’s cropped leather top was smeared with black oil, and Eluned’s usually pristine silver hair was tangled into messy, damp knots against her neck.
They pushed through the heavy ironwood front doors of the Keep.