I did think that it was good for the boy to dedicate himself to the blade, but he had a pretentious, ostentatious side and was popular with the ladies (again, I didn’t know where he got this from...), which made him difficult to keep a handle on. He had enjoyed himself during the match today too.
“How old are you now?” I asked. “Eighteen, is that right?”
“Yes, as of this coming winter.”
The Watch had drilled the basics into him, but my son had really come a long way during these three short years. No one in the Fellowship would mock him for his weapon, and he had surpassed many of our oldest members. He was almost too much for our best to handle. I supposed you couldn’t fight your blood. It was a bit late to be wondering anything of the sort, but I couldn’t help but speculate that the skills and traits I’d honed had been passed down.
“Right, right... I had been thinking that your parries and dodges had really improved a lot, but eighteen, huh...”
“It passed by quickly in my eyes,” he replied.
That meant that I couldn’t just treat him like a mere houseguest; he needed proper work. He was an adventurer, yes, but not an occupational one like me. He wasn’t as enamored with the life as I was, so this was probably a good time to ask him what he wanted. According to Miss Firene’s letters, when he was a young boy, he’d said he wanted to become like his papa and played adventurer with the other rowdy kids of Mottenheim.
Anyway, he was the steward of his own future, so as his father I was making sure not to be too expectant or too put out.
“What happened to that guy, by the way?” I asked.
“Oh, he acceded that I won and asked to be my disciple. You were so cold to him that I felt sorry for him and tried to be nice.”
“Yet another disciple of my disciple...”
I puffed out some smoke. Soult shrank back. Seeing him like this, he looked more like Miss Firene than me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“My sword isn’t your sword, Father.”
“Well, of course it isn’t.”
Psyche were one of those rare breeds that trended even frailer than most mensch; they couldn’t wear heavy armor. That meant that Hybrid Sword Arts, which used grapples and throws, was not really best suited to him. His weak bones would start to complain, and he would end up hurting himself instead of damaging the enemy—that was why I had decided that a lighter rapier would suit him far better.
Unfortunately, in Soult’s eyes this wasn’t the swordplay that Goldilocks Erich practiced. He probably felt like this aspect of him was a burden. It made me sad as his father that he didn’t realize that by training him personally and teaching him how to use his sword, I had passed on what I knew.
“I can’t follow in your footsteps, Father... Schutzwolfe will eventually be taken by one of my other siblings,” Soult went on.
I was surprised that this was what he was worrying about. I loved Schutzwolfe, but at the end of the day it was just a sword. Inheriting her didn’t mean you would inherit all the knowledge and skills of Goldilocks Erich too. But it was true that I had used her on a great many adventures now, and she had been sung about in many sagas. I supposed the eldest son would want to inherit such an iconic weapon.
“What do you think strength is?” I asked.
“The ability to never lose to anyone in a match, just like you.”
Despite the fact that I’d only met Soult once or twice per season when he was a young boy, he had really turned out into a bit of a daddy’s boy. I felt sorry that he was chasing a phantom of me and wouldn’t turn to look at the amazing strength he had mustered by his own merit. I sighed and decided that there was nothing to do but hand him the package that was on my display shelf. I tossed it over to him.
“What’s this?!” he said, hugely surprised to see what lay within.
Inside the bundle was a splendid rapier. Of course, it was no average sword. The blade was made from mystarille, and I’d used a College connection to inlay it with a few enchantments that would toughen it up while preserving its flexibility; they told me that it was just about indestructible by physical means. The guard and the pommel were also mystarille, engraved with fine lines. A separate suit of enchantments allowed it to be called back to the wielder’s hand.
“It’s a bit early, but it’s your eighteenth birthday present. You came of age so quickly, I had to hire the best blacksmith in Marsheim to make sure it was finished in time,” I said.
“You didn’t have to... And the best blacksmith in Marsheim?”
“This sword is for you, but I have my own reasons for giving it to you.”
This sword was a one-of-a-kind item that had been crafted, from its weight to its length, entirely for Soult. It was a specialized magic weapon that would make anyone go green with envy, so expensive that your average adventurer would never be able to afford it even if they skipped every meal.
“You might be wondering why I’m focusing on eighteen, but that age has meaning to me, so I wanted to get you something,” I said.
“I couldn’t possibly accept something like this...”
“It’s yours. I made it for you—your hand and your skills. It’s far more valuable than this old thing.”
“Oh, Father...”
As Soult took a few practice swings, I took another drag of my pipe. Come to think of it, I had developed a real soft spot for children too. Eighteen was a milestone back on Earth, but it was also how old I’d been when he was born. And here I was making a sword for him just because he’d reached that point. Mister Giesebrecht had a habit of giving tailors fancy fabric and asking them to make Soult a new wardrobe each year, but it looked like I was no longer in the position to throw stones.
“Listen to me, Soult. You need to leave a legacy with your own name. Don’t copy me and try to achieve things while staying obsessed with one old sword,” I said.
“Right!”
“By the way, that sword is as of yet unnamed.”
“Huh?”
“Give it a name that you like. The sword is designed such that when you call its name for the first time, it shall be engraved on the tang.”
Names were, from a magical perspective, a sort of handle you could put on things. The sorcerer blacksmiths had wanted to name it themselves, as they’d poured their souls into this thing, but I’d said that Soult deserved the honor. Otherwise it wouldn’t truly be his blade.