"Weilin! Is something the matter?"
Leilin looked at the attendant the baron had recommended to him and asked with a smile.
"No, sir! I just need to report on today's business!" Weilin did his best to keep from looking too nervous.
"A lot of people have shown interest in the weapons we sell, but boss… the prices you set seem to be a touch high, so our sales haven't been great. I'm actually worried that by the end of the month the shop will be operating at a loss…"
"I see. That's all, you may go."
Leilin waved his hand, looking entirely unconcerned.
"Fine! You're the boss! What you say goes!" Seeing this, Weilin became even more convinced of his assessment — this lord named Leilin was absolutely some ancient noble's heir who had come here out of boredom to experience ordinary life. Otherwise, there was no way he would act so casually about all of this.
After Weilin left, Leilin returned to the book in his hands.
On the pale-yellow parchment pages, rune after rune in red flickered and danced like tongues of flame.
"Trying to design my own weapon independently, modelling it after the Dawnbringer Light… it really is quite difficult," Leilin sighed.
The reason he had opened this weapon shop was simply so that, while recovering from his injuries, he would have a forging space of his own where he could conduct small-scale weapon experiments.
As for all those swords and blades out front? They were nothing more than by-products of his experimentation.
……
In a trance, two years slipped by.
The residents of Bert Town had long grown accustomed to the weapon-shop owner they called Lord Leilin.
Leilin kept largely to himself in daily life. He rarely even tended to the shop, and had since handed over day-to-day operations entirely to Weilin, only dropping in from time to time to take a casual glance.
Because he maintained his disguise so well, nobody had ever discovered that he was a Wizard. At most, people assumed he was some young noble with eccentric hobbies.
With the passage of time, the letters spelling out "Hammer & Flame" above the storefront had begun to chip and fade, giving off an air of mild decay.
The shop as a whole remained in its usual half-alive state — known for the quality of its wares, yet so expensive that most customers were put off.
Leilin had no intention of making money from this venture. Moreover, if he lowered his prices, not only would he be inundated with orders, but the neighboring shops would grow jealous. He did not fear trouble, but neither did he wish to invite petty nuisances that would waste his mental energy.
"Weilin! I'm here again!"
At the sound of the voice, a brown-haired boy walked in through the shop's entrance. He wore a short-sleeved linen shirt with several patches on it, but his eyes were bright and lively, giving him a very clever look.
"Oh, it's Lombard," Weilin greeted him with a helpless expression.
"Heh heh! Weilin, let me help you!" Lombard said, unceremoniously snatching the rag from Weilin's hand and beginning to wipe down the wooden racks and display cabinets.
His movements were practiced, and he knew all the hard-to-reach spots well — clearly this was not the first time he had done this.
After he had polished every shelf and cabinet to a gleam, Lombard looked up at Weilin with eager anticipation, wearing an expression that begged for praise and reward.
"There he goes again…" Weilin pressed his forehead, his face a picture of resignation.
"I'll say this once more — five minutes only! And you must not tell anyone! Especially the boss!!!"
If it were not for the fact that the boy had a pretty older sister, Weilin would never have indulged him like this.
"Got it! Got it!"
Lombard nodded his head like a chick pecking at rice, then walked up to one of the racks and carefully pulled out a silver Cross Sword.
The blade was relatively short — a perfect fit for Lombard's stature — about two fingers wide. The hilt was made of pure silver and set with a red gemstone, giving it a very luxurious appearance.
Obviously, with Lombard's financial situation, no matter how long he saved up, he could never afford something like this.
But now, Lombard held the Cross Sword reverently in both palms, as though he were cradling some priceless treasure.
"Hah!"
Lombard gripped the sword in both hands and swung it forward in a clumsy slash — an awkward imitation of a fencing technique.
"Oh, little Lombard… I hate to say it, but if you keep learning from those ordinary guards, you'll never become a Knight in your lifetime."
Weilin shook his head helplessly from the side. Bert was only a small town, and the only Knight among them was the baron's captain of the guard. The rest of the guards were simply conscripted farmers — what skill could they possibly have?
But ever since he was young, Lombard had dreamed of becoming a Knight! He would even sneak off to watch the guards' training sessions.