Published: September 4, 2025
Satou here. During the deflation era, so-called "problematic goods" often circulated, and it seems that even in another world, such items exist.
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"Look, sir, I've been telling you this—only the top-tier blacksmiths among the dwarves, like the Old Dohal's direct disciples, can handle high-quality materials like Mithril. Us low-ranking dwarves usually just forge ordinary iron swords. We've never even dealt with Mithril."
The dwarf man, who was being pressed, shrugged his shoulders and said dismissively.
"That can’t be... then where can I buy one? I’ve come all the way from Grylian City for this."
"Even if you ask us, we can't say."
The dwarves seemed at a loss on how to handle the overly dramatic nobleman.
"At this time of year, there are many like him. In about eight days, when the month changes, the Duke's Capital will hold its once-every-three-years martial arts tournament. That's when people come looking to buy Mithril weapons in this town."
Jojori explained this and said, "I'll go settle this," then went off to calm the scene. There were people hidden nearby as guards, so it should be fine.
Since the tournament starts next week, it seemed unlikely to be in time, but the preliminary rounds are held in various cities within the Duke's territory, so it was okay. Unfortunately, there are no preliminaries in Boruehart City.
The opponent is the viscount’s fourth son, level 6, with a sword skill. Even with a Mithril sword, it didn’t seem like he could do well in the martial arts tournament.
"Mr. Gobellir, is something wrong?"
"Oh, Jojori's sister. This man has been persistently demanding a Mithril sword."
"What? Are you the one selling it?"
"I'm sorry, but Mithril weapons are by reservation only. Also, you need a letter of introduction from certain people like his grace the duke or the prefect."
"What... then I can’t get a Mithril sword...?"
The nobleman muttered and collapsed heavily to the ground—he then lost consciousness.
Judging by his tattered clothes and cape, it was probably from the fatigue of a long journey.
Jojori carried the man back. Carrying a grown man so easily—typical of a dwarf.
The dining hall's landlady came out and laid the nobleman down on a bench in the corner. How kind—she could have just left him in the shade somewhere.
"He seems overworked. It’s common for younger sons of nobles or fallen aristocrats to push themselves on forced marches and collapse like that."
Is it a seasonal occurrence?
But I think wielding a Mithril sword is pretty difficult to master.
The one who answered that question wasn’t Jojori, but a woman in armor who seemed to be a warrior accompanying the nobleman. She was about sixteen with a somewhat youthful face, thick eyebrows, and deep blonde hair. Her figure was hard to tell under the metal armor, but she seemed fairly well-built. She was level 7, with one-handed sword and shield skills, and seemed to serve the viscount’s family.
"I'm sorry for the trouble, young master. He desperately wants a Mithril sword. Is there any way to get one?"
"Even if you say that... if you bring a mithril ingot as material, there might be craftsmen who can forge it, but otherwise, it’s impossible because all the slots are reserved by his grace the duke and the prefects."
The female warrior was more constructive than the nobleman earlier, but Jojori’s answer was not encouraging. By the way, "prefect" refers to nobles assigned as governors of cities other than the Duke's Capital in the Duke's territory. Their term lasts about five years before someone else replaces them.
Still, if it’s that reservation-based, was it really okay to receive such a famous sword?
While I was wiping Pochi’s mouth, which was stained with meat juices as if unconcerned by the conversation, the woman suddenly turned her attention to me.
"You there, sir. I believe your sword is made of Mithril. It’s a bold request, but would you be willing to part with it?"
"I refuse."
How do you recognize it so well without an appraisal skill?