The Twenty-Fifth Chapter: The Precious Sword

  Gan Jiang and his wife Mo Ye were master swordsmiths in ancient China. Gan Jiang was ordered by the King of Chu to forge a divine sword, but after a long time, he still couldn't complete it. His wife Mo Ye helped her husband by jumping into the iron water on the day of forging the sword, and the divine sword was finally made.

  In Arvad's mind, there emerged an ancient Chinese story. After reading the story, he also looked up other books and found that the Chinese had already understood in the 5th century AD that to cast good iron swords, they needed to add some other substances, among which the most mysterious was human blood, thus giving rise to the legend of "blood sacrifice for divine sword". In fact, it all boiled down to the fact that human blood contains many trace elements, which entered the molten iron during the casting process and increased the hardness and toughness of the iron sword.

  "It's tree sap, just use honey or plant sap to cool it down during quenching and you can cast a good sword." Arwade didn't tell the old man about using blood sacrifice method, because this method would lead to other extreme things, and according to his previous life research, using plant juice and honey had the same effect.

  "What? Is that so?" The old man's eyes emitted a strange glow, he stretched out his own withered hand and grabbed Arwade's arm, his face almost stuck to Arwade's face.

  "Father, let go of this noble." Eoin hastily intervened, prying his father off the sword-carrying aristocrat, deeply afraid that his crazed father would enrage the man.

  "It doesn't matter." Arwade waved his hand calmly, knowing that when one's thinking enters a dead end, and someone suddenly opens a door to another world of knowledge, the unparalleled joy is something others cannot experience.

  Suddenly, the old man fainted without warning in Arwade's arms, which gave Arwade a big fright. He subconsciously wanted to take out his phone to take pictures as evidence, but suddenly remembered that this was the Middle Ages and mobile phones were just a fantasy. What should he do if he got scammed? Fortunately, people in the Middle Ages didn't have the bad habit of not daring to help when an old man fell down. Owen apologized to Arwade, explaining that the old man had been working for several days and nights, relying on his spirit of exploration to hold on. Now that he heard Arwade reveal the mystery, his heart relaxed and his body immediately fainted from exhaustion, so it was not intentional disrespect towards the noble lord.

  "Lord Arwode, here are the 15 helmets and three pieces of leather armor I've kept for you." That night, when the bell tolled from the chapel in the castle, Owen personally delivered the helmets to Arwode's camp. To thank Arwode for teaching his father the casting technique, Owen almost gave away the equipment at a very low price, saying that his father was preparing to cast a sword using the technique taught by Arwode and would give it to him as a gift if successful.

  "Not bad, Arvid. I don't know what method you used to get that blacksmith to give us so much equipment, but you're really capable." Eivind said with a horn cup in his hand, drinking the malt liquor inside and praising Arvid. Since they fought side by side, the two brothers' feelings had become better and better.

  "Arvid, did you find anything to buy at the market?" Sir Wendel also emerged from the tent, stretching his waist, and the sword hanging on his belt hit his body with a crisp sound. With sufficient funds, the knight was in a very good mood.

  "Ah, yes, it's this kind of goods that If is holding in his hands." Arwade pointed at If and said to Sir Wendel.

  "What?" Yifu looked at the wine cup in his hand with confusion, not understanding Arto's meaning. Was Arto going to give up on the wine business?

  "I've noticed that many merchants in the market are selling malt beer, and it seems to be very cheap here." Arwade didn't pay attention to Yifu, but instead spoke her mind to Sir Wendel. She really didn't know why there were so many merchants selling barrels of malt beer in the market. They must have received news of the army's gathering and rushed to collect malt beer from all over the Holy Roman Empire, wanting to make a big profit. However, it turned out that there were too many people selling malt beer in the market, resulting in oversupply, and the price of malt beer plummeted.

  "But the price of malt liquor is really too low, how can we sell it if we buy it? Even local businessmen refuse to purchase malt liquor." Yifu shook his head, thinking that Arwade's idea was unrealistic. Indeed, what Yifu said was also a fact, but Arwade didn't think so.

  "We'll bring these ales along, I reckon Duke Mason will be leading us out soon, and the troops will definitely consume a lot of ale on the march. If we sell them to our allies, we'll make a pretty penny." Arwode said with a smile, the dry military life had made many soldiers develop a drinking habit, they could go for days without eating but couldn't go a day without drinking, from knights to light infantrymen, no one could do without ale.

  "Oh, how did you know the Duke was preparing to set out?" Sir Wendel asked curiously, for since Sir Ebor's visit and his admission of Arin's lifesaving intervention, he had found his young son to be increasingly mysterious.

  "Hah, with so many troops gathered here, although we brought our own food, the duke still has to provide some. For the wealthy and arrogant Herman family, it's nothing at first, but if this continues for a long time, their castle's granary will be emptied quickly. Rather than that, it's better to send us off to battle soon. After sending us on our way, at least the duke won't have to bear the burden of food anymore. Once we enter enemy territory, we can also plunder food locally." Arwade said while analyzing the situation.

  "That's right." Sir Wendel nodded his head, delighted that a clever child had finally appeared in his family.

  What Arvid said was right, but Duke Meissen didn't hastily dismiss the assembled vassal troops either. Duke Meissen had his own plan and had long wanted to get rid of the detestable Duke of Saxony. He even believed that at the last Imperial Diet, if it weren't for the damned Duke of Saxony opposing him, he would have become the Holy Roman Emperor himself, and not that bird-brained Henry who spent all day catching birds. It was said that when the Electors voted for him, Henry was still in the forest catching goldfinches. Therefore, Duke Meissen decided to concentrate all his strength to wipe out the Saxon army once and for all, capture the duke alive, or at least make him die in prison, refusing any ransom, even if it meant damaging his own honor. He had already begun thinking about which torture devices would be most suitable.

  "Is my father not ready yet?" Several days later, Sir Ebor and General Ryl walked through the market with two sword-bearing guards in front of and behind them. Life in the castle was dull and uninteresting, nothing like the excitement of the market. Sir Ebor used the excuse of patrolling the streets to take General Ryl out of the castle, chatting idly as they strolled.

  "Yes, the Duke thinks our men are not enough, he has summoned some vassals from the border again, who are said to be good at raising horses." General Ralf glanced around casually, on one hand answering Sir Eber's question, and on the other hand paying attention to the safety of his surroundings, without any mind to notice interesting things.

  "Ha, my father is indeed too cautious, but the Saxons are not easy to deal with. We've lost several border skirmishes." Sir Ebor was in high spirits, looking around at everyone busy and having a great time. Just then, he saw a blacksmith holding an ordinary-looking sword, but doing something extraordinary. The other blacksmiths seemed to be shouting in discontent, while the one holding the sword simply raised it and struck down at a hanging iron sickle with a loud clang, splitting it into two pieces.

  "This is impossible, where did you get the Milan sword?" The other blacksmiths gasped in unison, speaking in a tone of utter incredulity.

  "Good sword, is this yours?" Sir Ebril's eyes stared straight at the sword in the blacksmith's hand. As a knight, he had an almost instinctual love for weapons and equipment, unlike his father who liked plotting and scheming, he was a good fellow who liked to fight under the sun.

  "It's not bad at all." The young blacksmith was Owen, and what he held in his hand was a sword made by his father himself according to Arwode's secret technique. When quenching, honey water was used inside, which was a bit luxurious, but the effect was really good. The forged sword was exactly the same as the Milanese sword, no, it was even better than the Milanese sword in some aspects.

  Eon had been holding onto the sword, intending to work at the blacksmith's shop before going to find Arwold and deliver the sword as his father requested. However, he couldn't withstand the teasing of the other blacksmiths, and in a moment of impulsiveness, the young man picked up the sword that his father had poured his heart and soul into and cut through farm tools. Unbeknownst to him, this scene was witnessed by Sir Ebral, and such a fine sword would naturally catch his attention.

  "Not yours, then whose is it? Bring him out." Sir Ebor asked hastily, his eyes completely absorbed by the strange glow emitted from the sword in Owen's hand, if not for his own identity he would have almost snatched it away to take a closer look.

  "This sword was forged by my father and me." Owen replied honestly, his tone slightly panicked as he was already flanked by two guards on either side of him. Even a fool could tell that the noble in front of him was not someone to be trifled with.

  "Oh, name your price then." Sir Ebril breathed a sigh of relief, as long as it was something sold in the blacksmith's shop he would be able to afford it, no matter how high the price, and if need be he could always sell some of his own silverware.

  "But this sword already has an owner." Ewan said awkwardly, hugging the sword in his hands and speaking hesitantly to Sir Evale.

  "What? Who bought it?" Sir Eubel's face turned pale at once, his thin eyebrows knitted together as he immediately inquired of Owen.