Chapter 02
“Daaad—!”
“Y-yeah, my daughter. Dad’s not deaf. I can hear you, Eve.”
“Don’t make swords!”
“Okay, okay… are you still feeling unwell? Let’s have another glass of milk and get some good rest.”
“N-no, don’t make swords! If you make swords, you’ll die! That, um… what was it…? That iron drains your life—mmph!”
“Mhm, mhm. My dear daughter, I’ll make sure to call a doctor tomorrow.”
Muttering to himself, Dad forcibly stuffed a piece of bread into my mouth.
Because of that, I had no choice but to chew on bread I didn’t even want to eat.
Even after that, I didn’t give up and clung to him.
“Don’t make swords! Don’t make them!”
“What’s gotten into her again? Sweetie, go outside and play, okay? Dad’s busy—”
Dad was a stubborn adult who wouldn’t listen to a single word from an eight-year-old.
In the end, I gave up on persuading him and had to look for another method.
And that method was—
‘Sabotaging his business!’
From then on, I secretly took the swords Dad worked so hard to make, went to the marketplace, plopped down, and put on a performance.
“Uwaaah, why won’t this sword cut potatoes—!”
“Huh? Now it won’t even cut ham!”
“There’s no way a sword made by Mr. Roiz could be this usel—worthless—!”
My sabotage worked, and the number of heroes coming to commission swords from Dad decreased day by day.
Dad shed tears without even knowing I was the one ruining his business.
‘Dad, I’m sorry.’
I want to live with you for a long, long time.
Dragging the Excalibur Dad made for my seventh birthday behind me, I headed home and apologized to him in my heart.
…Poor Dad.
He probably never imagined this sword would be used like this when he made it for me.
***
“Daughter.”
“Mm.”
“Why aren’t we getting any customers these days?”
Gulp.
Ignoring the prickling guilt in my chest, I swung a flyswatter at a buzzing fly.
Smack.
“Sweetie, tell me. Are Dad’s swords bad? Huh? Are they terrible? Is that why people aren’t coming?”
“No way, Dad. Your swords are the best in the world.”
Yeah, this part was absolutely true.
Because in the original novel, Dad was described as “the greatest weapon craftsman in the world, Neil Roiz.”
So the reason no one came to commission swords wasn’t because of his skill—it was because of my behind-the-scenes interference.
And of course, Dad knew that too.
Even though he now lived quietly in this rural village, he once used to travel to the capital on noble commissions when he was younger.
“…That can’t be! I’m Neil Roiz! Huh? These villagers just don’t recognize it, but the swords I make are the best in the world! These fools can’t recognize a masterpiece!”
Dad grabbed his greasy, unwashed hair with both hands and wailed loudly.
Used to this by now, I comforted him and gently smoothed back his messy hair as I leaned against his shoulder.
“Geez, Dad. Don’t cry. There, there. Even if we don’t sell swords, we’re still getting by, right? Remember the money you got from fixing Uncle Grover’s farming tools?”
“But selling even one sword earns much more! Then why aren’t I getting any commissions? These are amazing swords!”
“I know, right? Sigh… our Dad’s swords are this amazing.”
…Dad, I’m sorry.
I did my best to comfort him.
Dad hugged me tightly, saying, “As expected, my Eve is the best—!”
At that moment—
Ding-dong—
The bell hanging outside the workshop—our house—rang.
‘Who could it be?’
No one ever comes to our house. …Don’t tell me it’s some foolish hero who hasn’t heard the rumor yet that my dad is a “terrible” blacksmith?
Dad, who had been crying, suddenly lifted his head.
“Y-yes, I’m coming, coming—”
His glasses were crooked on the bridge of his nose.
I quickly fixed them for him, pushed him back into his seat, and said energetically:
“Dad! I’ll go check!”
I had a bad feeling about this.
A very strong feeling that some hero customer had come to trouble my dad.
Fortunately, Dad nodded readily.
I quickly left the workshop, passed through the house via the back door, and stood at the front entrance.
Click.
Then I opened the small keyhole in the door and peeked outside.
As soon as I did, I heard the voices of men standing there.
“Are you sure Neil Roiz lives in this run-down house?”
“I told you! My information is reliable!”
Damn it—heroes!
I knew it. I had a bad feeling for a reason.
I should’ve closed the back door. In my hurry, I had left it open.
I glanced toward it, worried their voices might reach Dad in the workshop.
‘Dad won’t come out, right?’
But if I went to close it now and they left thinking, “Let’s come back later,” that would be a problem.
If they came back another time when I wasn’t home and only Dad was…
‘Sigh, it would be nice if I knew what the main hero party looked like.’
I knew this world was from a novel, but unfortunately, I didn’t know the protagonist’s face.
So I couldn’t tell which of these heroes would eventually work my dad to death.
Which meant I had to reject every single one of them.
Sighing, I hid Dad’s shoes deep inside the shoe cabinet, then placed two pairs of old women’s shoes—borrowed from Aunt Hillary—where they could be clearly seen.
Then I flung the door open.
The heroes must have expected an adult man to appear, because they didn’t even look down at first.
When no one appeared at their eye level, they finally lowered their gaze.
“…What, it’s just a kid?”
What, rude heroes?
Suppressing the urge to slam the door in their faces, I put on the most innocent expression I could and said:
“W-who are you?”
“This is Mr. Neil Roiz’s house, right? Ah, are you his daughter?”
Haha, I knew that question would come.
I stepped slightly aside so the women’s shoes would be visible and lowered my eyes, answering politely in a thin voice:
“N-Neil? No… I live here with my mom.”
“…You live with your mom?”
“Yes… sniff! I… I don’t have a dad!”
I don’t have a dad.
At my words, the heroes exchanged confused glances.
At that moment, Dad’s voice echoed faintly from the workshop.
“Eve! Who is it? Why is it taking so long?”
Gasp, this is bad.
The heroes also seemed to hear the voice and looked down at me suspiciously.
“That voice just now…”
“M-my mom’s voice is a bit… husky.”
“Eve! Daughter!”
“…But that clearly sounded like a man’s voice.”
“M-my mom has a cold! It’s very rude to say she sounds like a man, sniff sniff!”
“Uh… kid, I-I’m sorry.”
“If you’re sorry, then please leave!”
Forcing out tears, I pushed them out the door and slammed it shut—bang!
At that exact moment, Dad flung the back door open and stepped inside.
