“Alright, everyone, listen up! Allow me to tell you about my noble sword—!” a drunken adventurer shouted, stomping his foot on a tabletop for emphasis. “This is a legendary blade, secretly forged by the blacksmith known as the Axe King!”

“That’s a creative way of saying it doesn’t have a blacksmith’s mark! You got scammed, you fool!” another traveler retorted, holding his own sword high. Its blade was so long it nearly scraped the ceiling. “If you want to see a true legendary blade, look at this! Behold the perfect curvature, as if blessed by the Supreme God himself!”

“You’re both ridiculous. Why are you showing off junk with no clear origin? Do you have any idea what the treasured sword in my possession is worth?”

As the boasts continued, each man trying to one-up the last, Egru felt an undeniable itch to speak.

D-D’Élysée praised my sword, too…

He said it was a cool name and that it suited him well. If that was true, wouldn’t other people like it, too? Egru’s hand went to the triangular sword at his hip—to Barbal.

Perhaps it was the copious amount of apple wine he’d consumed, but a surge of confidence he could never normally muster bubbled up inside him.

St-Still…

D’Élysée had told him not to move from his seat.

Egru peeked in the direction D’Élysée had disappeared. The staircase, dimmer and quieter than the bustling hall, was shrouded in shadow. He then glanced toward where Gilbert had gone. The privy was outside the main building, and he could see the side door Gilbert had burst through. It swung back and forth in the night breeze with a lonely creak, creak.

It looked like they’d both be a while.

Huh?

Egru rubbed his woozy eyes. What was this?

‘Wouldn’t it be fine if you’re back before they are?’

Somehow, a little devil had appeared on his shoulder. It looked exactly like him, but with tiny horns on its head and the miniature stature of a spirit.

‘Let’s go, I’m telling you.’

It even poked Egru’s cheek with a tiny black trident.

‘Look at them. They’re desperately waiting for a new sword to make its debut.’

Was this the apple wine talking? It was a truly remarkable hallucination.

‘All you have to do is show it off and come right back. Everyone will worship your Barbal.’

The little devil’s sweet temptations continued. No, I can’t, Egru thought, rejecting the idea even as a wide grin spread across his face.

‘Are you really going to miss such a golden opportunity? Your companions will see you in a whole new light.’

Hmm…

‘Just imagine your magnificent self, standing with Barbal, receiving the adulation of those crooked-nosed drunkards. The humiliating memory of what happened with that tentacle monster will be forgotten in an instant.’

Before he knew it, Egru was on his feet, stumbling slightly.

R-Really? You think so?

‘Of course I do! Now move those lazy feet, will you?’

Urged on by the little devil, Egru scurried forward, a growing sense of excitement bubbling within him. The wooden floor seemed to sway beneath his feet like an amusement park ride.

“Forget all that, and look at this! This finely crafted brass helmet is rumored to have been a favorite of a Demon King’s commander!”

“Who’s gonna fall for a baseless rumor like that? My sword is infused with the fang of a basilisk! I even have a certificate of authenticity from the Grand Duke of the Giel Principality!”

“E-Excuse me…”

Egru squeezed his way through the crowd of flushed-faced adventurers. This was the power of his courage potion: fermented apple wine.

“What is it, elf?”

“It’s a living elf! Am I seeing a mirage?”

In an instant, all eyes were on him.

“You here to show off your weapon, too, little guy?”

“I-I’m not a little guy…!” Egru declared, puffing out his chest with a proud grin. “I have a sword, too! May I show it to you?”

“You carry a sword, not a staff?”

“Aren’t elves usually specialized in magic? I heard they were a race blessed by mana.”

“W-Well, I’m going to be a Hero!” Egru announced with a laugh, steadying his swaying body.

“An elf Hero?”

“Whatever, just show us what you’ve got. I’m curious to see what kind of sword an elf uses.”

Egru managed to calm his racing heart. He counted silently—one, two, three—and with a flourish, drew Barbal from his hip, presenting the lovely sword that had already become such a reliable companion.

“M-My sword! If you look at the hilt, there’s a rainbow…!”

“Pfft.“

A single snort of derision was the spark that ignited an explosion of roaring laughter. Unaware of their mockery, Egru earnestly continued his explanation.

“Its name is Barbal!”

“Bal-bal?’ Are you trying to make us die of laughter?”

“N-No. Ba-Bar, no, it’s Barbal…”

Does it sound like that if I mispronounce it?

No matter how many times Egru carefully enunciated the name, the ridicule didn’t stop.

“Oh, my sword! Bal-bal!” one man howled, slapping his knee.

“There’s a limit to jokes! What the hell is a ‘Bal-bal’?! Hahaha!”

Seeing Egru’s bewildered expression, the crowd’s laughter grew even louder.

“Get a grip, kid! You call that thing a sword?”

“You couldn’t even hurt an owl with something that ridiculous-looking! I’d believe you if you said it was a gardening trowel!”

The more intense the jeers became, the harder it was for Egru to hold back his tears. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but feelings he might normally shrug off now struck him with overwhelming force.

Th-This is my proud sword…

But apparently, no one else thought so. Still, he loved Barbal, even if they didn’t. He shouldn’t have been so conceited as to try and show it off. Just as Egru was chiding himself for his drunken foolishness, the white blade began to vibrate with a resonant hum.

Smack!

“Ah, ahh! Give it back, please!”

“Wouldn’t it be better to melt this down and make a scrap metal pot?”

An adventurer, thoroughly soused, snatched Barbal from his grasp. Egru reached out in a panic, but his fingers met only air.

“Let’s go, you and me, straight to the blacksmith!”

“No! You can’t!”

The desperate, one-sided struggle was cut short.

“It’s the finest of them all.”

A deep, low voice rumbled from above. The ever-growing laughter died in an instant.

It was Gilbert. His frame was so large his head nearly brushed the ceiling beams, and every man in the room held his breath as they looked up at him.

“This one’s sword is the finest of them all. Isn’t that right?”

Faced with his menacing growl, everyone snapped their mouths shut. A hush fell over the crowd as if doused with ice water, the atmosphere freezing in an instant.

“A weapon, by its very nature, is merely a tool.”

D’Élysée stood there, holding Barbal, though Egru hadn’t seen him retrieve it.

“Its true value is determined by the one who wields it. In my brother’s possession, Barbal is already a blade of the highest caliber.”

D’Élysée smiled, placing the sword back into Egru’s hand. His verdant eyes swept slowly over the adventurers, an icy gaze that seemed to memorize each of their faces.

“We’re all in agreement, are we not?”

Sensing the unspoken threat, the drunkards nodded their heads frantically, the alcohol seeming to have vanished from their systems in a flash.

“You know, looking at it again, it’s quite magnificent.”

“It really is. My eyes have been getting blurry lately. I failed to recognize such a treasured sword.”

“That’s right. An oversized blade is just a hindrance in a narrow dungeon anyway.”

The adventurers, having changed their tune in a heartbeat, began to shower the sword with praise.

“I’m sorry for snatching your sword, kid. I went too far.”

“Of course, a talent like an ‘elf Hero’ needs that kind of originality.”

Only then was Egru able to smile, tears welling in his eyes.

***

The three of them entered the inn room together. The bed was too small for three people, but the room itself was quite spacious.

“What are you hiding back there, hyung?”

Egru jumped at D’Élysée’s question. He thought he’d hidden it well under his clothes. The bottle was his first-ever gift; he wanted to keep it as a souvenir.

“Don’t tell me… it’s not, is it?”

At D’Élysée’s probing, Egru fidgeted before squeezing his eyes shut. D’Élysée stepped closer, his face so near that Egru could feel the bridge of his nose almost touching his own as he sniffed the air around him.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Hiccup.“

A cold sweat broke out on Egru’s forehead. Perhaps because he had drunk it all alone, an enormous wave of guilt crashed over him.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Gilbert remarked, sniffing the air. “I thought you were a stray who didn’t know how to have a little fun.”

“Did you get this yourself? Don’t tell me you carelessly drank something a stranger gave you.”

Unlike Gilbert, who was smiling faintly, D’Élysée’s tone was sharp and interrogating. Egru clutched the empty bottle and whimpered.

“It was a g-gift…”

“And you think that makes it safe? You were just lucky this time.” D’Élysée raked a hand roughly through his hair and snatched the bottle away. “I thought you were just tired because you were stumbling around, but what’s this? You did something completely out of character. What would you have done if it had a sleeping draft in it? Did you want to wake up in a slave market?”

“I-I’ve already been there…”

“Look at this. You’re so drunk you’re talking nonsense. Did you do something wrong, or not?”

“I did, I did something wrong…”

Under the strict scolding, Egru swallowed a sob. He was so drunk he was nodding off, but he continued to rub at his tear-filled eyes. D’Élysée stared down at the glistening amber orbs. His throat worked. He desperately wanted to close the distance and kiss him, but he managed to rein in the impulse with a thread of rationality. That warm, soft mouth would be filled with a sweet taste.

“Don’t take such careless risks. If something happened to you… what would I do?”

His expression softening, D’Élysée pulled Egru into a hug to comfort him.

“You can never, ever act like that again.”

“Okay, I’m sorry…”

“Forget the boring stick-in-the-mud and lie down here, elf-ears,” Gilbert said, already stretched out on the bed, patting the space beside him.

D’Élysée, however, lifted his brother into his arms and carried him toward a blanket spread on the floor. As much as he wanted to kick Gilbert out, his brother looked far too exhausted for another argument.

“On second thought, I want to sleep on the floor.” Gilbert suddenly sat bolt upright. “You take the bed.”

“Don’t you dare come down here. It’s too cramped.”

As the two bickered, Egru rubbed at his heavy eyelids, trying to focus his fading consciousness. A sudden laugh escaped him. They were just like Kam and Kum, a pair of baby dragons who still needed to be looked after.

I’ll let them have both the bed and the floor.

He began to crawl on all fours toward a dresser on the opposite side of the room. He pulled open a drawer; it was three or four times larger than the three-tiered one he’d used in the capital. Instinctively, Egru curled up inside the familiar space.

“Hyung, why are you trying to sleep in there!”

D’Élysée pulled him out of the drawer in horror, while Gilbert shot D’Élysée a look of pure disgust.

“Didn’t you two live together before? You made him sleep in a place like that…?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Hyung, come here. Let’s you and I just go to another inn.”

Egru, overwhelmed by sleep, smacked his lips. Their voices began to blur and fade into a distant hum. And so, what had been a rather enjoyable night, drew to a close.