I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 163: The Lost Blacksmith(2)

The Dean's eyes swept across the vast chamber, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to pure astonishment as she took in the sight before her.

Before her stood rows upon rows of weapons, each encased perfectly in glass, their presence emanating a raw, undeniable power.

They weren't ordinary weapons—not even close.

Each blade, staff, and artifact carried distinct energies, yet within them, she could sense their unique classifications—

Holy. Demonic. Perfect Elementals and many other different attributes.

And the terrifying part?

Every single one of them… was Legendary.

Some—perhaps even Mythical.

The Dean's voice was sharp, pressing, laced with genuine disbelief—

"Where did you get all this?"

She took a slow step forward, scanning the weapons again—perfectly preserved.

Hamiel exhaled, crossing his arms as he gazed proudly at his collection, his voice carrying the weight of an undeniable truth.

"Have you ever seen me leave the Academy?"

His words were casual, yet his meaning was clear.

"Where do you think I would get these? I made every single one of them myself."

The Dean's breath hitched slightly.

That alone was enough of a revelation—but Hamiel wasn't finished yet.

His eyes shone with pride as he continued—

"These are my best children. Each of them has a will of their own."

The Dean froze, her mind racing as she processed what those words truly meant.

Weapons with a will of their own…

That meant—with a perfect wielder, each one might grow into an ego weapon.

The Dean's voice carried curiosity, yet beneath it—a tinge of disbelief.

"For how long have you been making these?"

Hamiel's expression remained firm, his words carrying a calm certainty—

"How long? Every single one of these was crafted long before you and that sword-obsessed brat were students in the Academy."

His tone was matter-of-fact, dismissing any thought that this collection was something recent.

The Dean, though momentarily speechless, quickly regained herself, shifting the conversation forward—

"So, what's your purpose for bringing me here? Don't tell me you want to gift them all to me. How kind of you—"

Her words carried a teasing lilt, but the moment they left her lips—Hamiel's demeanor hardened.

His gaze sharpened, his stance unwavering as he interrupted her outright—

"Keep your delusions to yourself. If you even dare try touching one of them, I'll declare war against you."

There was no jest in his words—his seriousness settled over the room like a forge's heat.

The Dean clicked her tongue, a hint of frustration slipping through—yet the atmosphere shifted as Hamiel continued.

"These children are also one of the very reasons why I never crafted you a weapon."

He turned, facing the vast collection with unmatched pride before finishing—

"These weapons choose their wielders. Now—can you sense any resonance with them?"

His words weren't a command—they were an invitation.

The Dean extended her senses, allowing her natural perception to spread through the chamber.

She remained silent for several moments, letting the energy shift through her awareness—and then, finally, she spoke.

"Three. Two wands and one staff."

Hamiel's voice carried calm certainty, his words slicing through the silence with the weight of undeniable truth—

"That's only after you became an Ascended."

The Dean's brow furrowed slightly, her intrigue shifting into mild confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Hamiel's stance remained firm, his expression unwavering as he continued—

"How many times do you think you came to my office before becoming an Ascended?"

There was no need for her to answer—they both knew the number was high.

"I don't even need to step into that place to feel my children resonate. I can sense it from outside."

His arms crossed as he stared her down, knowing the truth had settled deep.

"And the countless times you visited before ascending—not a single one of them picked you."

The Dean's lips parted slightly before pressing into a thin line.

A low mutter, barely audible, slipped from her mouth—

"Maybe I should break them all."

Hamiel's eyes narrowed instantly, his aura shifting ever so slightly—

"What did you say?"

Her response was immediate, as if shutting down further discussion—

"Nothing."

Hamiel exhaled sharply before turning, motioning with his hand—

"Now, follow me."

The Dean floated behind him without further protest, her presence trailing as the bookshelf slid back into place, closing the passageway with a final click.

Back in the office, Hamiel leaned against his desk, crossing his arms as he glanced toward her.

His voice carried an undeniable weight, pressing the conversation forward—

"Despite all the times you came—not a single weapon resonated with you."

He held her gaze for a moment before adding—

"But do you know what happened when that sword-obsessed brat came to my office?"

The Dean's tone carried a hint of bitterness, her expression slightly stiff as she responded—

"I'm sure many of your 'children' must have resonated with him."

Though the words were casual, it was clear her mood had turned sour at the revelation.

Yet Hamiel remained unfazed, his gaze steady as he spoke—

"Every single sword—no matter the shape, category, or attribute—reacted to him. And not just swords, but blades and daggers as well."

He leaned slightly against his desk before delivering the number outright—

"Seventy-five of my children resonated with him."

The Dean's brows furrowed slightly before she asked—

"How many did you have in total back then?"

Hamiel exhaled, recalling the exact count without hesitation.

"217. That's what I had during that time. Though now… only 100 remain."

He crossed his arms before explaining further—

"I've given them out to students who resonated deeply with a single weapon before graduation—some even to my disciples. But that sword brat? He was different."

His tone carried the weight of memory, the lingering impact of that one moment.

"Seventy-five. I still remember the day when the resonance was so strong, some of the weapon casings cracked."

His eyes flickered with a rare trace of nostalgia as he added—

"That was the day I decided—I would forge him the best sword that suited him."

Hamiel's fingers lightly traced the edge of his desk, his thoughts momentarily settling on that pivotal moment in his craft.

His voice softened slightly, carrying a rare truth—

"You could say his talent for the sword lit a fire of inspiration within me."

He straightened slightly, his expression tightening with a quiet certainty—

"And that fire—the one sparked by his sheer affinity—was what forged the Divine Blade."

The Dean leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she spoke—her voice carrying a mix of indifference and mild irritation.

"Good for you and him."

The words were casual, dismissive—yet Hamiel wasn't fazed by her reaction.

Instead, he smirked slightly, his tone carrying the remnants of a once-burning enthusiasm.

"Now! Now! Don't be all sulky—why do you think I told you everything?"

The Dean scoffed, clicking her tongue before firing back—

"How would I know what goes on in your senile mind?"

Her remark was sharp, laced with familiar teasing, yet something in Hamiel's demeanor shifted the moment she spoke.

Hamiel let out a short chuckle—but it wasn't the sound of amusement.

It was dry, empty, filled with self-mockery rather than joy.

His voice dropped slightly as he admitted—

"I lost it."

The Dean's eyes narrowed, catching the change immediately. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

She had seen him frustrated, irritated, even raging—but this?

This was different.

Her teasing stopped entirely as she observed the sudden weight in his expression.

His features, once lined with confidence, now carried a weariness that didn't belong to the Hamiel she knew.

In a rare moment of concern, she dropped her usual demeanor, her voice steady yet gentler than before—

"What did you lose?"

Hamiel's fingers lightly traced the edge of his desk, his gaze lowered.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice carrying a truth that had weighed on him for far too long—

"I lost the fire of inspiration the moment I crafted my first masterpiece—the Divine Blade."

The Dean remained silent, absorbing the words.

He continued—

"Not long after that sword brat got the blade in few years he became an Ascended. Then he became the Sword Emperor—the strongest sword of the Empire, capable of severing souls. One of the five heroes of the Era of the Demon King."

He paused, his breath shallow before finishing—

"But me? I became a failure—incapable of even wielding my hammer."

His words hung in the air, heavier than steel.

And for the first time—the Dean had no immediate response.

Hamiel's voice carried the weight of decades, his gaze lingering on his dwindling collection, each weapon a reminder of a glory he had once held but could no longer reach.

"Maybe fifty or sixty years have passed since then, but I still haven't been able to forge anything comparable to the Divine Blade."

His hands lightly traced the edge of a nearby glass casing, his expression tired but unwavering.

"Forget something equal to the Divine Blade—I can't even craft my children like I used to. And now, you see how their numbers have dwindled… Only a hundred remain."

The Dean remained silent, her usual sharp responses now absent, because she understood—this wasn't something she could speak on.

She wasn't a blacksmith.

She had nothing to say.

But Hamiel wasn't done.

His voice shifted, losing its frustration, replaced by something steadier—something determined.

"However, that doesn't mean I've given up."

Slowly, his posture straightened, his hands folding behind his back.

"I realized long ago that what I needed wasn't just skill—it was a wielder. Someone with talent equal to that of the Sword Emperor."

His voice grew firmer, conviction settling deep within him.

"Only then will the flames be reignited."

The Dean watched as Hamiel's expression steadied, his previous frustration replaced with certainty.

"That's why I stayed in the Academy for years—waiting."

His eyes darkened slightly, recalling the countless students who had come and gone, the hopeful talents that had failed to meet the standard.

"Many appeared, many left—but not a single one was equal to the Sword Emperor."

He exhaled, fingers lightly drumming against his arm—but then, his tone shifted.

"Yet… in the last four years, everything changed."