Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 80: Purple Glass Sword (2)

I was dumbfounded.

Dolodres’s apprentice, a daytime drunk.

What the hell happened in the ten years I was locked up?

But thinking it over, it wasn’t entirely absurd.

Funnily enough, late in life, Dolodres lived with a bottle in hand too.

He quit and returned to his craft, though.

Master and apprentice, cut from the same cloth.

Sighing for the third time, I crossed my arms and eyed the boss.

Ten years ago, those sharp, spirited eyes full of a craftsman’s pride and precision were now dull, lifeless.

Either oblivious to my stare or too drunk to care, he wiped his mouth, slurring.

“What’s the job? Oh.”

As if realizing something, he shook his bottle.

“If it’s one of Master’s early pieces, it’d be worn out. No surprise if it’s broken.”

“The job’s not the point.”

My tone was flat.

No matter how skilled, who’d trust a trembling drunk with their order?

“Ugh, don’t glare like that! Fixing a broken piece? This guy’s enough!”

He slapped the shoulder of the worker beside him.

Not just a worker—his direct apprentice, apparently.

Calling him “boss” instead of “master” suggested he’d stepped back from the craft.

“Sometimes better than me!”

Despite the praise, the apprentice’s face soured.

“Let’s see the weapon!”

“Fine.”

Honestly, I wanted to find another tight-lipped craftsman right then.

The problem was, those guys had year-long waitlists.

Pulling strings to skip the line would just piss off their stubborn asses.

And who knows?

Maybe, like he said, the apprentice was better.

With that thought, I unlocked the case.

Click, click, clunk—

The case opened, revealing a sword secured inside.

Under the light, the purple blade shimmered faintly.

“Whoa.”

The apprentice let out an instinctive gasp.

Carved from purple glass, it was transparent, reflecting the other side and my face like a mirror.

The scene it mirrored felt mystical, like two worlds overlapping.

“Not just Master’s work,” the apprentice said.

“The finishing’s like his, but flawless. The metal’s unfamiliar—gate-sourced, maybe? Such delicate refining.”

Not just a master’s labor of love.

A craftsman’s unyielding belief, honed by a worthy owner, imbued the blade with deep history.

A completed weapon, the kind every craftsman dreamed of.

Seeing it felt like leveling up.

While the apprentice marveled, the boss gasped.

“This is…”

His half-closed, drunken eyes widened, locked on the sword, body leaning forward as if possessed.

No need to check the name or number etched on the hilt.

“The Purple Glass Sword.”

His trembling voice carried excitement, even awe.

How could he forget?

His master’s final work and…

He reached for it, trembling. Just as his fingers neared, I snapped the case shut.

Startled, he looked up at me.

“Let me ask again.”

I stared down, expressionless.

The old me would’ve written off a disappointment like him.

But months at the Academy had softened me, surprisingly so.

I could give a second chance.

More than that, the faint spark in his eyes just now convinced me he wasn’t done.

“Leave it to your apprentice? He’s better than you?”

I repeated his earlier claim.

“You mean that?”

He couldn’t repeat it.

Biting his lip, he stared at the bottle in his hand.

“Damn it.”

Muttering a curse, he swung the bottle.

Crash—

It smashed against the wall, shards flying, cutting his hand.

Blood dripped, but he didn’t care.

Looking up, his pathetic demeanor was gone.

“Pretending to reform and taking the job would disgrace the Master's name.”

He glanced at his apprentice.

“Refusing it to avoid that would shit on his legacy.”

Facing me firmly, he said.

“Give me one hour.”

His declaration, unyielding, carried a craftsman’s pride.

“I need to sober up.”

I shrugged silently.

If the craftsman I remembered returned, an hour was worth it.

* * *

The boss went upstairs, leaving me and the young apprentice alone on the second floor.

Stuck waiting an hour, I sat, propping my elbow on a table, chin in hand, staring at the stairs.

“So, what happened to him? Last I saw, he was fine.”

Ten years ago, sure, but for craftsmen like these, a decade wasn’t long.

Some obsessed over one weapon for years.

The apprentice gave a wry, self-deprecating smile.

“The plague every craftsman between fine and masterpiece catches.”

“Huh.”

I muttered, surprised.

I’d seen countless A-rank heroes and villains fail to cross the S-rank wall.

Comparing craftsmen was tricky, but he seemed different.

“More specific…”

I scratched my cheek with my finger but let it go.

“Whatever. Good he’s snapping out of it.”

“Exactly.”

Whatever the cause, the Purple Glass Sword sparked his drive.

Good enough.

“But…”

Glancing at me, the apprentice asked cautiously.

“You said Purple Glass Sword? Can I take a closer look? I’ve seen plenty of Master’s work, but this is unique.”

“It’s not like it’ll wear out.”

I set the case on the table, unlocking it.

He leaned in eagerly, examining the sword.

“Wow…”

“You’re really into it. It’s a well-made blade.”

That was a mistake.

I meant it casually, but to him, it was an insult.

He snapped his head up.

His eyes gleamed, but with an ominous edge.

“Not just well-made. Compared to a masterpiece, some aspects lack polish, but the contrast between flaws and strengths creates impact. Look at these wave patterns—perfectly spaced, forged during…”

He launched into an unsolicited rant, thrilled.

“And the transparency shifts with the light angle… The blade’s finish, such finesse…”

I nodded, not agreeing, just thinking: This guy’s not normal either.

Good thing my watch’s surveillance was off for this official outing.

Otherwise, monitoring agents’ ears would bleed.

Listening to his self-indulgent, jargon-heavy spiel, an hour flew by.

Footsteps hurried down the stairs.

The boss, now holding a hammer instead of a bottle, looked pale, like he’d bled out, but his eyes were clear.

I said dryly.

“Now you look like a craftsman.”

“How was I before?”

“Disabled?”

“…Harsh, but fair.”

He pulled a yellowed card from his pocket, offering it.

When was this printed?

Embarrassed, he glanced away.

“I need a new card. My surname’s long—call me Rodrigo.”

I tucked the card in my wallet.

“No card here. Jeong Ho-cheol, professor at Clington. If you can’t reach me, try there.”

After the brief introduction, Rodrigo sat across from me, staring at the sword.

“Purple Glass Sword. Been a while.”

Unlike the apprentice’s chatter, he gazed silently, eyes sunken.

Noticing something, he asked?

“But I didn’t hear about the job. It looks fine.”

“Not the sword—a sheath.”

He nodded, understanding.

“Right, a sheath. It felt like something was missing. No sheath.”

“You know, right? Size aside, it needs to suppress the sword’s functions. No ordinary sheath.”

“How could I forget? Like the last one, it needs special metal…”

I tensed slightly.

He wasn’t about to send me on a fetch quest for rare materials, was he?

Even with Lunard’s cheat code, no stock meant nothing.

My worry eased quickly.

“It’ll cost a fortune.”

I snorted, pulling back the cloth under the sword.

Rodrigo and the apprentice gasped.

Stacks of crisp bills filled the case.

Confident budget talks were done, I asked?

“How long?”

Rodrigo calculated mentally.

“Not a normal sheath—two weeks. No, three.”

I’d expected a month, so I nodded without hesitation.

A week shorter was a bonus.

“Got it. I’m spending big, so as a bonus…”

Bang!—

I shut up as Rodrigo shot up.

Head bowed, he raised a hand, cutting me off.

“Sorry, change of plans. A month.”

“A week’s no big deal, but that’s a bit dramatic.”

I brushed off the extra week, but his next words weren’t trivial.

“And I’d like my apprentice to handle the sheath.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

His bold statement stunned me and the apprentice.

I quickly calmed.

“Fine. As long as the skill’s there, I don’t care. But he’s young.”

“No issue with his skill. A true genius.”

“A sober craftsman’s guarantee? Then the sheath’s his. What about you?”

Rodrigo lifted his head slowly.

His eyes burned fiercer than ever.

“Entrust the sword to me.”

“The sword?”

“Not just sharper, keener, tougher. The sword’s speaking to me. It can go further, higher.”

“I’ve got questions, but let’s start with the basics.”

I tapped the table.

“Can you do it?”

Enhancing a finished sword was harder than making one.

A masterpiece by a master?

Even specialists would balk.

And a guy out of the game for years?

Rodrigo said nothing, just nodded to his apprentice.

“Prep the furnace, top-grade, four slots. Clear the apprentices’ work.”

“Yes, sir.”

The apprentice headed downstairs.

Rodrigo sighed deeply.

“Know how a self-proclaimed genius feels meeting a real one?”

“Dunno. Hard to relate.”

I shrugged.

Talent and genius were foreign to my life.

How would I know?

He gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head.

“Denial, anger, envy, jealousy—none of that. True genius warps concepts with overwhelming talent and power. Everything feels pointless.”

“That’s him?”

“Yeah. He caught my ten years in one. Mastered my teachings in five. I just need experience. In ten years, he’ll be this country’s best.”

I realized the unease I’d felt.

Rodrigo’s alcoholism wasn’t just a slump—it was despair from facing true genius.

A self-styled genius’s end.

Not a hurdle to overcome, but a lifelong burden.

“For that, you snapped out of it quickly.”

“The Purple Glass Sword means a lot. Beyond the Master's final work…”

He touched the blade’s side.

“My first hammer swing, a collaboration. My contribution’s barely a tenth, but I see it as my child.”

His eyes weren’t on the sword but the past, forging it.

“Seeing it woke me up. I started this to hammer metal, shape it, make weapons—not to compare or judge people.”

A craftsman who despaired and quit, seeking excuses.

“That’s the sign of decline. But I’m awake now.”

He declared firmly.

“I’m returning as a blacksmith.”

“Sorry to rain on your touching story.”

I exhaled, deadpan.

“Not paying extra.”

“Of course not. It’s my passion—no charge. A month, same as the sheath.”

Free enhancement?

No reason to refuse.

“Free? Then it’s yours. Obviously, this is confidential.”

“Pointless worry.”

Forges like this ran on secrecy.

Selling client info meant death, light or shadow.

Wrapping up, we headed downstairs.

Rodrigo, leading, muttered.

“But I remember the Purple Glass Sword’s owner…”

Craftsmen focus on their work, forgetting owners.

He’d blanked until now.

His memory sharpened, steps slowing.

“I mean, back then…”

His words caught.

It hit him.

Stopping, he turned slowly, meeting my eyes a few steps above.

Those eyes.

He remembered.

His body swayed, hiccupping.

“Y-you…”

I raised my finger to my lips.

He nodded frantically. I passed him, descending.

“Troublemakers, pick your weapons?”

My calm, warm voice echoed, but he stood frozen.