Harem Training System: Every Girl I Train Makes Me Stronger!

Chapter 58: 58. The Kingdom Sanitized the Truth... Albert Knows What’s Underneath.

Grock’s jaw tightened so violently that William could hear the faint click of bone against bone. For several agonizing seconds, the dwarf said nothing. The only sound in the forge was the dying hiss of a cooling ember, a sound that felt unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence.

William watched the way Grock’s knuckles turned white against his knees, the way his thick chest labored as if he were physically pushing back a floodgate.

"I don’t know the full details," Grock finally rasped, his voice cracking like dry timber. "Nobody outside the official channels knows... well, not really."

"The kingdom has a way of swallowing truths when they get too ugly to digest."

He exhaled sharply, a sound that carried the weight of eight years of accumulated silence. "What I know is they were sent on a mission eight years back... a high-tier dungeon conquest."

"Something called a ’royally sanctioned’ operation... the kind with trumpets and banners and enough fanfare to make you think they were walking into legend rather than a slaughterhouse."

Grock paused, his eyes darkening as he chose his next words with excruciating care. "And then they didn’t come back... Not most of them, anyway."

The air in the workshop seemed to vanish. William felt a cold numbness creeping up his spine.

He didn’t need to ask the question because the answer was already written in the hollow lines of Grock’s face. The horrific implication hung between them like a guillotine blade.

"Catherine came back alive...?" William asked, his voice hollow.

"Indeed... Catherine came back," Grock confirmed, though the words sounded more like a condemnation than a relief. "But she came back alone."

The word "alone" fell between them like a corpse. William felt something in his chest constrict a physical tightness that made it difficult to breathe.

The shape of the wound Catherine carried was finally resolving, the blurred edges sharpening into a horrific picture of survival amidst total annihilation.

"She came by the forge... maybe a month after," Grock added.

His voice had dropped to a murmur; the booming, furnace-heated energy that usually defined him was completely extinguished. "She looked like a ghost walking in flesh... heck, she didn’t say a single word about what happened."

"And the good thing is that she didn’t cry, didn’t scream, and even didn’t look angry. She was just... empty."

William closed his eyes for a second, imagining that young, vibrant woman walking into this forge, hollowed out by something unspeakable. "That’s worse..."

"She just asked me to take the white-hilted sword," Grock continued, his hands trembling slightly before he balled them into fists. "Asked me to lock it away somewhere she’d never have to look at it again."

"As if seeing it would tear the last of her apart."

Grock let out a bitter, self-loathing scoff. "I told her I’d keep it as long as she needed."

"I thought I was being kind, but it turns out... three days later, she came back in the dead of night just to not say a word other than to take the sword off the shelf and carry it home herself." His voice dropped lower. "I never asked why she changed her mind because... I knew better than to poke at a wound that deep."

William swallowed hard, his mind racing through the implications. "Why is there no record?"

"How could an entire elite unit just... disappear from the history books?"

"Because the inquiry got closed up tighter than anything I’ve ever seen come out of this kingdom’s bureaucracy," Grock spat. "When something goes wrong that badly, the Crown doesn’t investigate; they sanitize."

"They scrub the blood off the stones and pretend it never happened."

He turned his head to fix William with a piercing, knowing stare. "If you want the real story, the one that hasn’t been bleached white by royal censors, you’re going to need to talk to Headmaster Albert."

"Why Albert specifically?" William asked. "If he’s part of the system, wouldn’t he be part of the cover-up?"

"Because he’s the one who handled the official report when it came through," Grock said, his eyes narrowing. "He saw what was written between the lines."

"And if anyone alive knows what actually happened down in that dark hole, it’s probably that old man."

Grock leaned forward, the lamplight casting long, demonic shadows across his features. "Think about it, boy."

"Why did he request her?"

"Why did he personally pull Catherine to this academy, right after the incident?"

"He pulled strings most people don’t even know exist to get her placed here, instead of letting her be buried in some forgotten corner of the kingdom with a dead unit behind her."

Grock’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, revealing a rare, unexpected gentleness beneath the gruff exterior. "Whatever Albert knows, he knows because he made it his business to know."

"That man doesn’t do anything without a reason, and he doesn’t forget the people he decides are worth protecting."

William absorbed the revelation in a silence so profound it felt like the air itself had gone numb. He filed the name Albert away in the back of his mind, locking it next to the haunting images of a dead unit and a lonely survivor.

Grock, seemingly satisfied that he had spilled enough blood metaphorically speaking, rose from his stool with a grunt that sounded like grinding stones. He gestured impatiently at the half-oiled blade still resting in William’s hands.

"Finish that properly," Grock commanded.

His voice climbed back toward its usual gruff, booming volume, the sudden shift so jarring that William nearly flinched. The heaviness of the conversation was being forcibly shoved aside by the dwarf’s relentless practicality.

"And then I want to see all five modes again. Right here... right now... before you leave."

William wiped a streak of oil from his thumb, feeling the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. "I already tested all five modes yesterday, Grock."

"There’s no need to do it again... My mind is elsewhere."

"I said test them again, boy!" Grock roared, bringing his massive boot down on the stone floor with a thunderous crack that echoed off the rafters. "Weapons need regular calibration, especially ones with moving parts as intricate as that damn thing!"

William rolled his eyes, but Grock wasn’t finished.

"You think a blacksmith just builds a thing and never checks on it again?!"

’You think you can just forge magic and steel and walk away?!" Grock leaned in close, his breath hot with coal smoke. "That’s how you end up with a sword that jams mid-transformation in the middle of a real fight."

"Imagine it: you’re mid-swing, expecting a blade, but instead, you’re holding half a twisted greatsword while some hellspawn is trying to bite your fucking face off!"

"Then you’re not a hero other than a meat ready to be served cold!"

William raised an eyebrow. "Huh. That’s oddly specific."

"It’s happened," Grock growled, already grabbing William by the shoulder and dragging him toward the forge’s open courtyard.

The dwarf was practically vibrating now with that proprietary, manic energy he got when discussing his creations. "Not to my work; I’d sooner cut off my own hands, but I’ve heard the screams of those who learned the hard way."

"Now come on... humor an old dwarf."

Once they reached the open courtyard where the evening air bit at their skin, Grock stood back, arms crossed over his barrel chest, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Show me the cannon mode again!"

"That one still gives me chills—the sheer audacity of it!" The dwarf let out a rough laugh. "Imagine it... some noble mage starts chanting some bullshit incantation, thinking they’re untouchable, and you just say ’fuck it’ and show them a cannon."

"Ruin their whole goddamn power system with pure physics." Grock laughed. "It’s beautiful, boy!"

William sighed, but he felt the familiar hum of Aetherion responding to his touch. He took a breath, centering his mana, and began.

First came the Single Wield Form: With a flick of his wrist and a sharp exhale of mana, the weapon shifted with a chorus of crisp mechanical clicks.

Segments of enchanted steel rotated and locked into place, forming a perfectly balanced one-handed sword. Its streamlined design emphasized speed and precision, making it ideal for swift strikes and agile combat.

Then came the Dual Wield Formdual wield form: William poured another stream of mana into the hilt. The blade split cleanly down its center as intricate mechanisms awakened, each half separating with flawless synchronization.

In an instant, what had once been a single sword became two identical blades, their edges shimmering with mana as they settled comfortably into each of his hands. The transformation was so seamless that it looked less like machinery and more like magic given form.

He shifted stance abruptly into the Greatsword Form: "More power," he muttered to himself.

The sword groaned as it expanded further, the weight increasing exponentially as the Aetheric components locked into place. The sheer mass of the weapon demanded every ounce of his strength, the pommel digging into his palm as he swung it through the air, leaving a trail of displaced wind.

Next came the Double-Edge Wield Form: With a complex series of twists and a surge of mana, Aetherion’s mechanisms awakened once more. The blade folded inward before extending in both directions from the hilt, locking into place with a succession of sharp metallic clicks.

In an instant, it had transformed into a perfectly balanced double-edged weapon, its twin blades gleaming with a faint arcane radiance. William gave it an experimental spin, and the weapon whirled effortlessly through the air, tracing a flawless circle of steel that hummed with lethal precision.