Attack on Titan Fanfiction – Bladesmiths & Librarians: Chapter 2

Jürgen Schmitz

“Do you know our Special Forces head, Mr Schreiber?” Jürgen Schmitz looked up at the head librarian. 

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he comes to the library every now and then,” Gustaf Schreiber replied.

“Will you introduce me, sir? I have some questions,” Jürgen requested. 

He thought of what he had to do from here on. Now that his older brother had given up the castle bladesmith secrets to the military, all Jürgen needed to do was help Hange reproduce their ancient methods using modern means. He’d been given a tour of their glorious labs, their high tech equipment. It would take some time to figure out a way of modernizing the traditional, but it can be done. The castle bladesmith clan was dead, their entire village razed to the ground. Their way of life was dead, their language and culture were going to die with him, the last one left. Times they are a-changin’, his brother Alec told him before he went and killed himself. After Hange Zoe perfected the modern formula, Jürgen would be free of his bladesmith responsibilities. He should then be able to forge his own path. But a path to where?

“As a matter of fact, Levi is coming to see you today,” Schreiber informed him.

As promised, Jürgen Schmitz saw Levi Ackermann for the first time, right in the library, a month after he and his brother sought refuge in Hange’s lab.

Immediately the child felt scared of the man with the intimidating scowl. The brigadier wasn’t that much taller than him, but every bone in the man’s body manifested power, every muscle emanated strength. The man inspired fear; he had authority, he was larger than life. Jürgen felt the force of Levi’s presence the moment he entered the room. The child felt frozen in place, terrified. But then he saw the ancient dagger insignia on the frightening man’s uniform, and his fear melted. He smiled at Levi. This is the man I am going to become. 

Levi’s face softened at the sight of the orphaned boy. “I’m sorry about your father and brother,” were his first words to the child after they were introduced. Head librarian Gustaf Schreiber left his office and went downstairs to give them privacy. 

Jürgen nodded. “Please, will you show me your blades, sir?” His father told him the legendary Ackermann carried two of their knives with him at all times, even in his sleep.

Levi took the knives, one strapped to his hip and the other to his calf. He held them by the tips, one in each hand, offering them handguard outward to the child. Jürgen took them and looked at them slowly, front and back, point to hilt, testing the weight and foil grip in his small but already calloused hands. They were fighting knives of the highest quality, designed specifically for military use in close-quarter combat. Forged by his father at the prime of his life. He could tell the minute difference between what his father created in each stage of his career, could tell the differences between what his brother made from that of his father, from what he himself made from that of his brother. 

Levi heard the child sigh, but it wasn’t a sad sound. It was a sound someone made when they were in awe of something.

“Tell me,” Levi says, “what do you see?”

The child raised one of the knives, a short sword, so that its blade caught the light. It was a rare blade type with a double-edged point, a distinctive shape unlike any other, with the back edge curving slightly downwards so that the point was lower than the back of the blade. “Father created this especially, and only for, an Ackermann, twenty years ago,” Jurgen replied. “The tip is symmetrical and both edges of the blade are sharp, except for the rounded trailing edge near the hilt. A single groove in the base half runs from the tang to the double-edge transition point. Father used a hardening process yielding a straight temper line on both sides. No other like it has been created since. No one had the ability to forge it except for my father.”

“I inherited it from my uncle, Kenny Ackermann,” Levi revealed.

The boy nodded, raising the other knife. “This is also a rare, double-edged blade with a diamond-shaped cross-section. A central ridge runs along the length of the blade between the body and edge bevels before tapering to a point. Father usually forges flat, simple blades with triangular cross-sections and no central ridge, for military use. But this unique blade was made by my father seven years ago, a special order meant for only an Ackermann.”

“There is no other blade like it in the world,” Levi agreed. His head was spinning. He was talking to a seven-year-old boy who sounded like an adult. What the fuck.

All of a sudden, the boy grins at him, a conniving smile, as if he was going to let Levi in on a little secret. “I can tell, sir,” he began.

“Tell what?”

“You know how my clan only uses iron ore put through a special smelting process, creating a jewel steel unique in all the world?” 

Levi nodded, “Yeah.” He had a general familiarity with the complex, time-consuming process it took for the castle bladesmiths to acquire steel for forging. The smelting process required five people to work over a clay vessel furnace, layering the charcoal, adding sand, taking a week to complete the iron conversion to steel. Once the ball of steel is acquired, another long process is needed to break it apart and separate the various carbon steels, with the high carbon portion forged in alternating layers using intricate methods.

“And you do know why we fold, sir?”

“Sure. You create alternating layers on the steel to combine hardness with ductility. This greatly enhances toughness,” Levi replies. Jakob Schmitz had given him a rundown of their secret ways. He never revealed exactly how they did it though, merely giving the Ackermann a general idea as to the what and why.

“Clan Schmitz can tell, just by looking at a finished blade, how many times the metal has been folded,” Jurgen said. Folding was the process of heating, hammering, folding the metal onto itself before forge-welding again, as many times as needed. This important process evens out the carbon content and removes impurities.

The boy raised the blades again. “Both of these have been folded sixteen times. It means they’re really special, because we usually fold eight to ten times.”

“And you can tell just by looking?”

“Yes, sir. Once we fold the high-carbon steel and higher-carbon cast-iron into a single plate which we forge-weld into a single billet, we elongate, cut, fold and forge-weld again. We can look at a blade and tell whether it was folded transversely and longitudinally to produce the desired grain pattern.”

“By ‘we’ you mean you, Alec and Jakob?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t think most other bladesmiths can.”

“Can you break down and document your process and means of understanding? So that a non-bladesmith like me can understand?”

“I think so, sir. The more complicated part is the differential heat treatment,” said the child. “When we make single-edged swords, we never quench in the conventional fashion. Instead, we control the heating and cooling speeds of different parts of the blade, producing a curvature and a visible boundary between the softer body and a hard edge. No one else can do it like we do: using the rest of the sword to reinforce and support the edge. That’s why our swords are the finest in existence.”

“Ah, so that’s where the hardening pattern comes from, used to judge both the beauty and quality of the finished blade,” remarked Levi.

“Yes, sir. For quenching in water, we have mastered the process of producing the proper hardness of the cutting edge by balancing the thickness of the coating on the edge with just the right temperature of the water so there is no need for tempering. Other bladesmiths need to heat the entire blade. But we’ve perfected the quenching process so that carbon is not needlessly removed from the surface of the steel, compromising its hardenability.”

“That’s why your blades are a cut above the rest,” Levi stated a fact, and then sums up, “So, a castle bladesmith can break down all the details of the making of a blade from the smelting, forging, folding, quenching and tempering processes, just by touching the blade. Is my understanding correct?”

“Yes, sir. My father, brother and I can do so with great accuracy.”

“That’s impressive.”

“But there’s something else I can do, sir, that not even Alec or Father could do.”

“Which is?”

“I can tell the blade composition just by touching it.”

“I don’t understand,” Levi admitted readily. “I know our castle bladesmiths pride themselves on their understanding of the internal macro-structure of metals. I know your father recently started studying the physical structure and components of metal, by using microscopy. Hange gifted him a microscope some years ago. That’s usually how one learns of blade composition.”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t have to use microscopy,” explained Jurgen, patiently. He gently touched the tip of one of the knives to his cheek. “I can tell the carbon content rating of the edge and body, and also the amount of manganese, silicon, phosphorus and copper.”

“That’s impossible!” Levi exclaimed. This kid’s a freak! Wait, he himself was a freak. By the time he was five he could easily take on a knife-wielding, full grown man. So it was just a difference in area of expertise. He was a combat freak, this kid was a… metal freak. No wonder outsiders are afraid of Eldians. There really are freaks among us.

The child shrugged nonchalantly. “When I told Alec he freaked out and told Father. Father also freaked out, and that’s when he started really hiding me from everyone except the workshop staff and his brother, my Uncle Cedric.”

“When did this happen?”

“When I was five. My brother was playing with Father’s microscope and found out the guesses in my head were the same as what the microscope showed.”

“You knew about chemical elements when you were five?” asked Levi, incredulous.

“Yes, sir. I could read, write and do basic algebra and geometry by then. Alec taught me,” Jürgen explained, before adding, “Alec told me Father started to hide me when I was nine months old, because I started speaking in full sentences by then.”

Holy shit. No wonder he had no idea the child was even born. “We’ll have to tell all this to Hange,” was all Levi could manage.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t tell anyone else, alright?”

“I won’t, sir.”

Levi couldn’t help but stare at the child. “Is there anything else I need to know?” 

“Not that I can think of,” Jürgen replies. He hands the knives back to Levi.

“They’re the finest blades on the planet,” Levi says. He grips the handles and with his wrists he spins the knives, holding them in the reverse backhand grip he liked, his arms forming a cross over his chest, the tips of the blades pointing downward on either side. He was about to sheath the knives when the boy’s next request floored him.

“Will you show me the ancient knife kata, sir?” 

“What? How did you…?”

“Alec told me.”

Levi was far from pleased. “No, you’re a kid. I can’t possibly show you.”

“Please, sir, I am the last of the castle bladesmiths. It would mean the world to me.” 

When he was alive, Jürgen’s father told him and his brother stories of how Clan Schmitz blades were used to protect the Eldian King for two thousand years. He told them stories about the current living Ackermann, Humanity’s Strongest, now their Special Forces head. He told them that Levi Ackermann came from a line of ancient knights, elite soldiers that were as old as the castle bladesmith clan itself. When these soldiers fought in battle they entered into a trance-like fury, their eyes becoming orbs of white light, their bodies becoming one with the blades, their way of fighting like a dance. Dance of Death for the enemies, but for the Eldian King a Dance of Triumph. 

The ancient knife kata, or form. Levi knew the choreographed pattern of movements by heart, he’d mastered it by the age of five. But there was only one other Ackermann who’d seen him perform, a man who made child Levi memorize and perfect the movements being executed: Kenny Ackermann. Child Levi practiced and practiced until his entire body ached and his hands bled from gripping the knives for so long. No, Kenny never pushed him that far; Levi pushed himself so that Kenny might approve of him, praise him for his efforts. Acknowledge his talent. And perhaps one day, acknowledge him as his son. 

One morning, when he was ten, Kenny did praise Levi’s knife kata, in what he didn’t know would be his very last performance. “Now you’re better at it than I am,” Kenny said. The following day, when the younger Ackermann was in the middle of a street fight, Kenny turned his back and left Levi for good.        

Years later, Levi would teach fighting knife skills to his operators. He had them do knife movements in unison during training, a very pared down form of the ancient knife kata, not dance-like in any way, incorporating only the most practical, rudimentary, ruthless movements. He never performed the kata again in its entirety. 

Levi was the lone, undisputed Knight of Knives in Paradis, for even Mikasa did not know about the knife kata, did not wish to learn. She made her first kill at the age of nine using a knife, and from that day on she had an aversion to fighting knives in general. “The only knife I’m ever going to touch are kitchen knives,” she declared in front of Jean and Levi, when the former suggested the latter had something to teach her. Of the ancient blade arts Mikasa preferred the long-sword. She and Levi performed the sword kata in tandem in front of audiences during the annual military fair, a week-long event when military personnel did parades, demos, drills and open houses to encourage the support of civilians. The sword kata was a popular performance, very acrobatic and airborne, and even when swords were no longer used in combat the dance was still marvellous to look at. Children loved it, and it reminded their parents of a time when the Survey Corps cleared their island of titans.  

As for the knife kata, Levi was resigned to the prospect of the art dying with him. These days it was all about guns anyway. He didn’t have particularly fond memories of the knife kata anyway. Really, nobody cared, least of all himself.

Until today, until this auburn-haired child with large, steel-grey eyes looked up at him begging for a performance. Who knew someone else apart from Jakob and Alec was aware of its existence? He felt conflicted. On the one hand, he felt the kid should be older to see such a deadly dance; on the other hand, the kid’s brother just killed himself. Perhaps the kata will help lift the grieving boy’s mood? Are you crazy? Levi reprimanded himself. Use images of violence to forget past images of violence? What good would that do?

“It’s a violent dance, Jürgen. Your father saw it for the first time when he turned twelve, the year an Eldian boy comes of age. My uncle Kenny did the dance for him. I did the dance when your brother turned twelve, at his coming-of-age ceremony. You’re only seven. I cannot dance for you now. It’s years too early.”

The child looked at him steadily, his eyes determined. But the voice that came out of his mouth was soft, factual. “I don’t even know if I will reach that age, sir.” And then, even more softly, “Please.”

“No.”

“I beg of you, Master Ackermann.”

Something in the child’s tone made Levi give up. Give up on resisting. He failed to protect Jakob and Alec. What guarantee was there that he could protect Jürgen until he came of age? He has failed too many times in the past to protect the people he cared about. The war took so many lives, and the fallout continued to take lives. The child was right. Who knows anymore how many years they have left to live?

Levi’s eyes swept over Schreiber’s office. It was a large room, but too much furniture, too many books on the floor. So he led the child to the Dome Hall, a circular, spacious area directly underneath the dome of the library building. There was a movable stage in one area, and during public events chairs would be laid out across the floor. But today there was no event; the chairs were folded and piled by the wall. The ceiling height was high enough he could do the knife tossing sequence without worry. Sun rays filtered softly through the small roof windows along the dome. It was a good place to perform. Levi took one of the chairs and unfolded it along the wall, indicating for the child to sit.

Levi stood in the middle of the room. He had removed his jacket and shoes so that he stood barefoot in his shirt and breeches. He gripped a knife in each hand. “In honor of the Castle Bladesmiths of Paradis, Master Craftsman Jakob Schmitz and Journeyman Alec Schmitz,” he spoke to his one audience. 

Levi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled softly from his mouth. Then he began to dance the ancient knife kata of Clan Ackermann. 

When it was over the only thing that can be heard was the child gasping for breath. Jürgen must have held his breath the entire performance because now he was panting, desperately trying to draw air into his lungs. The child’s eyes were large, full of worship, staring at Levi with such awe it was touching. Levi sheathed the knives, stood and waited patiently until the child could speak. In a proper coming-of-age ceremony for a future master bladesmith, full of ritual, he would have first taught the boy to breathe in tandem with his movements. For there was a rhythm to it: the performance was meant to be a joint one, a song written between the bladesmith and the dancing warrior.

“That was unbelievable, sir. Thank you very much,” Jürgen gushed. “It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Then the child closed his eyes, wishing to commit the performance to memory. 

The first part was slow and deliberate as Levi moved with blades in hand, thrusting, spinning, lunging, cutting, swiping, jabbing and stabbing, each pose a demonstration of the perfect form in knife handling. The second part was acrobatic, featuring the masterful manipulation of the knives combined with multiple backflips, cartwheels and splits, the blades tossed high in the air and deftly caught with the hands, or held between the teeth or soles of the feet. The final part was a simulated, stylized knife fight, executed with so much speed Levi’s body was a blur, the only thing visible the flash of steel as light hit the blades. The closing part was the pose, the arms crossed over the chest he had seen earlier in the librarian’s office, combined with a respectful bow. 

For Jürgen Schmitz, the entire kata was beyond enthralling. He had never imagined his clan’s blades could be wielded in such an elegant yet powerful manner. He had witnessed perfection. He wanted to remember this day forever. 

When the child opened his eyes again, he asked an unanswerable question. “How could anyone be so perfect?”

“Your father’s perfect blades strengthen my form,” Levi replied. “Mastery of form requires perfection of the blades. Not to mention, I inherited hundreds of years of kata memories from my ancestors.”

And then all of a sudden, as if struck by lightning, the child’s eyes widened. He leapt from his chair.

“Master Ackermann, I remember!” Jürgen cried out. “I remember!” 

---

Levi stared at the boy as his small hands moved pencil over paper. They had climbed downstairs back to Schreiber’s office; now both of them were standing by the librarian’s desk. Like a man possessed the child drew three faces with such clarity of execution you thought you were looking at a professional police sketch. Levi was astonished by the child’s drawing skills. 

“This one,” Jürgen pointed to the oldest looking of the three, “was the leader. He did the interrogation.” He pointed to another face. “This one stayed and guarded the door. This one chopped off my father’s arm at the leader’s command. He was the one who skinned him. There was another one outside, but I didn’t see his face.”

“Can you give me an idea of their height and weight, in relation to your father?”

The child described them as best as he could. Tall, fit men wearing ordinary clothing but armed to the teeth. They spoke Eldian but had an accent the children couldn’t place. Levi listened carefully, taking down notes in his mind. And then Jürgen drew one more object. Levi stared at it in shock. His heart sank. Oh no. Shit, shit, shit.  

“Where did you see that?”

Jürgen explained that while he and his brother cowered behind one side of the secret wall, at one point he lay face down on the ground. There was a small opening between the false wall and the floor. One of the men’s boots came close to his face and he spotted the object on the heel of the man’s boot. It was very small, less than half an inch in diameter. But he was able to see the shape clearly. 

Seeing the look of horror on Levi’s face, Jürgen asked in an anxious whisper, “What is it?”

Next – Chapter 3: Just Like You

Back – Chapter 1: The Last Castle Bladesmith