Part 1
Arelia Town, First Sunday, Mot Month, Kingheart III Year.
The first month of the spring was the busiest in Arelia Town. After 120 days of suffering from the freezing cold, the citizens were expecting a new good year.
The town’s population was over two thousand, but sparsely distributed because of their typical occupations. Everyone here lived off the dungeon, developing their businesses around it.
Half of the occupants were adventurers, but their career mostly didn’t last very long. Conflicting with the horrid creatures. Losing their courage to continue this vocation. These explorers preferred easier jobs in the woods or in the fields.
Forging, crafting, and remedy concocting dominated thanks to the endless demand for equipment and potions. Inns and taverns also prospered, providing temporary resting places and entertainments.
As the businesses were segregated into specific areas, the streets were named corresponding to their merchandise.
The town might look vulnerable, but it had certain protections.
A wooden fence, fortified with metallic spikes, surrounded the entire town. Only one single entrance opened from the South, facing the dungeon’s direction. Because of the lack of military activity nearby, the settlement needed nothing more than a simple barricade to prevent the magical beast from getting lost to their home.
The current life of the town might look comfortable with sufficient resources, but it wasn’t like this from the beginning.
The initial terrain was a real challenge for the first comers, full of large trees and giant rocks. They slaved in years to build a village and fed on popular crops like wheat and maize.
Throughout that time, the dungeon had been believed to be quiet until someone got killed while venturing inside.
The presence of atrocious entities drew adventurers and merchants, offering them a steady income. Over time, the village progressed to a bustling town, and the economy shifted from agriculture to adventure.
The collapsed castle had provided an adequate amount of chiseled stone, saving a huge workload for the villagers. However, when more people immigrated here, the old stones were depleted. Therefore, lots of the buildings were constructed of brick instead, not as hard but easier to make.
With a superficial observation, the coloration between the old constructions at the center and the new ones around was significantly dissimilar.
In spring, the herbivores returned to this land to find the young leaves and shoots. Thus, the carnivores and the hunters left their shelters for a new hunting season.
The melting snow seeped away from the fields. Thus, the farmers could begin another crop. The adventurers also became more active after three months of drinking and getting laid, pushing all the gears into the reel.
Albeit the warmth had arrived in the early year, the brown and yellow leaves were still drifting in the faint chill.
Attire with hoods, gloves, and furred boots was popular on the streets, keeping their wearers warm and comfortable.
Magic probably helped to solve a part of the problem by enhancing the heat isolation. However, only the costume made by a high-level crafter could completely insulate the coldness.
In contrast to the thick clothes other people were wearing on their way leaving the town, Floger walked in the thinner. White garments, black canvas pants, black leather boots, and metallic vambraces. He felt perfectly fine in the chilly weather.
Several guys went by, shivering in heavy warm coats, and stared at Floger, envying his perfect heat insulation outfit.
“Why gazing like that?” A blonde boy rushed forward and glanced at the strangers, wondering about their gazes.
“Niel. It’s super cold right now,” Katrina replied.
“And?”
“Really? Then how about this?” Katrina tripped Niel’s fur coat off him, exposing the little man to the winds.
“GIVE IT BACK!” Niel roared and jumped at the archeress to reclaim his coat.
“Ouch! Let me go, you muskrat!”
Grabbing hair, punching belly, kicking butt, Niel and Katrina entered a childish fight, and it didn’t seem to end soon.
Whilst the two were wrestling, the rest of Moonlit Black Cats kept heading to the town and didn’t care. Their fight was an amusing spice in the cruel world. None bothered to stop them soon.
Now everyone was about to enter the safe zone, Floger finally saw Rete’s and Leon’s faces when they took off the helmets.
And he was petrified.
They looked exactly the same.
Same black hair, same straight nose, same black eyes, same bony cheeks, same flat chin, etc. nothing but age was different.
Not in a million years he had imagined this. “Are you brothers?”
“Yes,” Rete said.
“But your surname is Dain and his is Orlando.”
“It’s a long story…”
Before Floger kept questioning, Chris gently shook his head, signaling that the blacksmith should leave it for another time.
With a nod, Floger understood that digging up a stranger’s past was fairly rude.
He should change the topic.
“So… Where are you guys staying?”
“Six Badgers Inn. Until we find a house,” Leon said.
“A house? What for?”
In Arelia Town, the adventurers preferred an inn to a private house. They often traveled a lot and rarely stayed in one town for over six months.
Floger had heard of several guilds establishing their base in big cities, but never a small suburb like this.
“We intend to live here, of course,” Niel said.
He was crawling away from the wrestling with Katrina. Yet she didn't let him go easily.
Once again, Moonlit Black Cats, or their wealth specifically, astonished Floger.
Buying a land costed lots of money, and it costed more to build a house.
Floger’s current workshop used to belong to his instructor, who had to save in many years to own the property.
Seeing the confusion on Floger’s face, Rete urged him with a pat on his shoulder. “C’mon. Show us your workshop. ”
“Ah yes… This way…”
A few minutes later, they arrived at a large wooden gate. Ten letters assembling “Arelia Town” appeared on top of the gate, welcoming everyone with great hospitality.
The boy with silver hair led the group straight forward after entering the living area.
First, they encountered a market, a lively one, with food stalls lining up in a crescent shape. The diversity of food, varying from chicken to monster meat, would trap the hungry. The meats were cooked in many styles, steaming, frying, grilling, or stewing. The kiosks emitted an irresistible aroma, and the guests couldn't leave until their stomachs were full.
On the opposite side, the mobile shops displayed countless items with impressive effects. The sellers advertised magical potions to cure grievous wounds, enchanted swords to slash through any monster’s pelt, or reinforced shields to deflect the sharpest claws.
Several entrepreneurs just arrived a day before, whilst the others had been here for months. But they all were loud to impress the passengers with a declaration about quality and rarity, hoping to catch a big fish at the beginning of the year. Unfortunately, not all advertisements spoke the truth about the quality.
In the middle of the market situated a statue of a black horseman, cast of iron and honed excellently. The horse was standing on its hind legs while the knight was clenching the rein with his left hand and raising a flagged spear with his right hand.
It was dug up from underneath the remnants of the old castle, then dragged back to the village as a souvenir. After the settlement was constructed, the residents decided to place it behind the gate. Gradually, the statue became an icon of the town and a market was erected around it.
It was a unique sculpture.
Even when the stonemasons exhausted the entire castle for chiseled stones, despite the danger posed by the monster below. There was no trace of a second horseman.
Although no one could tell what was special about it, the six adventurers’ eyes were drawn to the statue every time they passed by.
“Let’s go!”
Floger’s words reminded the adventurers, who got enthralled by the horseman, and fell behind.
They kept moving, without detecting the strange glance that Floger gave the horseman.
They came through the crowded marketplace, ignoring all the temptations from the silver-tongued entrepreneurs and from the food.
The party turned right and headed to a smoky zone, Smithy Streets.
The view quickly changed.
The wet road soiling their shoes was replaced by that dry and hard.
The chill was replaced by the heat.
The noise of the traders was replaced by metal clanging.
The streets were mostly paved with brick. The coloration shifted from bright to dark and grey. The shops presented rough products rather than frivolous ones.
Four poles with wooden plates on top were placed at every intersection, signifying the streets' name. They should be metallic for longer-term use, yet no one really cared.
The occupants here were too busy with their jobs, forging equipment and accessory, rather than wasting their mind and effort on the street signs. Some of the poles were smoked black, but as long as they were still readable, they should be fine.
Unlike the marketplace where stores were sitting next to each other, there was an adequate space between the smithies, for a reasonable cause.
Floger and the others were walking in the middle of the road, yet the heat bursting out of the forges was withering their face.
Because of the intense heat, the blacksmith usually worked at the back, and had the products displayed in the front to reduce the unpleasantness for the buyers. Sometimes the forgers brought their goods to the market or to a trusty private shop for sale. Thus, they could focus on making items rather than selling them.
Occasionally, the customers visited a renowned blacksmith for a specific order. The request might be tough, but the reward would be worthy.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Such requests probably took weeks or even months to accomplish, yet the clients were happy to wait so long to get the best item.
The adventurers risked their lives slaying monsters underground and required sustainable fighting gears. However, most of their weapons and armors couldn't withstand too many hits or resist elemental attacks really well. Their durability was pathetic compared to the hazards they met.
Therefore, the demand for metalworking was considerably high, whereas the material supply never satisfied the need.
It may be crafty, but that's the main explanation why the smith work was so lucrative.
“Where’s your workshop, Floger?” Niel asked, hurrying his feet to catch up with the metalworker.
The young mand couldn't wait to see the masterpieces of the talented, cursed smith.
“It’s at the end of this street.” Floger replied and turned left, heading forward on Smithy-13 Street.
In the contrast to the other streets, Smithy-13 Street was a quieter area, thus cooler than the rest. The accommodation here was desolate, and the abandoned furnaces were cold, exuding a lonely and macabre atmosphere.
As if the place was under a grisly curse.
“This is… different.” Katrina hesitated.
“Yeah. Most of the blacksmiths here ventured into the dungeon and died,” Floger replied.
“What? Why?”
“Because of an extra Gyl coin.”
Moonlit Black Cats had heard of rumors about Floger, yet they had never learned about the true story.
Anyway, they were here for a visit, not to evoke sad memories.
The roadway ended at a stone wall, isolating the residential area and the external reinforced fence. There located a construction a chimney emitting smokes. Two storeys high, six meters wide, and nearly a hundred meters long.
Floger’s home, mainly built with brick and wood, was stylish and gracious, unlike the other smithies.
Two gable roofs, made of clay, covered the length of the house and divided the house into two halves. Hanging underneath the eaves, four red paper lanterns automatically lit when the last sunlight vanished at the horizon.
Dim grey amberwood double doors, ornamented with rectangles and ovals, allowed Floger’s guests to enter on the right half. There was a glass bay window on the left half, so people could enjoy tea and observe the scenery outside.
Amberwood patio stairs, smooth but not slippery, reflected the lanterns' gentle light and warned people to mind their step.
The building didn’t give an impression of a searing forge but a cozy home, waiting to welcome its owner for a well-deserved rest after a tiring day.
Once they got close to the house, the metallic words encrusted into the granite sign hanging beneath the eaves glowed:
<> FIRE BELOW MOUNTAIN <>
Working hours: All week (all hours)
“C’mon in,” Floger said.
The adventurers followed Floger, minds still lingered with the astounding view outside. However, once inside, they couldn't help but gasp, taken by the welcoming decor.
The internal furniture was mostly made of wood, which no one had ever known of. The goldenrod ceiling, accented with dark streaks, comforted the residents by diminishing the brightness of five fussy chandeliers.
The polished timber floor reflected most of the light upward, shining the entire room without dazzling people’s eyes. Their footstep resounded once they laid their feet on the lumber, safe and sound.
The guests were caressed with soft warmth, like being wrapped in a velvety blanket. Katrina almost fell asleep immediately after she stepped in, but Lina’s pinch kept her up, avoiding an embarrassing scenario.
Not her fault, since Niel, who had fought her in the snow previously, felt sleepy as well. In the end, a sudden change in the temperature affected everyone the same way.
Understanding his guests’ situation, Floger quickly brought out a teapot and seven cups on an ornate silver tray. The elegant scent further relieved people’s tiredness, like a kind, tender wife taking care of her darling.
Moonlit Black Cats had their renown widespread in the North, envied by countless adventurers because of their overwhelming success. Socializing with high-ranked merchants and nobles only.
However, here they were, in the pristine South, admiring a blacksmith’s lifestyle.
Floger gently put the tray down on an oval glass table and made a hand gesture to invite his visitors to sit down. Chris and Leon were the first to take their seats, followed by Rete, Niel, Lina, finally Katrina. The comfy sofa helped them relived all their strain and pressure after the time in the dungeon.
The adventurers could look out the front yard through the window bay, enjoying the delightful tea and talking about their day.
“Please. This is my preferred drink of choice. It’s no delicacy, but I bet everyone would like it,” Floger said.
“Thank you.”
“My thanks.”
“Nice.”
They all thanked the householder and grabbed the teacups. Their eyes widened once the liquid hit their tongue.
For a moment, the adventurers’ minds vanished to another space, leaving the reality behind and venturing to a wonderland.
For a second, they might regret drinking that tea, for they believed they could never find it anywhere else in the world.
“How’s it?” Floger asked.
“This… is wonderful,” Katrina admitted.
“Indeed. Best tea I ever try,” Rete said.
“May I…” Niel stared at the teapot, hesitating to ask for another shot.
Noticing the young man's liking, Floger poured more tea into everyone’s cups. And they took another sip.
While waiting, Leon took a glance at the surrounding objects, his mouth protruding as he found some interesting items.
Racks after racks displayed stunning pieces of weaponry. Swords and armors were all impeccable in quality and durability. Furthermore, those items weren’t enchanted with magic, proving them more valuable than the augmented ones.
Despite the lack of experience in craftsmanship, these fighters had been rather familiar with weaponry during a lifetime, yet they failed to recognize the material.
“Are they… all yours?” Leon asked, pointing at the equipment racks.
“Oh. Mostly. And some belong to my teacher.”
“Which one is your?” Niel regained the energy after a few cups of tea.
He even jumped out of the sofa and approached a weapon handler. Katrina also left her seat to the opposite direction.
“This one.” Floger showed Niel a broadsword. “Eveyone. Be my guest. Take a look around.”
The young swordsman scrutinized the given blade with expert eyes. Caressing the edge and gripping the handle. He could suppress the urge of swinging the sword. But he couldn’t conceal his interest.
Domicon Broadsword: Attack +30
Passive: Grievous Wounds: Reducing all of a unit's healing received by 50%
This ordinary sword added more raw Attack Stat than his own, which was +25. Normally, the passive mostly applied to all skills. Therefore, the effect ‘Grievous Wounds’ was a nightmare to the victims.
“I would like to buy it. How much is it?” Niel asked.
He looked at Floger straight in the eyes. Honest and determined.
Niel’s suggestion caught Floger in surprise for a few seconds.
“Are you certain?” Floger titled his head. “My teacher’s works are far more superi—“
“Don’t care!” The blond boy interrupted Floger in a hurry, as if the sword in his hand would take off and flew away. “I want this. Tell me how much.”
Astonished by Niel’s insistence, the other adventurers approached and observed the weapon.
Average length. Heavy weight. The edge took shape of a leaf and broadening to the top of the blade. The metallic guard took shape of a blooming rose. Floger’s symbol, a winged-eye, formed the pommel. The handle was suitable for either one hand or two hands.
Technically, the sword’s appearance resembled any common swords on the market. Simple design. Functional.
However, Leon, also a sword wielder, saw the magnificence hidden within the weapon. As his finger touched the blade, he felt, or heard, its beating heart. As if it was a living object, both Leon and Niel sensed the life within. The others couldn’t feel it, as though it was meant for a sword master only.
The guildmaster’s eyes turned to Floger, and he instantly could predict Leon’s next words.
“Have another one?” Leon asked, losing his patience.
“Hey Leon! It’s not how you talk to”—
— “SHUT UP!”
Shocking. Unexplainable.
Aside from Niel, the guildmaster’s words struck at everyone else like a lightning bolt. Never for once had they seen Leon being so rude and so wild.
“Niel! Leon! What’s wrong?” Rete uttered.
The tanker took a step forth and raised both hands. A posture ready to restrain a wild animal.
Their eyes turned red, mouth dripping with saliva. They were clutching the blade so hard that blood started plopping from their hands. Yet they didn’t mind.
Or they weren’t aware.
The two comrades stared at each other like two predators challenging their foes. Ready for a fight to death.
“GUYS! WAKE UP!” Katrina shouted as loud as she could.
But her voice didn’t reach them, as if their minds weren’t here anymore.
“[Cleanse Mind].” Lina chanted a spell, swirling her magic staff.
“A Cleric.”
Lina’s staff glowed in yellow, then blue. An azure beam shot out and hit both Niel and Leon.
“AHHH.”
Her comrades collapsed on the floor. Unconscious.
“How are they?” The witch asked.
“They are fine. Just sleep.” The spearman nodded at Lina, confirming the skill's success.
A sigh of relief came out. However…
Immediately, four adventurers drew out their weapons and pointed them at the householder. A magic staff, a spear, a hammer, and a bow loaded with three arrows. They were all glaring, ready to unleash a deadly skill on the target.
“Hey, hey. Calm down everyone.” Raising his hands, panic on Floger’s face. He had to explain fast before everything became more chaotic. “This is a cursed sword. It’s not me wanting to harm Niel and Leon.”
Keeping his hand aloft, the blacksmith used a foot to push the rack to in front of the adventurers and showed them the label.
Domicon (Cursed) Broadsword
DO NOT TOUCH
Those words were effective.
No one else had touched the sword besides Niel and Leon. Perhaps that was why it affected those two only. They were too careless with the items in a stranger’s house. Floger could place his items wherever he liked. It wasn’t his fault from the beginning.
Anger got replaced by shame. Moonlit Black Cats’ members hastily lowered their weapons.
“My sincere apology for our stupidity, Floger Grimwok.” Chris said.
He, and everyone else, took a deep bow.
Niel’s childish nature brought him huge trouble this time. Leon as well. Their fascination toward swords caused a terrible misunderstanding.
A fight almost happened.
“No no. It’s… all right.” Floger waved his hands. “I should’ve locked it in the basement. But… you know… no one is visiting this place, anyway.”
“Huh? But your items are magnificent!” Katrina uttered.
She had looked around before the incident. It was true that Floger’s works were masterpieces. It made no sense when he said no one was coming to his workshop.
“I deliver the orders to a shop at the market. The customers never want to come near the area.” Floger explained with a sigh.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“It’s all right. Really.” Floger assuaged the worried archeress. “How are the boys?”
Rete checked Leon’s pulse at his wrist and listened carefully to his breaths. Chris was doing the same to Niel.
“Leon’s fine,” Rete replied.
“Niel too.” Chris followed.
“So it was a lie. Huh.”
Floger remembered what Chris told Lina about their companions’ condition.
Perhaps it was urgent, and the spearman must lie. They had to deal with a potential killer back then. Yet the incident clearly described what kind of adventurers they were.
Determined. Decisive. Trustworthy.
Such characteristics were so rare nowadays that Floger once doubted their existence.
“Although I want you to stay, it’s the best for them to see a Healer.” Floger suggested, exuding his concern.
Also, the event had ruined his mood and everyone else’s. The guests should leave.
The adventurers nodded. Katrina headed to the doors when Rete carried Leon and Chris got Niel.
“Sorry for the mess. We shall come another time.” With a light bow, Chris and the others left the workshop.
Lina was the last going out, but not before peeping Floger.
“Goodbye. See you next time.” A gentle smile on his face. But Lina had turned away before seeing it.
Or that was what Floger thought.
The workshop’s sign glowed again as a farewell. Then it turned off.
The smith laid the cursed sword back in the rack, putting them back to exactly where they used to be. He then cleaned up and bring the teapot and everything to the kitchen.
“Perhaps they would be more careful next time.”
Unhappy? Certainly. It could have been a lovely night.
Irritated? No doubt. He was about to invite them for dinner.
Floger failed to recall the last time he had a visitor. He used to have noisy friends, thoughtful neighbors, and expert colleagues. Smithy-13 Street was once the most crowded place in the village. Much busier than the bustling market.
Not anymore.
And today, when he thought the house would be full of laughter and joy once again, it went silent out of sudden.
The blacksmith let out a sigh and continued his business.
Whilst Floger was tidying up, a shadow emerged from the floor. The silhouette prowled on the wall behind him, flapping its wings and nearing Floger in absolute silence.
He didn’t know. He was busy muttering about complaints.
Within seconds, a leg of claws reached out to Floger without his attention.
“I don’t have time for game, Leti.”
Floger’s words startled the shadow, exposing it to the chandeliers’ light.
The creature looked horrendous. Two bat wings protruded from a horned large eyeball. It had two legs with claws and an arrow-shaped tail. Diamond stripes accented the wings, whilst the entire body is imbued in pale purple.
The crimson eye glowed even in a bright room, but it didn’t blink. It couldn’t.
The only sound the evil eye could make came from the wings. But it preferred quietness.
“Go out and play, Leti,” Floger said, while rubbing a longsword with a rag. “You know how to open the door, don’t you?”
The creature shook, then nodded.
“Fine. Then go sleep. It’s late.”
The eyeball rolled its eye, as if Floger just disappointed it greatly.
“What? You’ve got your own bed. Just lie down. Close your eye. And sleep.” Floger frowned, annoyed.
The “bat” flapping around really disturbed him from taking care of the items in the parlor. They needed to be shiny and spotless to welcome Moonlit Black Cats next time.
Unfortunately, the flying eye liked to stay. Its wings didn’t cause much noise, but they kept blocking the light and loomed over his objects. Feeling enough with the annoyance, Floger decided to stop his doing and went to bed.
The chandeliers turned off as he left the parlor. But the room didn’t go dark when the light went out.
The shelves, the racks, and the hangers all radiated with the dimming light. Turquoise or dark blue. The labels lightened and reflected on the weapons they signified.
However, some weapons stayed dark. A war axe, a giant hammer, and two daggers. They seemed rusty and there was no name on their stands.
Those arms belonged to Floger’s teacher. They were the work of a blacksmith with title Master. Of course they were precious.
In fact, these items were the last products of Floger’s instructor. Everything got sold when he died, but no one used hammer, axe, or dagger as their primary weapon in the dungeon.
Those were leftover.
Floger didn’t take good care of them. Or he didn’t want to.
He never forgot the time working as a novice. It was challenging. It was tough. But he made it.
Very soon, Floger showed his gift in metalworking and crafting. The old blacksmith held nothing back. He poured all his lifetime experience and technique on his proudest apprentice.
Within seven years, Floger made his name known to everyone, to every adventurer in the town. Mastering all the techniques which usually costed over ten years to master. The juvenile with the title Apprentice then became an Adept, and then an Expert.
Floger Grimwok successfully upgraded his Occupation from Expert Blacksmith to Artisan Blacksmith in another two years. During the journey, Floger had gradually considered his teacher as his father.
The other colleagues joked that Floger would surpass his teacher, to be the first smith obtaining the title Grand Master. There jokes around telling him to retire and to let Floger take care of the smithy.
Unfortunately, three years ago, the old man left Floger forever before he was labelled Master. The young smith was devastated the day his teacher died. He cried a river and only got back to work after a wasted month.
However, Floger rarely paid a glimpse at his master’s leftover. Perhaps he didn’t want to be reminded of a happy past. Since the happiness once had in the past hurt the most.