Chapter 21: Leveling Up (1)
“I never expected to babysit a player, but it wasn’t a terrible experience,” Vargar said with a cheeky smile as he adjusted the straps of his large backpack.
Blake stood across from him, arms folded. When Vargar mentioned babysitting, Blake averted his gaze, then sighed and thanked the old dwarf for everything.
Yesterday, Blake had completed his first quest and acquired the first piece of the 12th Lost King’s set. He shaped it into a horn for his demonic helmet, thereby completing another legendary quest.
He had also discussed the gatekeepers’ armor and weapons with Vargar, eventually deciding to share half of the loot.
That equipment—armor and spears—was forged from high-quality steel, suitable for crafting, selling, and other uses.
Although Vargar initially disliked taking half, Blake reminded him that resources were part of their deal.
In truth, Blake wanted to share his loot with others. It felt like his first genuine step toward becoming a better human being and a more thoughtful player. He wanted to care more about his relationships.
“Thanks for everything, Vargar. I’ll always consider you my friend. Until we meet again in the Dwarven Kingdom,” Blake said, extending his hand.
The old dwarf shook it firmly. “And I’ll think of you as a friend as well, Blake. Until next time!”
Vargar turned, opened the smithy doors, and let the howling blizzard rush in. The sudden cold roused Sol from his nap, making him adopt a comical defensive stance against the chilly air. His Sunshine soon chased the discomfort away.
Not one to linger on farewells, Vargar headed down the mountain’s slope, his silhouette shrinking until it vanished beyond the horizon. At that moment, the smithy’s doors swung shut.
-
Blake approached the workbench and rested his palms on it.
He surveyed the smithy: the furnace, the spot where he had shared a beer with Vargar, the sealed doors, and finally the pile of armor and spears.
He couldn’t store the third objective’s loot in his inventory because of his low level. His armor and katana took up most of the space, with blacksmithing tools filling the rest.
One tool in particular stood out.
It was Blake’s reward for completing the quest with outstanding results—the horn now adorning his helmet.
[Volcanic Mold (Legendary)—A mold crafted from soft yet firm volcanic clay, infused with draconic mana deep within the Empyrean Dragon’s Volcano Kingdom. It can assume any shape, regardless of its dimensions, due to its pliable texture. Having rested at the bottom of the volcano for a thousand years, it is said the Volcanic Mold can even shape dragons’ breaths into focused beams.]
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It looked like a thick, volcanic-themed pad capable of stretching and contracting infinitely. This remarkable property would allow Blake to craft items with far greater ease and precision. In fact, he could even create custom molds for mass production.
The Volcanic Mold brought out Blake’s inner child as he played with its delightfully soft texture. It was as addictive as popping bubble wrap.
Sol, seemingly eager to join, rolled onto the workbench and looked up. His golden eyes, however, settled on Blake rather than the mold.
“What’s up?” Blake asked, puzzled.
Sol didn’t respond, remaining perfectly still. His silence spoke volumes. The little apple-like creature had always seemed happy at Blake’s side, but now he was quiet.
After a moment’s thought, Blake asked, “Hungry?”
Sol’s eyes lit up. He had arrived only a day ago, and perhaps he needed sustenance—whatever that meant for an elemental. Blake had no one to ask; no one else here could speak or explain Sol’s needs.
This puzzle felt more challenging than fighting gatekeepers. Each passing second increased Blake’s discomfort. How did one feed an elemental?
Just then, Blake felt a gentle nudge of intuition, as though a guiding angel sat on his shoulder.
“Anything you want?” he asked.
Sol turned toward the pile of steel equipment, focusing on one suit of gatekeeper armor. Since Blake had defeated them cleanly, the armor remained nearly pristine. To Sol, though, it looked like a meal.
“Sure… just one,” Blake said, lifting the little elemental and placing him on the chosen armor piece.
Without hesitation, Sol pressed his tiny mouth to the armor. Within moments, his apple-like body began melting it into a paste he eagerly consumed.
Both Blake and Beatrix, her emerald eyes peering from his shadow, watched, astonished. Sol paid them no mind, wriggling inside the armor as he devoured it with surprising ease.
Blake glanced over his shoulder. “What about you?” he asked Beatrix.
She shook her head slightly, showing no need for nourishment.
Blake nodded. “I can’t work on an empty stomach, so we’ll head out as well. We can’t go anywhere without our little torch. Let’s wait until he finishes.”
His familiar agreed, and together they waited, patient and curious.