Alastor gripped the doorknob and turned with care the custom made wooden door, though installed, it was poorly crafted as it eerily creaked when he opened it. The room beyond was dimly lit, but it was enough for him to make out the first thing that caught his eye was a burly man standing by the forge, pounding hard at a hot rod with his hammer in a precise and calculated manner. The clanging sound echoed through the room with each strike at the anvil. His eyes squinted from the blinding radiance of the molten iron. A brief clang from the tongs rang when the blacksmith held it and followed by the hiss of steam as he submerged the rod in a nearby barrel of water. Then, the room was filled with the hiss of hot metal. Meil’s face contorted as he went to continue his work.

The man, Meil, was a striking figure, six or seven feet tall with broad shoulders, spiky hair, a thick beard, and shallow eyes. He had a chiseled physique that showcased his impressive six-pack abs. His physique made an intimidating impression. The place was quite a mess, their few papers laying off far from the workplace, blueprints he created, and plates that haven’t been able to be washed indicating how busy he had been for the past few days.

The room was cluttered with a few items on display; medieval swords, armours, and various weapons hanging on the walls. He leaned back against the woolen counter, the long-wrapped object clothed in white, which contained his sword, hidden in his suitcase that was resting at the side. He kept his eyes on Meil.

Meil’s gruff voice broke the silence, “Kid, didn’t I tell you to knock before you enter and where the hell is your pass card?!”

Alastor sighed, his fatigue apparent in his tired reply, “Sorry, I forgot.”

“I told you that if you want my service, leave a card at the post office before you come here!” Meil barked.

Alastor glanced at the counter where a few cards scattered. “Meil, why bother leaving a card when I can just visit here directly?”

“Because I don’t want to be bothered by the police, you dumbass!” Meil snapped, reaching for a rag to clean the desk.

“Right.” Alastor said. He knew better than to argue with Meil.

Meil smirked, “I heard that you guys have gotten pretty cocky these days, eh?” he laughed, “And also, all of you are dead meat.”

Alastor’s expression remained unchanged. He anticipated the news of their gang’s activities would spread fast, and he knew that other gangs would come after them for their advanced technology.

“That’s not surprising,”

Meil’s tone turned grave, “Hey, be serious. You never know who you might bump into; you guys might want to lie low for now.”

“That’s what we’re currently doing,” Alastor said. His arms crossed.

Meil finished cleaning the desk and pulled out a cigar from under it, lighting it at the fireplace. He took a puff, blowing the smoke towards Alastor, who swayed his hands to drive it out from his face. Alastor’s eyes scanned the workshop. Despite the disorganization, Alastor knew that Meil was a skilled craftsman, and he was the best person to go to for several gangs’ weapons and armour needs.

“I’m curious, how many years has it been since you left the Glade?”

Meil leaned back in his armchair, taking a puff of his cigar before replying, “I think it’s been around fifteen or sixteen years. I’m still doing some gigs there though.”

“How did it go?” he asked out of curiosity.

Meil threw his cigar into the fireplace before responding. “At first, people wouldn’t stop bothering me, especially the ladies. I guess they saw me as a rich guy, even though I have nothing but a bucket full of Haz when I arrived here with no connections or reputation.”

“And I’m guessing you beat a few of them up to earn their respect?” Alastor said, amused.

Meil grinned, “You bet I did. So, how’s the Glade doing?”

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Alastor groaned in response, he held his eyes on him. “Same as always, with those damn training programs.”

Meil chuckled, “Holm sure knows how to train a professional mercenary.”

Alastor shook his head in disagreement. “I wouldn’t call myself a professional. Learning doesn’t stop once you’ve graduated. There’s so much out in the world that you can’t learn from books or instructors. I didn’t even know what cake was until I left that hellhole. Besides, I’m not a big fan of following instructors’ directions in the Glade.”

“Your attitude reminds me of someone I knew before.” Meil smiled.

Alastor raised his eyebrow, “Who?”

Meil’s expression turned distant, and he shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said before abruptly standing up. Alastor could sense a shift in mood.

“Meil, is everything okay?” Alastor asked with concern.

“It’s nothing, really. So, what brings you here? You didn’t come all this way just for a chat, did you?”

“Actually, I do have a favour to ask. It’s about my sword, it got pretty rusty since my last fight.”

Meil’s was interested due to the fact that he made an adjustment with his sword last month. Alastor opened the suitcase and revealed the cherished sword wrapped in white cloth. Meil noticed the broken hilt and a few scrapes on the blade, but he was confident that it was nothing he couldn’t fix. As he inspected the sword, Meil realized it was considerably dull.

“Oh damn,” he muttered under his breath. “The hilt will only break if used against a hard surface. Also, considering the dull blade that I just sharpened last month, cutting flesh could have caused the dullness, but the damage could be extensive from within.”

Meil turned around to gather his tools and prepare to reconstruct the blade. “Ya want me to reconstruct it?” he asked without looking back.

“Please do, but make sure the handle is comfortable and not heavy.”

“Sure thing.” Meil said. “You can have it the next day.”

Alastor bowed and left a bag of coins, but before he could walk away, Meil’s tense voice stopped him. “Hey.”

Alastor turned around, wondering what he could possibly want to talk about. Meil had something else on his mind. “How are you holding up with your teammates?” he inquired.

Alastor furrowed his brow, slightly confused. “We’re just doing fine. Is there something we shouldn’t be fine with?”

“No. I’m just a little worried about you. I was wondering if your relationship with them is okay. Since we know that, you know what I mean.”

Alastor understood Meil, but was appalled by the irony. Meil was the one who told him ‘Sympathy with no borders is self-destruction.’ A surge of frustration told Alastor to argue with him, but the reason in him kept his thoughts in check. He wanted to tell him, he wanted to shout, and to call out his hypocrisy, but he won’t, and he is not going to understand him.

“I know. Don’t worry, we’re fine,” he said, offering a wry smile.

Meil smiled back, but his eyes betrayed a sense of worry. Alastor noticed the concern and felt grateful for Meil’s friendship despite what happened. They knew each other for a long time, and Meil helped Alastor during his tough times. He won’t hate Meil for the things that he had done.

Meil broke the tension, “Just remember, kid, they’re the only ones who you can rely on if you want to survive in this kind of business.”

“Hey, stop it. You’re being weird. I’m not used to cliché sayings,” Alastor protested, his lips curving up in a half-smile.

Meil’s expression turned serious as he replied, “Kid, just make sure you hang tight with your friends. They’re the ones you can rely on.”

“You got that being tight is right, but the wrong thing is that they’re not my friends, and I rely on myself,” Alastor retorted.

“It’s not always about yourself, kid,” Meil murmured thoughtfully.

“I know that. Sometimes, I wonder how I can get rid of that part of me.” Alastor admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

“All you have to do is open yourself to them,” Meil advised, his voice soft, and reassuring.

Alastor considered Meil’s advice, but his independence and orphanhood taught him to be self-reliant. He couldn’t help but question whether Meil’s advice would work for him and his teammates. Despite this, he managed a wry smile and told Meil, “I don’t think it will work.”

“You just think that it wouldn’t work. I mean, look at us. We became best buds. How come you aren’t able to see and treat them the way you’re fond of me?”

“It’s different when it comes to you. You took care of me since I was a child and taught me things until you left the Glade,” Alastor explained, his tone softening.

Meil fell into silence, leaning against the wall and giving a heavy sigh. “Alright, if I cannot change your mind, suit yourself.” He rubbed his spiky hair, stood up, and continued his work. Meil added. “You don’t seem to be a greedy person. You rarely complain, and if you do, it’s constructive criticism. But being so conservative, seemingly so desireless, you make me worry and feel sorry for you. Why are you like that?”

Alastor explained, “Because I saw how desires ruin people. They claim that they have enough, but in fact, nothing is more than enough. I don’t want that. I detest that. I want to avoid that.”

“Is that the reason why you keep your distance from them?”

“Who knows what they will become in the future? I don’t want to tie myself to those people who can’t help themselves.”

Alastor dragged the solid wooden door, and as he was leaving, Meil warned him, “You gotta also be careful. I heard that the Canaries are here in town.”

Alastor left without responding, and Meil’s words bugged him for the next few days. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that something terrible was looming over them. Meil’s words about the Canaries kept running through his mind, and he wondered if he should be more cautious about his surroundings.