The healing potion worked its magic instantly, mending the whip wounds on the dwarf's body. Pethra didn't allow Aron to leave the mansion without the healing potions, saying that he got a knack for finding new ways of getting hurt.

The dwarf rose slowly to his feet, wiping dirt from his clothes. He was around 150 cm, wearing a light brown shirt with dark brown pants and sturdy leather boots. Around his waist was a wide leather belt with tool pouches, which he used to place his wooden hammer after picking it up. Apparently, he was repairing the broken wheel of the wagon.

"Thank you for helping this old beard lad, the name is Balin," he said, extending a hand to Aron. "Balin Hearthkeeper."

Aron shook his hand and introduced himself, "Aron, no need to mention it."

"Aya…" Balin then walked and picked up the small coin pouch, he then turned to Aron while shaking the pouch. "Why don't we go and have a nice meal with beer, a dark cold beer, what say you, lad?"

"Hmm.." Aron scratched his chin thinking, 'I need to cool off a little, a drink will be good.' "Alright"

"Splendid! I know just the place," the dwarf exclaimed. "But what should we do with that one?" He pointed to the goat-man who passed out from the pain of getting his horn pulled out.

"Do whatever you like with him; it's not my problem anymore," Aron replied with a cold and emotional tone. He then started heading to town, leaving Balin standing in his spot hesitating.

"Nahh… Screw it, I don't want to have more problems than what I already have…HEY! Wait for me, Lad." Balin quickly caught up to Aron, leaving the goat man lying there on the ground.

"Why did you allow him to whip you like that?" Aron wondered. He tried to analyze Balin's power level, but that resulted in failure because of the slave collar sealing all of his powers. However, from his brief observation, Aron could clearly see that the dwarf was much stronger than the goat-man.

Balin halted his steps, gazing at Aron for a whole minute before raising his chin and pulling up his thick gray beard, revealing his neck.

Aron narrowed his eyes, seeing something he knew very well. "So you're a slave, Balin?"

Balin shook his head. "Yes and no."

"I'm not technically a slave. Yes, I have the collar, but I'm not. I'm a prisoner here; I'm allowed to move freely in the town as long as I work and pay my debt."

"I see…so you're forced to endure the beating just to pay your debt," Aron understood Balin's situation.

"Aye, Lad, this doesn't happen often. That Caprithian harbored a deep hatred of us Dwarves because one of our kings of old enslaved his race and used them in the mines."

'So the goat race is called Caprithians, good to know,' Aron noted.

By now, everything he sees and hears is stored in his 'Shadow Library,' and any new information is always welcomed

"I understand where his hatred came from. But at the end of the day, his actions won't matter if he doesn't have the strength to support them," Aron's mentality is straightforward.

He doesn't care about good or evil most of the time, with the exception of his Treasures and children; they are the two red lines that Aron will destroy anything and anyone who dares to cross them.

Balin kept silent, pondering on Aron's words. He understands the meaning behind them well; after all, what got him to this state was the lack of strength.

"What's your strongest point, Balin?" Aron's question snapped Balin from his thoughts about the past.

"I'm a craftsman; I make all sorts of things, but my strongest point is blacksmithing."

Aron nodded but chose silence; his mind was working at double speed making all sorts of plans.

After some time, the two reached the center of Larton. Aron hadn't seen the center of the town before; the first time, he headed directly to the guild. Even when he was shopping with the girls, he didn't explore a lot, since Pethra and Kasumi led him straight to the markets.

Now he was standing in the middle of a wide circular square surrounded by buildings of different kinds and shapes. The biggest one of them was in the east, a four-story building made from bricks with occasional wooden beams and decorations here and there. The building easily took a space equivalent to two or three medium-sized houses, with banners on top and two guards standing at the gate.

"That's the town's center; it's where the Mayor usually held his meetings, with the merchants, guild masters and so on," Balin explained when he saw Aron examining the building.

He nodded then shifted his focus to the statues in the middle of the square. Four gray stone statues of men facing each other's back: a human, elf, dwarf, and lastly, a beastman—Bear race.

"Who are they?" Aron asked, pointing at the statues.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Hmm?...Oh, they are the founders of Larton. I don't know a whole lot about them, but I know that the dwarf over there was a son of a king."

"I see, good to know."

*growl*

"By my beard, my belly is hungry, C'mon lad, I'm starving." Balin couldn't take it anymore; all he cared about now was eating and drinking.

He led Aron through the paths of the town to a specific place that Aron instantly recognized. "Is this the place you mentioned?"

"Aye! The food here is fantastic," Balin said with a wide smile.

"I know; I tried it before." Aron smiled looking at the building; it was the Drunken Chef Inn. He was excited to try that meal with the delicious sauce again.

"Good, now let's enter before my stomach starts to scream."

Balin didn't wait any longer; he pushed the wooden door and walked inside. Aron chuckled inwardly and followed him inside.

The inn was mostly empty with just four men, two playing some card game at a small table in the corner. The other two were sitting at the counter, drinking from big mugs.

Balin made his way to the counter with quick steps that didn't match his short figure and made him look funny. He jumped to a tall chair.

"Morning Helga, I hope the food is cooked and ready."

"Good morning, Balin. What can I get you today?" Helga greeted him with a warm smile.

Balin turned to Aron with a grin. "What's your poison, lad? I recommend their special meal, but since it's morning, why don't you try a cup of coffee."

Helga shifted her focus to the person that Balin was speaking to. "You..." her eyes narrowed with visible hostility. "Sorry, Balin, I can't serve coffee to the enemy of coffee."

"Eh?" Balin's mind shut down, unable to understand the meaning behind Helga's words.

"HAHAHA," Aron burst into laughter as he sat next to Balin. Helga, the innkeeper, couldn't help but crack a small smile, even though she had just called Aron the "enemy of coffee."

Balin snapped and glanced at Helga bewildered. "Enemy of coffee? What in the world does that mean?"

Helga couldn't take it anymore and joined in the laughter, seeing the dumbfounded face of Balin.

"Haah! What can I get you both?" catching her breath, Helga asked.

"A cold drink, Helga; I leave the choice to you," Aron replied.

"And you Balin?"

"Aaaah!...I'll have the same," he replied after a short pause.

Helga nodded and went to the back, getting their drinks. Balin shook his head, thinking too much about 'the enemy of coffee' would only give him a headache. He turned to Aron and extended his hand.

"Show me," he said.

Aron raised an eyebrow. "Show you what?"

"The axe on your back; I want to see it."

"Why?"

"Just show me and stop asking questions."

Aron gazed at the dwarf in the eyes for a time then he let out a sigh and called, "Nightfall."

Nightfall immediately flew from Aron's back and approached Balin.

Balin widened his eyes seeing the Greataxe hovering above the ground. He instantly recognized what kind of weapon this was; he covered his hand with mana and grabbed Nightfall, placing it on the counter for examination.

Aron, surprised that Balin was able to hold the axe without difficulty, couldn't help but ask, "How can you hold it? I remember the last time someone tried to catch it; they couldn't."

The dwarf didn't reply immediately, lost in his examination of Nightfall. He ran his calloused fingers along the finely crafted hilt and studied the intricate engravings on the dragon-shaped blade, mumbling something about toughness and balance.

Helga returned with four mugs of cold beer, placing two in front of Aron and Balin and the other two for the men next to them.

Aron glanced to his left and saw a tall man matching his height, with orange-red hair, and a beard in the same color with a straight gray line of hair in the middle of it. The man was wearing a brown bear coat with tribal markings visible on his right arm.

The man glanced back at Aron with his blue eye; he held his mug of beer in the air.

"Olaf," he introduced himself.

"Aron," Aron did the same.

The two of them raised their wooden beer mugs and gave a cheerful tap before enjoying their drink.

*Glup*

"This is a nice drink, I needed it to cool off," Aron slammed his mug on the counter.

"I can relate to that," Olaf did the same thing.

"So, Olaf, what brings you to Larton?" Aron asked.

"Oh! It's obvious that I'm not from here?" Olaf chuckled and leaned back on his stool, signaling for two more beers, earning him death stares from Helga.

"Totally. I didn't spend much time in Larton. I saw so many people of different races, but I never saw no one with these markings," Aron then glanced at the man next to Olaf. "No one but you and that man."

Olaf let out a hearty laugh, appreciating the curiosity in Aron's eyes. "Aye, these are tribal marks of my ancestors, and you're right. I'm not from here. I came from the north, from the great kingdom of Volskar."

Olaf then pointed to the man next to him. "This is my son Bjorn."

Bjorn raised his mug in a friendly greeting, Olaf flashed a sly smile seeing Helga approaching with another two mugs of beer.

"And this fine lady here is my sister Helga."

Helga slammed the mugs with force. "A sister you didn't visit in years."

"I'm sorry sister, you know what happened. I couldn't just leave the kingdom in that state."

"Yes...Yes…I know. It's just—" Helga suddenly halted and gazed at the inn's entrance; her face instantly darkened.

Aron, Olaf, and Bjorn noticed this and turned around to see what caused her to suddenly change, except Balin, who was fascinated with Nightfall.

Five men clad in flashy armor just entered the inn, the first one was a young man with blond hair wearing purple armor with golden details and a greatsword on his back.

"You're not welcomed here, leave at once," Helga, the innkeeper, addressed the newcomers with visible hostility.

"Tsk..Tsk…Madam Helga, this is not how you speak to your benefactor," the young man spoke in a calm manner as if he didn't care about Helga's obvious hostility toward him and his men.

The man stopped between Olaf and Aron as he addressed Helga.

"My superiors have lost patience, Madam Helga. They sent me specifically to make sure that our business is done."

"I have no business with you, NOW leave my inn."

"That's where you're wrong, Madam Helga. We do have a business. It's called pay for our protection, and nothing goes wrong."

The young man raised one of the beer mugs from the counter and took a small sip. Meanwhile, his four men spread out in the inn, scaring the two men who were playing card games as they left instantly.

"After all, it will be a shame to destroy this lovely inn," the young man spoke as he turned the beer mug to the side, spilling everything on the floor; then he let the mug fall. However…

Before the mug reached the inn floor, two giant fists flashed near his face.

BOOF. Splash!.

"Eh?!"

The other four men stood there in shock, unable to understand what just happened. For a moment everything was fine, and in the next, their leader's head just exploded out of nowhere. His heartless corpse fell on the floor, covering the inn with a pool of blood.

Raising their eyes, they saw two men with their fists extended in the air where their leader's head was. One man with pale skin and black hair wearing dark steel armor. The other was as tall as the first man with orange hair and blue eyes wearing a brown bear coat.

"Threatening my family will lead only to death."