“Besides, it’s not our problem. Even if the reward is good, the Church of War have a personal stake in the commission.”

As the men spoke, Mican perked his ears up and listened closely. The news he heard was not pleasant, and it immediately formed a frown on his face.

“I heard that Grantold had been locked down by Alfric Alabaster. Supposedly, his grandson had hired the Brave Heart and they all got slaughtered together in an ambush-“ The man wiped his forehead nervously- “I heard the old archbishop was completely enraged. It was to the point he called in every available favour he had, locking down the entire city just to search for the two demons.”

Mican furrowed his brow as he thought of the conundrum, and it was clear he was not the only one worried. The other adventurers in the crowd had grown visibly nervous, whether it was due to the news of two loose demons or the archbishop’s rage was unknown.

The incredible display of power in locking down an entire city had made him nervous as well. Such an action all but proved that the Church was incredibly influential.

“It’s all out of our control, the only people worthy of picking up such a job would be other more powerful parties. Imagine what we could do with the money though. I’d buy a boat, haha!”

Hearing the conversation devolve into meaningless drivel, Mican squeezed himself out of the crowd and left the quest board.

Walking out of the wooden double doors, the young man considered his next plan of action.

Considering as to how close Spurrose was to Grantold, it was only a matter of time before the town was next, but Grantold wasn’t a small city, so he believed that he had at least a bit of time to think.

The best option he could see now was to continue running, as far as he possibly could. Perhaps follow the trails to other towns or cities? With no essential survival skills, he was quite hesitant about the idea. If there was no other option, he would find a way to post a transport request on the Adventurer Association’s commission board, but that was only a short-term solution, and it would likely suck up a great amount of his current funds.

Shaking his head, Mican continued on his way out to the square. Speaking of funds, he had business to deal with. Racking his brain could wait until after.

The sun was high in the sky at this point, shining light down onto the now bustling city. The young man walked in the streets, shielding his eyes from the bright light in the endless blue sky.

The massive head sat up in the atmosphere, still and unmoving, as if it was surveying the land silently. Seeing the populace not react to such a sight made him think that he was insane, but he knew that he wasn’t imagining things. The head was likely only normal to them, like an extra sun in the sky.

Morning had passed by this point, and the crowd had picked up activity. It was not nearly as bustling as it was the night before, only several tents and stands open for business. Walking into the area of festivities, Mican began searching the plaza. The square was fairly large, with a makeshift dance stage at the very center.

“Hey, Mican!”

In an inconspicuous corner in the square, near a massive tent, Harold could be seen waving his arm and calling out.

Picking up his pace, Mican jogged over to the middle-aged man, and waved back in return.

A large tarp had been set up in a section of the square, covering a small wagon, which had been opened up to reveal a small flame.

“Welcome, Mican, to my travelling forge.” As Mican approached the wagon, Harold walked back and slapped the wagon affectionately.

“So you’re a blacksmith? You hadn’t told me that.” Slowing his pace, Mican inspected the wagon carefully.

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An assortment of smithing tools had been laid out onto several small tables near the wagon, and a small pile of wood was sitting to the left.

The wagon was a fairly small one, riding on two large wheels. The initials H.A had been written out in large, visible letters on the forge. It looked to be exactly what it sounded like, a portable forge.

“I didn’t see it being an important detail, and I’m not a good one anyway,” Taking off the blacksmith’s apron and gloves he was wearing, he sat down on a block of wood and welcomed Mican.

“Besides, I’m not only a blacksmith but also a trader in metalworks. You have to take what business you can get if you know what I mean-“ the man gestured at a block opposite of him- “but let’s get down to business. What have you got for me?”

Sitting down on the wood, Mican took out several small throwing knives that had been tucked away in his belt, displaying them to the blacksmith.

“Hmm, interesting technique. These are a bit more valuable than I had originally expected.” Holding the knives in his hands, Harold squinted his eyes and inspected them thoroughly.

“How much do you think I can get for them?”

“Just one second Mican. Duarte, fetch me my glass!” Pausing in his movements, the blacksmith turned his head and shouted at the back of the wagon, near the large tent.

A few moments later, light footsteps sounded out as a teenage boy ran out towards the two from the large tent, holding a glass monocle in his hands.

The boy was quite clean looking, with a head of smooth and short black hair, dressed in old but obviously cared for clothing. He had a white buttoned-shirt on, with a faded brown pair of trousers. He dressed simply but looked fairly well-fed and taken care of.

“This is my son, Duarte.” Accepting the monocle from the boy, the blacksmith put it on and began looking once more at the knives. “Stay and watch the transaction, son. Try and learn a thing or two.”

Taking a brief glance at the boy, Mican was met with a slight nod.

“Hmm, yes. These knives seemed to have been created as a group, all with the same technique. I’ll give you a silver coin for all of them.” Placing the knives down, Harold turned to Mican and gave him a price.

“Hmm, are you saying they’re worth a silver coin?” Intrigued, Mican gave the man a question in return.

“While they’ve been crafted quite meticulously, they also seem to be fairly well used, and the metal needs some work to be made properly useable again. Yes, they should be worth around a silver coin.”

The young man felt nothing through the first half of the sentence, but near the end, an annoyed feeling washed over him as if he had stepped in dog crap. It was clear to him that the price listed was a lie, or at least not the total truth.

“They’re weapons even adventurers are capable of using, they have to be worth more than a single coin.” Sitting back, he shot out a counter-offer.

“Hmm, that’s true, but I had originally planned to just melt them down and reforge them anyway. Besides, you won’t get much of a different price anywhere else. The most it’s worth is an extra bronze.” Raising his eyebrow, Harold barely budged.

“If I really pushed, I could probably get more from another vendor. Raising it by a single bronze coin is meaningless.” Sensing more lies, Mican didn’t move either.

The teenager, Duarte, stood silently in the background, his eyes darting between the two men as they continued the negotiation between each other.

As the trading continued for several minutes, Mican began losing his patience. he was almost tempted to just sell the weapons on the spot and be done with it.

Seeing as to how his opponent sat strong and smiling, the young man knew he was outclassed in both experience and patience.

“Dad, he seems to know the real value of the knives, why try and rip him off?” Before Mican could do anything though, Duarte broke the silence between the two, asking his father a question.

“It’s all about patience in business, Duarte. I’ll keep the price low until he gives up and goes off to the local smithery. I doubt they’ll have the production techniques we do to discern the weapons true value, so they’ll give him a lower price-“ he shrugged his shoulders as if to emphasize his point- “when he comes back here, he’ll have no choice but to give up and sell me them.”

“That’s sneaky, dad.”

“Also, it’s not ripping anyone off you brat son, all is fair in securing our livelihood. You’ll understand when you’re an adult like me.”

Turning his head back to Mican, the blacksmith was met with a very confused face.

“You do know I’m not deaf, right?” Dumbfounded from the unexpected turn of events, Mican shook his head in confusion.

After asking the question, Mican himself was met with two equally confused faces from the pair, containing a bit of shock.

“What is it?” Bewildered, Mican looked back and forth between the pair.

Exchanging a glance with his son, a pleasant look broke out on Harold’s face as he stood up and rested a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Are you of Sutton descent? I didn’t think I’d meet someone who spoke Saerl in Million.” A chuckle broke out from the blacksmith as joyfully looked at Mican.

Sutton? Saerl? The bewildered look on Mican’s face faded as he quickly realized what had happened. It was apparent to him that he had no control over the language he was speaking, and that everything came out to him as his native language.

It was the exact same issue he had with the language of the place called Yaribol, Godsech, in which he had to ask Rose what it was.