Steve stripped the forge bare, taking everything that wasn't nailed down—and even some things that were. There was no denying it now: blacksmiths were treasure troves.
By the time he was done, his worn leather armor had been replaced with a full set of gleaming iron plates, and he'd looted an entire anvil to boot.
Weapons filled his inventory—swords, spears, axes, hammers—all ripped straight from the weapon racks. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single iron pickaxe among them.
Then again… maybe that was a good thing.
If he advanced too quickly before unlocking his first mod, it might make future rewards harder to trigger.
He eyed the furnace next, testing it with his pickaxe. The tool bounced harmlessly off. Not enough mining level. Shame.
Stuffing his full inventory into the boat, he turned back to the dwarf blacksmith still trapped inside.
Holls could only stare, his mind numb.
He couldn't understand it—why the golem only stole displayed weapons, or how it made them vanish without a trace. There hadn't been even a flicker of magical energy.
Is this not magic at all?
Even the armor looked strange. It had clearly been one of his creations—he recognized the design—but once the golem put it on, it was no longer a set of plates. It looked… fused, seamless, like one solid sheet of iron molded perfectly to its body.
He had no idea how that was even possible.
And when Steve sat in the boat beside him, the dwarf was dragged backward automatically, sliding into position. Instinctively, his craftsman's hands brushed against Steve's armor.
Smooth. Perfectly flat. No seams. No hammer marks. Every pattern he'd engraved had vanished into uniform metallic sheen.
No one could forge like this, Holls thought in horror. Not in seconds… not even gods of the forge.
Was this some higher form of creation?
Then the boat began to move. Slowly, smoothly, the paddles started rowing on their own.
"Hey! What are you doing? Let me out!" Holls yelled, pounding on Steve's back. His fists hurt like hell—he might as well have been punching an iron block. The golem didn't even flinch.
He shouted louder, hoping someone outside would hear him. But the forge was isolated; there was no one nearby.
Then Steve jumped out of the boat, turning to face him, a cold gleam flashing across his square hand.
Holls froze. The golem was holding one of his own creations—his long spear—though now it looked… angular, blocky, wrong.
That was enough to shut him up completely.
But Steve wasn't threatening him. He'd simply realized rowing was too slow.
Dragging a captive back to base by boat would take forever. Better to return home, trade gems for iron, and come back later when he had rails for transport.
So he hopped away cheerfully, leaving the stunned dwarf behind.
The moment Steve was gone, Holls' terror burst out as a scream for help, echoing through the alleyways.
...
Meanwhile, Jack's group finally arrived outside the Adventurers' Guild.
Despite the name, the building looked more like a bustling tavern—warm lights, the smell of ale, laughter echoing under wooden rafters. A massive quest board covered the far wall, littered with parchment notices.
Behind the counter sat a cheerful young receptionist with soft brown hair, politely smiling as she helped adventurers file reports and payments.
Tables filled the rest of the space, crowded with mercenaries drinking, chatting, and bragging about their latest hunts. The air was lively, almost comforting.
Jack and the others had barely stepped inside when someone blocked their path.
The man pulled down the scarf covering his face—and Jack's stomach sank. It was the same warrior from yesterday.
His eyes were bloodshot, his expression hollow. He hadn't slept. His face twitched with exhaustion and fury.
"What do you want?" Jack demanded warily.
"The money," the warrior rasped, voice raw. "You brought it, right?"
Jack instinctively stepped back. The man's presence radiated something unhinged. Before he could answer, Elena frowned, saying firmly, "We'll deliver it to the Guild as agreed."
"No need for that." The warrior shoved them roughly toward a side alley, his breath sharp with desperation. "I've already spoken to the Guild. You just give it to me."
Elena's instincts screamed danger. She grabbed Jack's sleeve, trying to pull him away—but the warrior blocked the only exit.
"Don't make a scene," he warned, lowering his voice. "Your kind isn't welcome here. You want trouble?"
He herded them deeper into the alley, the shadows closing around them. "I'm not unreasonable. Otherwise, we'd be talking outside the town walls. Just give me the gold, and we're done. You'll never see me again."
Elena's pulse raced. She didn't know what had driven this man to madness, but one glance at the cold glint in his eyes told her he meant every word.
Biting her lip, she tugged Jack again, whispering, "Give it to him."
Jack hesitated, then handed over the prepared payment.
The warrior snatched it greedily, counting with trembling fingers—then his gaze shifted, catching sight of Jack's satchel. Without warning, he yanked it away and bolted.
By the time anyone reacted, he was already sprinting down the street, cloak whipping behind him.
"Wait—!" Elena shouted, but he was gone.
Jack stared helplessly at the empty alley. "That had our lunch in it…"
They exchanged a grim look, then decided to move on. There was no catching him now.
Inside the Guild, they approached the receptionist, ready to explain.
But before they could speak, the girl bowed apologetically.
"We're terribly sorry," she said. "You don't owe any payment for the commission."
Elena blinked. "What happened?"
The receptionist sighed. "That man tried to fraudulently claim his partner's death indemnity yesterday. When confronted by the victim's family, he lost control and attacked them before fleeing. We've since learned he murdered his companion, killed the coachman who witnessed it, and even injured a shopkeeper while fencing the stolen goods."
Jack's group went silent.
"He's now officially wanted," she finished softly. "Because his actions interfered with your commission, we deeply apologize."
She bowed again, her voice full of genuine remorse.
They exchanged uneasy glances.
Elena hesitated, then asked, "Why would he do all that?"
"We don't know," the receptionist admitted. "Witnesses said he was acting paranoid—ranting that it was all 'the demon's fault.' Maybe he went mad."
The demon…
Jack's stomach tightened. Surely he wasn't talking about that lord—the one who'd saved their village?
The thought unsettled all of them. What could that man have seen… what could have broken his mind so completely?
Elena cleared her throat. "Actually, he just robbed us. In the alley out front."
The girl's eyes widened. "He—he came back?!"
Apologizing profusely, she hurried toward the back hall to summon the guards.
Jack, Elena, and the others were left standing there, silent.
Outside, somewhere beyond the city walls, the wind howled faintly through the trees—like something dark was still watching.