This small room felt lonely, with only me and the shadows of embers dancing on the walls.
A few seconds of silence.
Then, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the doorway, firm, rhythmic.
"Hey… you're still here, kid?" The voice was deep and hoarse, but carried a firm vibration that couldn't be ignored.
I turned. Gordon entered, the small hammer still hanging at his waist, his hands blackened with soot, his long beard swaying as he stepped into the middle of the room. His sharp eyes fixed on me, then briefly darted to the table full of notes and maps.
"Why did you drag that young man in here?!" His voice was heavy, but not angry, more like the rough teasing of a dwarf scolding a mischievous child who had wandered into his forge.
I shrugged, looking at Gordon coldly. "Just making sure about the information I got. He's gone now, right?"
Gordon clicked his tongue, his hand stroking his beard. The smell of charcoal and hot metal filled the air, mixed with the dry sweat scent of Gerrard who had just left the room.
"Hah… you're still the same as ever, always dragging other people into your dangerous business."
I looked at him, a faint smile at the corner of my lips. "And you're still here… forging, as usual."
Gordon lifted his hammer onto his shoulder, glancing briefly at the embers in the middle of the room. "These embers never sleep, neither do I. But don't think you can just bring young kids in here however you like, kid." He looked back at me, his eyes gleaming under the firelight.
I fell silent, letting the heavy clang of the hammer fill the room. The atmosphere grew dense at once, the smells of charcoal, sweat, hot metal, and our heartbeats blending into a single rhythm.
Gordon stepped closer, slapping the table with his soot-covered palm, producing a loud bang that echoed among the maps and notes. "Fine… handle that young man yourself. But don't let this place become the stage for your mistakes, kid."
I bowed my head slightly, my shadow stretching along the wall, embers dancing across Gordon's face. "I understand, old man."
Gordon smiled faintly, the lines on his face deepened by the firelight.
He turned back to his hammer and left the room, the heavy clang beginning again, filling the space, but now each strike felt like a reminder, the world outside this room was brutal, and here, plans were beginning to take shape.
I would definitely explore the goblin cave.
I took the paper and pen from the table and began to write down what I had learned, Goblins are like humans, worshipping Demon, my pen circled that part.
Below it, I wrote something else.
Black mana is possessed only by Demons, and it can enhance a monster's brain performance beyond the race it normally chooses.
Humans are the primary food of Demons turning goblins into bait for novice adventurers toward their nest is the perfect move for dying Demons.
Weak, dying Demons seek hosts to shelter within.
After the failure of Alex and his party, Demons scattered, lurking from the shadows of humanity.
"Truly horrifying. They end up terrorizing villages, but why doesn't the Kingdom want the Guild to interfere in this matter? Especially after the noble territory was destroyed because of the Hero's failure."
I continued writing—Alex—his name I bolded, the hero whose statue people wanted torn down.
"I want to meet him, especially after the rumors before I left Hochburg, Alex the Traitor. But that cave is more important to me."
Graham was out of town. Luckily, the cave wasn't far from the Capital map of Hochburg. I was also too lazy to use his father's services; he was more annoying than Graham, his own son.
The map of Hochburg lay spread out on my table, its edges curled from frequent folding. My eyes stopped at a single black dot on the outskirts of the city the western forest, where the goblin cave was.
It wasn't far.
Only a three-hour journey, if my steps didn't stop.
My fingers tapped the table, then stopped at the hilt of my sword. The decision locked in just like that. Without Graham, without his father.
Better to go alone than to endure the nagging of two chatty generations if it wasn't a long journey anyway.
The chair slid softly as I stood. Papers rustled, the ember-shadows on the wall trembled. I opened the door of that room and the hot air of the forge hit my face at once.
I stepped out of the back room, heading toward a figure I had known for a long time.
Toward Gordon.
The clang of a hammer greeted me.
Tang! Tang! Tang!
Sparks flew like tiny stars every time the hammer struck.
The reddened iron pulsed on the anvil, its hot breath lashing my face.
The air in the forge was heavy with charcoal smoke, making my lungs feel filled with soot.
The blackened walls reflected the orange glow of the furnace, while wooden racks were crammed with half-finished blades that had gone cold and handleless weapons.
I set the leather pouch on the table full of scratches and knife marks.
The metal and bones inside clinked softly, like a small hiss, impatient to get out.
I hadn't exchanged all the materials I got yesterday for coins at the Guild.
I set some aside to give to Gordon.
He had done a lot for me; this sword of mine had once been forged without a single coin of payment from me.
Since that day, I always brought him the results I gained through his masterpiece.
"Hey, old man. Here some Giant Rat fangs and claws I hunted yesterday for you."
Gordon's broad shoulders moved only slightly. He kept his head down over the glowing blade before him.
Sweat dripped from his temple, following the grooves of wrinkles on his face, then paused briefly in his neatly braided silver beard before falling onto the dirt floor.
Veins bulged in his thick arms as he raised the hammer, his burn-scarred fingers gripping the wooden handle with the habit of someone who had done the same thing for hundreds of years.
Tang!
The iron wailed and spread.
Tang!
The hammer's sound blended with the roar of the furnace, like two creatures challenging each other.
"Hah… just put it on the table. Can't you see I'm forging!"
In my opinion, he was the greatest craftsman in this city. Actually, he didn't care much about coin purses; he just wanted to forge.
Dwarves were always strange.
"Alright."
I had traded all the goblin hides yesterday; I knew he'd be angry if I gave him low-grade materials like that.
Though Giant Rats weren't particularly great monsters, they were still suitable for his crafting materials.
I tightened the strap of my adventurer's bag. The smell of smoke, charcoal, and hot metal clung to my clothes, unwilling to let go.
Behind me, his hammer sang again, as if my presence had never meant anything to the silence of that forge.
I left without another word, heading for the door and leaving behind the smoky scent of the old dwarf's forge.
Who knew how old he was? The dwarf race did tend to live long lives unlike humans, though not as long as that long-eared race.
The sun had not yet stood powerfully high in the sky, but morning was already nearly gone.