The Merchant and the Blacksmith (1)
Tick. Tock.
The sound of the clock’s hands moving was oddly soothing. Dalen found it amusing that he felt this way.
“Everything seems sweet when you hear it for the first time in two years.”
Clocks were a rarity in this world, and most of them were powered by magic stones. A handcrafted grandfather clock like this one was several times more expensive than those.
This was the first time Dalen had heard the ticking of a clock since he arrived in this world.
“The Magic Tower must be swimming in money. Just look at the expensive furniture they’ve brought into the Bronze District branch.”
Dalen mused as he sank into the plush single-seater sofa.
He was sitting in the branch of the Magic Tower located in the Bronze Plaza, the only real point of contact with the Magic Towers in the Bronze District. And this was the most luxurious waiting room in the branch.
The reason Dalen was here was because he hadn’t yet received his payment.
“The elder wizard of the Elgaia Magic Tower wants to meet you. He said he’d prefer to hand over the payment in person. What do you think?”
That was the response he got when he went to see Sienna a day after completing his task to collect his payment.
Dalen had readily agreed. After all, the elder wizard hadn’t asked to meet him for nothing.
“He promised additional compensation for your time, beyond the agreed payment.”
If an elder wizard said that, it was worth expecting a reward. A few gold coins wouldn’t mean much to someone of his stature.
But what puzzled Dalen was why the wizard wanted to see him so badly.
Sure, returning a kidnapped direct disciple, especially one taken by the Frogmen army, was a significant feat.
But elder wizards were known for being incredibly sedentary.
Was that reason alone enough for him to travel all the way to the distant Bronze District?
“No point in overthinking it.”
Dalen scratched his chin. Meeting a high-ranking figure was an opportunity he didn’t need to refuse. You never know how such connections might help in the future.
Tick. Tock.
Having waited longer than expected, Dalen decided to review the abilities he’d gained.
“Status window.”
――――――――
Name: Dalen
Level: 6
[Strength: 23] [Dexterity: 14] [Stamina: 13]
[Senses: 16] [Intelligence: 18] [Magic: 10]
Skills: Dehaman’s Armored Combat (D), Night Vision (E), Dragonblood Regeneration Factor (C)
――――――――
The first thing that caught his eye was the skills section.
A new skill had been added to the list that previously only had two.
He had inherited the result of an experiment from the corpse of a test subject used by the dark wizard Delric.
[Dragonblood Regeneration Factor (C)]
Among the many special factors contained in dragon blood, the regeneration factor was extracted and applied to humans. While the incomprehensible regenerative power is considered the lowest among dragon traits, from a mortal’s perspective, it’s a highly coveted ability.
Proficiency: 6%
Dragons.
The only race among those living on land where every member is immortal.
In this fantasy world, dragons existed. There were at least five well-known dragons on the continent alone, and Dalen knew of even more.
Dragons were the embodiment of mystery.
Their words could move the world, their wings summoned fire and lightning, and their spilled blood could kill living beings with just a touch.
But those traits weren’t what mattered right now.
The focus was on the dragon’s regenerative power.
How they managed to extract just the regenerative power from blood that acted as a deadly poison to mortals was unknown.
And how they applied it to humans without side effects was a mystery.
Dalen simply enjoyed the results.
By inheriting the corpse of a character that had died long ago beyond the monitor.
“Dragonblood isn’t perfect, though.”
The incomprehensible regenerative power came with a price.
After healing the wounds from the battle with the Frogmen, Dalen had returned to the inn and slept for an entire day, unconscious.
He had only managed to wake up today, with the sun already high in the sky.
It was likely because Dalen’s body had already surpassed human limits that it only took a day.
“Using regenerative power continuously in battle is impossible. The role of Dragonblood is just to help survive a near-death experience.”
Still, Dalen was satisfied.
In this harsh world, the value of an extra life was priceless.
Moreover, with proficiency now over 6%, he was eager to see how much it would develop as it increased.
“Come to think of it, Dehaman’s Armored Combat proficiency has surpassed 50%.”
Perhaps due to breaking his weapon and fighting barehanded in the battle with the Frogmen, the proficiency that had stalled at 49% had suddenly jumped to 58%.
The second skill he acquired, Night Vision, had also steadily increased, now surpassing 30%.
“And I realized once again, leveling up isn’t the answer.”
Despite risking his life to take down hundreds of Frogmen, he had only gained one level.
In contrast, inheriting the test subject’s corpse had increased his stamina, senses, and magic evenly.
In terms of numbers, it was a fourfold difference. Leveling up now felt like a bonus that came by chance.
“I invested the level-up points in dexterity, and with the recent increase in magic, it reached 10.”
Reaching a magic stat of 10 was significant.
In the game, the minimum requirement to learn magic was having both intelligence and magic at 10 or above.
It was literally the “minimum requirement.”
“Magic, huh.”
The concept of magic was one of the most intriguing aspects since he arrived in this world.
While his extraordinary physique offered experiences he couldn’t have in the modern world, magic was an entirely different supernatural phenomenon.
What would it feel like to learn magic, something that didn’t exist on Earth?
“Maybe I’ll get the chance soon.”
The Apostles of Reversal, with their large masks.
Among the corpses they left behind were characters who were mages.
Whether magic suited the appearance of a barbarian was uncertain, but Dalen didn’t care.
If it meant becoming stronger, what did image matter?
In fact, it could serve as a hidden trump card against those deceived by appearances.
Knock, knock, knock.
Just then, someone knocked on the waiting room door. A guide opened it cautiously and spoke.
“Mr. Dalen, the elder wizard will see you now.”
“Understood.”
Dalen rose from the sofa. Time to see what this additional compensation was all about.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been a while since I visited the branch, and the administrative work has piled up like a mountain.”
The old man with a long brown beard rubbed his dark-circled eyes and chuckled.
“No wonder everyone avoids coming here on business trips, heh heh.”
He mentioned that once he returned to the Magic Tower, he’d suggest rotating business trips to the branch. The old man filled an empty cup to the brim.
Dalen caught a familiar scent from the rich aroma.
No way. It was coffee.
“Would you like a cup?”
“I’d pay gold for it.”
”…No place charges gold for coffee, no matter how expensive it is.”
“Ah, my apologies. The aroma was just too enticing.”
Dalen swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth and carefully accepted the cup the old man poured for him.
Clink.
Unlike when he downed the tea Penny had served him, he savored the aroma and taste from the first sip.
The subtly sweet yet rich aroma and the bitterness rolling in his mouth made him close his eyes involuntarily.
“Who would’ve thought you’d have a taste for tea? Coffee is a unique beverage from the southern empire. If you don’t mind, I’ll send a bag of beans through the Raven’s Nest.”
”…Thank you.”
Dalen had to muster superhuman patience to keep his expression in check.
If he let his guard down, he might end up suggesting they settle the additional compensation with just those beans.
“Anyway, let me introduce myself. I’m Felber Valentino, an elder wizard of the Elgaia Magic Tower and an earth mage who has carved out a small domain. I’m also the direct mentor of Tommy, whom you rescued.”
“Dalen.”
Dalen replied briefly and then spoke again.
“Is the blonde wizard doing well?”
“He’s in good health. But just in case, he’s recuperating at the Magic Tower. He insisted on coming to thank you personally, but… tsk, he needs to be disciplined for a while.”
“Disciplined?”
The old man nodded.
“Do you know why he went down to the sewers?”
“I don’t. Sienna said she didn’t know either.”
“Yes, that’s how it should be. But since you’ve already met his senior, you might have guessed the reason.”
The old man looked at Dalen with a meaningful gaze. What, does he think he can read my mind?
Dalen crossed his arms and sank deeper into the chair. This chair was even more comfortable than the single-seater sofa in the waiting room.
“He went to follow the traces of his missing senior, didn’t he?”
“Correct.”
The old man nodded in agreement.
“After discovering the existence of an older brother I never knew I had, I stumbled upon a clue and started tracking his footsteps. It was the kind of reckless curiosity that comes with youth, lacking any self-restraint. The clue might have even been left intentionally by my fallen brother.”
Tsk, tsk. Kids these days.
As the old man clicked his tongue, Dalen drained the last drop of his coffee.
Of course, he hadn’t missed a single word the old man said.
That’s what superhuman senses and intelligence are for, after all.
“Meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to that kid. A warrior who single-handedly wiped out hundreds of Frogmen and assassinated their master. It’s hard to believe you’re just a mercenary.”
“You can’t judge a person by a mere badge.”
“True enough. Everyone has their own story.”
The old man chuckled softly and placed a heavy pouch on the table.
“Your payment. One gold coin and a hundred silver coins. I thought it might be inconvenient to have it all in gold, so I prepared half in silver.”
“That’s thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
“And about the additional reward I sent through Sienna.”
This time, a small leather bag was placed on the table. The old man opened it to reveal its contents.
Dalen raised an eyebrow.
“Potions?”
“Regeneration potions. I figured they’d be useful for a warrior who wields a sword.”
Potions weren’t a bad deal. High-grade regeneration potions from the Magic Tower sold for over twenty silver coins per small bottle.
Judging by the bag, there seemed to be a dozen of them, easily surpassing the monetary reward.
But then the old man closed the bag and slid it under the table.
Dalen’s eyebrow twitched. What was this, a bait-and-switch?
“However, I don’t think you’ll need these.”
”…What did you say?”
“Exactly what I said. Whatever method you used, someone with dragon’s blood doesn’t need such low-grade regeneration.”
Dalen almost reached for his axe.
If the old man’s sharp gaze had been hostile, or if Dalen had a replacement for his broken axe, he might have buried it in the old man’s head.
Sensing the sudden tension, the old man quickly leaned back. He spoke hastily.
“Calm down. I mean no harm. I merely wish to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
Dalen slowly clenched his fist under the table. If he didn’t have an axe, a fist would do.
The old man smiled enigmatically and spoke.
“Instead of this potion bag, I propose you choose a different reward.”
“Just around that corner, you’ll see it.”
Penny hurried ahead, and Dalen followed at a leisurely pace.
The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the bustling, beautiful city.
‘You’ve made a wise choice. This will be a greater opportunity for you.’
In the end, Dalen accepted the elder wizard’s offer.
Not because of any threats or persuasion, but simply because it seemed more beneficial.
After all, even if he received a bag of regeneration potions, he planned to sell most of them through Sienna at a fair price.
With dragon’s blood in his veins, he didn’t really need potions. They weren’t meant for use in battle anyway.
“Here it is! My uncle’s forge!”
Clang— Clang—
Tucked away in a side alley off the main blacksmith street, the forge had a decent location.
Penny’s uncle’s forge was nestled in that area.
Dalen chuckled at the old sign that read ‘Vero’s Forge.’ Not the most impressive name.
“Uncle! I’m here! It’s Penny!”
”…!”
Suddenly, something caught Dalen’s attention.
He grabbed Penny just as she was about to rush into the forge.
“Whoa, whoa?”
As he pulled her back to safety, a burly, muscular blacksmith tumbled out the door, rolling over the spot where Penny had been.
“Ah, damn it. You should’ve paid your interest on time, blacksmith.”
“Uncle Vero!”
A thug emerged from the doorway, brandishing a dagger. Penny rushed to the fallen blacksmith.
And there, Dalen couldn’t believe his eyes.
‘Roberon Ahakim.’
The blacksmith’s face was one he recognized.
‘The Mithril Smith.’
A key NPC who, through relentless growth, crafted the finest weapons for those fighting against demons, delaying humanity’s extinction.
‘He’s not supposed to appear at this point in time.’
Even though the timeline was slightly off from what he knew.
“Well, well, a pretty niece has arrived. Hey, old man. If you don’t have the money, hand her over. Who knows? The guild master might cut your debt in half if she catches his eye.”
“You filthy scum, how dare you—”
“Come on, if you don’t like that, then hand over the hand you promised. How much was it per hand? One gold coin?”
Thunk.
Dalen grabbed the thug’s wrist, dagger and all, with a grip like a bear’s paw.
“What the hell? Let go, you bastard!”
“Hey. You thug.”
If he could recruit a named NPC, what did it matter if the future was a little off?
“If that old man’s hand is worth a gold coin, how much is yours worth?”