"Sorry… I'm not much help here," Esper admitted, shoulders drooping as she looked around at the rows of weapons.
"It's fine," Soren said, patting her shoulder lightly. "I expected that much."
They were a fair way into the workshop district now.
The air here felt heavier, full of heat and metal and the faint sting of smoke.
Instead of bright polished shopfronts, most buildings were squat, sturdy things made of stone and dark wood, with wide doors for hauling in ore and hauling out finished weapons.
Hammers rang in the distance in an uneven rhythm, overlapping with the hiss of quenching metal.
Soren could smell oil, coal, and the sharp tang of hot iron.
Esper turned in a slow circle, taking it in.
"Everything looks so… serious, like if I touch something, it'll explode."
"That's… not how smithing works," Soren replied.
She ignored him, tugging absently at the hem of her outfit.
He scanned the signs as they passed:
[Bragg's Forge]
[Iron & Ember]
[Bluesteel Works]
Then his eyes landed on a name he recognised.
[Hammond's Hammer]
"Let's go here," he said, already stepping toward it.
"Okay~" Esper chimed, easily matching his pace.
The building itself was plain to the point of being dull.
No fancy decorations, no flashy display windows, just a thick wooden door, a simple hanging sign, and, right next to the handle, a small metal plaque.
[Knock twice and raise your hand.]
Soren's lips twitched.
'Still the same as the game.'
He lifted his hand and did as instructed.
Knock knock.
After a moment, there was a mechanical clack from inside, and a narrow rectangle at eye level slid open.
A pair of sharp, assessing eyes peered out at them.
"What d'ya want, kid?" a rough voice asked.
Up close, the eyes were ringed with faint soot marks, the kind that never really left, no matter how often you washed your face.
They darted over Soren once, then cut sideways to Esper still linked around his arm.
"I'm looking to buy a new axe," Soren said evenly. "I noticed this store."
The eyes narrowed, dropping pointedly to where Esper clung to him like a human accessory: noble emblem, styled hair, expensive jewellery, and then back to Soren's ring and clothes.
The man snorted.
"Th' stuff I make ain't meant to be used by noble brats playin' around like you," he said.
Soren blinked, thrown for half a second before the meaning settled as he followed the man's eyes.
He slowly pulled his arm from Esper's and exhaled.
"Hey, that's not fair," he said, keeping his tone level. "You don't even know me, and you're judging my entire life just because I'm walking around with a friend."
The old man didn't answer.
He just stared out through the slit with that flat, world-weary kind of contempt that came from someone who thought they had seen everything.
Soren's jaw clenched.
It wasn't the first time he had seen that look.
It wasn't the first time someone had assumed they knew everything about him based on a single glance.
— I hope this choice doesn't hurt you, and that you continue to enjoy playing around as you have been…
Sofia's words from the letter he had read in the original Soren's memories surfaced uninvited.
The casual phrasing, the way it had framed "living his life" as "playing around" while everything else collapsed behind the scenes.
His stomach twisted.
He didn't mind being called weak.
That was just true.
But having someone who knew nothing talk down to him as if he had never seen anything hard in his life…
"Hey, Cutie?" Esper's voice broke into his spiralling thoughts.
He glanced at her.
"Why don't we just go somewhere else?" she suggested, her tone lighter than her expression.
Her brows were drawn together; the usual sparkle in her eyes had dulled.
She was annoyed, too.
Soren let out a slow breath. He could feel his temper fraying at the edges, but he wasn't eager to ruin the whole day over one old man.
'This world isn't the game,' he reminded himself. 'People don't have to act the way I expect.'
He forced his shoulders to relax.
"...Fine," he muttered, turning away from the door. "Let's go."
He had barely taken two steps when the voice behind the shutter spoke again.
"Look, kid," the blacksmith said, dismissive and tired. "I've met plenty of people like you. Think you're all big and strong, but the second you actually see real combat, you break down."
Soren's foot stopped mid-step.
He could feel something hot and sharp twist through his chest.
'Of all the things you could've said…'
If the words that reminded him of Sofia's letter had made the original Soren's anger rise, the anger he was feeling right now was definitely his own.
His teeth ground together as images flickered through his mind: goblins, blood, the wraith's curse, the slowed world of Alex's [Divinity].
Aria curled in on herself, accusing messages on a screen, his own frozen inaction.
He had broken down.
More than once.
But that was his problem.
Not this man's.
"Now screw off."
That was the last push.
"Oi, old man."
The voice that came out of Soren's mouth didn't sound like his usual tone.
It was lower, colder, closer to the way he had spoken in his past life when he had finally snapped.
The eyes behind the shutter flicked back to him.
"What, you gonna cry now?" the man snorted. "Look at this kid, set off by a few words. Guess I hit the mark, huh?"
Bang!
Soren's foot slammed into the heavy wooden door.
The impact made the frame shudder.
It didn't open, but the sound echoed down the narrow street, turning a few nearby heads.
"Old man," Soren hissed. "Shut the fuck up about things you don't know."
Wooong—
A faint magic circle flickered to life over his left hand, mana gathering in messy lines.
He had no intention of actually casting, but he didn't need to.
The bare presence of magic at this distance sent a ripple of unease through the people who had stopped to watch.
A few whispering adventurers took a step back, ready to bolt if things got ugly.
Esper glanced at his hand, then at his face.
For once, she didn't say anything.
"You have no fucking clue how I've lived," Soren continued, anger sharpening each word. "A noble? What a joke. I'm basically disowned."
He took a step closer to the door, lowering his voice just enough that it felt more dangerous.
"I'm playing around?" he spat. "I almost died not long ago. Am I not allowed to take a break? Is it a crime to eat breakfast and walk around with a friend?"
The old man's silence felt heavier than any answer.
"I've never seen a real battle, right?"
Soren went on, mocking the earlier jab.
"Pfft… Maybe I did break down. Maybe I'm not some big-shot hero. But how the hell does that give you the right to talk like you know anything?"
His voice rose again, spilling out into the street.
He was fully aware of the people who had stopped to watch, the careful way they were keeping their distance, but his thoughts were too loud to care.
Silence pressed in for a moment.
Then…
"You're a craftsman, aren't you?" Soren asked.
THUD.
He kicked the door again, just hard enough to make it rattle.
"I asked you a question."
There was a short pause.
Then the voice came, smaller than before.
"...Yeah, I'm a blacksmith," the old man muttered.
Soren let out a short, humourless laugh.
"Then what about you?"
The man didn't answer, but Soren could imagine his confused expression behind the metal slit.
"You sit in a stuffy, cramped room all day," Soren said, his voice cool now, cutting instead of hot. "Hammering metal until it looks pretty enough for someone else to swing around. Then you throw it to the first guy who walks in, for as much money as you can snatch from their pockets."
He smiled, but it wasn't kind.
"If it weren't for people like me, you wouldn't even have a business."
A small ripple went through the crowd at that.
A few adventurers looked between Soren and the door, weighing the truth of his words.
The old man's eyes behind the slit widened, his earlier bravado cracked clean through.
"And by the way…"
Soren lifted his left hand.
The black ring on his finger glinted faintly as he spread his fingers and reached into the air.
Whoosh—
The air distorted for a brief moment as his inventory opened, and a massive, double-headed axe dropped into reality with a heavy crash, the weapon's head biting slightly into the packed dirt.
Even at a glance, it was obvious this wasn't some mass-produced piece.
The dark metal of the blade seemed to drink in the light around it, and faint, intricate patterns ran along its surface, reminiscent of frost or feathers, details that marked its rarity.
Murmurs broke out around them.
— Oi, is that—
— No way…
— That's gotta be a dungeon relic—
Soren didn't look away from the door.
"I wasn't just here to buy," he said quietly.
He rested his hand on the weapon's handle.
"This was my sister's," he continued, each word measured. "I came here to get it appraised."
He turned slightly, enough for the old man to see the axe clearly through the slit.
"But I guess I came to the wrong place."
He didn't have to explain what that meant.
Any competent blacksmith would understand the significance of a weapon like that suddenly appearing out of nowhere, wielded by some "noble brat" who apparently never saw real combat.
He was betting on pride.
On the kind of pride no craftsman could fully suppress.
Soren closed his fingers again.
The axe vanished back into his inventory in the blink of an eye, leaving empty ground where it had been.
The crowd buzzed louder now, a mix of surprise and regret.
"W–Wait!" the old man blurted, his voice cracking.
Soren ignored him.
He turned away from the door and started walking, the heat of his anger slowly cooling into something duller.
He wasn't actually planning to take the axe anywhere else today.
He had already lost the initial excitement he'd had when he left his dorm.
Right now, he mostly just wanted to get away from that door and the old man's ignorance.
"Cutie—" Esper began, stepping toward him.
He stopped and looked back at her.
"…Sorry," he said, feeling the leftover adrenaline still in his veins. "You didn't sign up to watch me yell at an old man."
She blinked at him, then shook her head.
"That was kinda hot, actually," she said.
Soren stared.
"…What?"
"Kidding," she added, though her grin said she wasn't entirely joking. "Sort of."
He sighed.
"I'll make it up to you later. Food, or something. For dragging you here. I'll just find another smith—"
"Cutie," she interrupted, her voice suddenly more serious.
She pointed.
Soren followed her finger.
The small metal shutter had fully closed, but the door itself creaked open.
The old man stepped out at last, visible from head to toe.
He was short.
Broad-shouldered in the way only someone who had swung a hammer for decades could be.
His skin was tanned and scarred, his hair and beard braided in practical, uneven strands streaked with grey.
His clothes were simple but sturdy, covered in burns and stains that no amount of washing could take out.
And his ears, slightly pointed, his build compact, his beard braided in a particular pattern.
A dwarf.
Esper's eyes widened.
"A dwarf…!" she whispered, shock colouring her tone.
The word alone made the watching adventurers straighten up.
A few of them suddenly looked very interested in what would happen next.
Soren's own gaze sharpened.
'So it really is him.'
In Ivansia, dwarves were rare.
Not just uncommon, rare.
Their people lived deep beneath the mountains, on the opposite side of the continent from the demon realm, far removed from most human nations.
Even in TKS, they had only appeared a handful of times.
Four dwarves total, across the entire game.
One of them was the quiet genius who forged mid to late-game gear that veterans swore by.
The man now looking at Soren with clear anxiety.
'This is why I wanted to come here,' Soren thought.
He had assumed that because this world was no longer bound to game systems, he would be able to rely on this blacksmith for far longer than the early game.
Commissioned work, custom orders, long-term cooperation.
Now, that plan felt chipped, cracked by initial disgust and an old man's loose mouth.
"Let's go," Soren said to Esper, turning his back fully on the shop.
He could feel the dwarf's gaze boring into his back, but the anger that had driven his earlier words had already started sinking into a tired numbness.
He wasn't desperate for a weapon today.
Not enough to swallow his pride and walk back through that door like nothing had happened.
His real priority had shifted back to the girl he had dragged along.
'Essy didn't need to see that,' he thought.
"Wait!" the old man called, stepping fully out into the street. "Kid—hold on! I'm sorry!"
Soren ignored him, continuing forward.
He only stopped when he realised Esper wasn't moving.
"Essy?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.
She stood where he had left her, hands clenched slightly at her sides, eyes fixed on the dwarf.
The usual carefree expression was gone, replaced by something more thoughtful.
"Look at him," she said softly.
"I already did," Soren replied, his voice clipped. "I don't particularly care what face he's making right now."
"Just look properly," she insisted.
Soren blew out a slow breath and turned fully back around.
The dwarf stood in the doorway, the metal shutter swung open behind him.
His brows were furrowed, but not in anger.
His gaze darted restlessly between Soren, Esper, and the lingering onlookers.
His posture was wrong for a man who had just mouthed off with confidence.
His shoulders were hunched, his jaw tight, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his stained apron.
He looked… nervous.
Maybe even a little scared.
The contempt from earlier was gone.
"So what?" Soren said quietly. "You heard what he said."
"I did," Esper admitted. "And I was pissed off, too. Super pissed."
She folded her arms.
"But he's a dwarf, right?"
The statement was simple, but the implication was heavier.
Soren didn't answer immediately.
"Where else are you gonna find someone like him? Here. In this whole city. In all the nearby kingdoms."
She paused, then turned her head, giving Soren a sideways grin.
"Plus, now he owes you, right?" she added. "He spoke down to both a Count and a Duke."
Soren's lips twitched despite himself.
"I see what you mean," he said.
In this world, status wasn't just some number written in the air.
Nobility was real power.
A Count's son and a Duke's daughter being openly slighted by a craftsman in front of witnesses?
If either of them decided to make trouble over that, it wouldn't end with a simple apology.
The man could lose his business.
His licence.
His freedom.
'Of course, that's not what Essy's suggesting,' Soren thought.
Even after only a short time with her, he was sure of that much.
Esper wasn't the type to crush someone just because she could.
Her personality was loud and chaotic, but her sense of what was acceptable felt oddly steady.
She was suggesting something else.
Leverage.
A debt he could call on.
A way to tie down a dwarven blacksmith who clearly had talent and pride, through something other than coin.
Soren wasn't a righteous hero.
He had never pretended to be.
He cared about whether he and the people close to him were safe.
Whether he survived long enough to keep them that way.
If he could secure a connection like this, someone who could work with Freya's axe, someone whose craft might one day make the difference between life and death, he wasn't above using the situation.
And the anger the dwarf had stirred up in him was still there, simmering under his skin.
Putting the man in his debt felt like the cleanest way to deal with it.
He looked back at the dwarf.
The old man swallowed when their eyes met, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.
Soren's expression shifted slowly, matching Esper's mischievous smile.
"Hey, old man," he called.
————「❤︎」————