"Ah, shit… I shouldn't have left her like that," Razan muttered under his breath, his tone half-annoyed, half-regretful as he adjusted the slings of the two bags hanging from his shoulders.
"Now I probably look like a complete asshole."
"Probably? You've got to be kidding—you are a complete asshole, you idiot!"
He sighed, muttering to himself, glancing down the stone-paved street stretching ahead.
"Still, it's pretty clear that F-ranks are treated like dirt around here," he added, his voice low and edged with irritation.
"Judging from how everyone reacted earlier, it's like I'm the weakest thing walking."
The sound of his boots echoed softly as he continued through the bustling city.
The air carried a strange mix of scents—fresh bread from a nearby bakery, iron and smoke from a blacksmith's forge, and faint traces of herbs from stalls selling potions and charms.
His eyes moved from one corner to the next.
On one side, an innkeeper shouted at a group of mercenaries who looked too drunk to care.
"...hey! Stop making a mess in front of my inn, take your business elsewhere!"
Across the street, a vendor was selling glowing trinkets that shimmered faintly with magic.
"Finest pieces of artifacts here, you won't find it elsewhere!"
"How much is this..?"
"Oh that's…"
Further down,
*Clang! *clang! *clang!
*Tssssssssss!!!
the rhythmic clang of a hammer echoed from a smithy where sparks flew with every strike.
Razan's gaze then swept over the crowds that filled the road—commoners in plain tunics, merchants in fine robes, and adventurers in all kinds of gear.
Some wore light leather armor; others wore robes etched with glowing symbols, while a few lumbered past in full suits of plate armor that clanked with every step.
"Damn…" he muttered with a dry chuckle.
"I really am in some kind of fantasy world, huh?"
He raised his brows slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he took in the sights again. "
Well," he said to himself, "guess I better start getting used to it."
He tightened his grip on the straps of his bags and kept walking, his figure blending into the flow of the city's life—
just another wanderer in a world that felt like it had leapt straight out of a dream.
He continued walking down the cobbled road, eyes scanning the city with a mix of curiosity and wariness—
until a rough, gravelly voice called out from ahead.
"You there! The large man carrying those two unusually big bags!"
Razan stopped mid-step, his brow furrowing. "Huh?"
He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the faint glare of the afternoon sun, squinting at the group of figures standing in front of him.
They were short—really short—barely reaching his chest, but what they lacked in height, they made up for in sheer presence.
Their frames were broad and thickly built, their arms like carved stone, and each one of them sported a beard so massive it could probably hide a small weapon.
There were four of them, standing shoulder to shoulder, all wearing rugged clothing and belts filled with tools and pouches.
Some had soot stains on their tunics, and Razan could smell the faint scent of iron and oil even from where he stood.
Their eyes, sharp and earthy, looked up at him with suspicion… or perhaps curiosity.
Razan blinked twice before letting out a quiet sigh.
"Those looks like…" he muttered under his breath, taking a better look at them.
The wide beards, the heavy boots, the hammers strapped to their sides—it all matched perfectly with the image stuck in his head.
Dwarves.
"Come over 'ere for a second!" the dwarf in the middle barked, his voice rough and deep like gravel being ground under boots.
He rested a massive battle hammer on his shoulder, the weapon nearly as tall as he was.
Razan blinked, confused.
"What the—? Are they mugging me or something?" he muttered, raising a brow as suspicion crossed his face.
His heel turned slightly, already preparing to walk in the opposite direction.
But before he could even take a step, another dwarf appeared in front of him almost instantly—short, stocky, and carrying the scent of smoke around him.
The dwarf had a pipe clenched between his teeth, and he exhaled a puff of smoke that drifted lazily between them before speaking.
"The boss is lookin' for ya, lad," the dwarf said, taking the pipe from his mouth and pointing the stem toward Razan.
"Better listen to 'im before things get ugly."
Razan frowned, already feeling his patience thinning.
"Seriously? Out of all the people here, you pick me?"
Before the situation could escalate, the first dwarf stomped over, looking furious.
"Ronran, you fool! We aren't here to threaten everyone we see! We're not in Galindor anymore!" he shouted before giving the smoking dwarf a hard smack on the back of the head.
Ronran grunted in pain, his head snapping forward. "Oi! What the hell was that for!?" he complained, rubbing his head with a glare, but the other dwarf ignored him completely.
The leader's gaze then shifted back to Razan, his expression changing from irritation to disbelief as he studied him closely.
His eyes squinted, the lines on his weathered face deepening as realization slowly dawned on him.
"My eyes weren't lying…" the dwarf finally muttered, voice turning low and serious.
"You're the one written in the scriptures."
Razan blinked, his brow furrowing deeper.
"You must've mistaken me for someone else, sir," he said quickly, already turning on his heel to walk away.
But before he could take more than a few steps, the dwarf's next words froze him in place.
"Monster Hunter," the dwarf said firmly, his eyes locked onto Razan's back.
"Have you heard of it?"
As soon as Razan heard the phrase, Monster Hunter, his body froze, and his surroundings seemed to fade into the background.
Then,
right before his eyes,
*ping!
a golden screen materialized—glowing brighter than the usual transparent system panels he had seen before.
This one was different.
Its edges burned faintly, almost alive, and the very air around it hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration.
Razan's breath hitched as he recognized it.
"It's… the same one," he muttered, his eyes narrowing.
This was the same mysterious interface that had first warned him back on Earth—the one that predicted the end of the world.
And once again, new words began to carve themselves onto the golden surface, one letter at a time, each stroke gleaming with light.
"Assist the dwarves and learn the way of the smith."
One line.
One clear directive.
No explanations.
No options.
The golden screen burned even brighter before suddenly bursting into golden embers, dissolving into the air and leaving Razan momentarily speechless.
His gaze fell back to the dwarf standing in front of him, the one still watching him with that knowing grin.
"Hey, old man," Razan finally spoke, his voice firm, cutting through the murmurs of the street.
The dwarf tilted his head slightly, clearly amused.
"The name's Dragkon, kid," he replied, a smirk spreading across his bearded face as his grip on his hammer tightened.
"Seems like you finally decided to listen."
Razan stepped closer, his tone more grounded now.
"Then, Dragkon… tell me more about this monster hunter thing. You think you could teach me about it?"
Dragkon's smirk grew into a grin, his eyes gleaming beneath his thick brows.
"Heh, you just found the perfect person for that, lad," he said, his deep voice carrying both pride and excitement.
Another dwarf behind him laughed heartily, his beard shaking as he patted Dragkon's shoulder.
"Aye, you heard the boss! You're in luck, boy. Now quit standin' there—come on and follow us. We just got word from the others that they've found a fine spot to make camp."
Razan gave a brief nod, tightening the straps of his bags before taking his first step alongside them.
And just like that, his true journey in Vrynn began—no longer as a lost human or a lowly F-rank, but as a newcomer guided by the dwarves themselves.
The masters of fire and ire… the ancient smiths of the world.