Following the map's directions, Aldric noticed how the surrounding buildings gradually changed — from simple wooden structures into tall, sturdy stone houses. The dirt road beneath his feet also became smoother, tamped down under heavy traffic, and sprinkled with a layer of fine sand.
Around him, more and more people appeared on the streets, many of them armed adventurers and mercenaries moving about with clear purpose.
"This way! Aldric!" Vittoria waved energetically from afar, her booming voice and towering height making her stand out easily among the crowd.
Following her lead, Aldric entered a rather large blacksmith's workshop. Pushing through a uniquely crafted metal door, the thunderous clang of hammer against steel filled his ears. Crimson flames surged within the forge, sending sparks bursting into the air with each blow.
From his perspective, this place wasn't just a smithy — it was practically an industrial-scale metal workshop, far exceeding the primitive standards he had expected.
"This is the Thunderhammer Forge you mentioned?" The noise was so overwhelming that Aldric had to raise his voice for Vittoria to hear him clearly.
Vittoria pointed toward the far end of the forge. "That's the one! Look, I meant him!"
Following her gesture, Aldric immediately understood why this place was called the Thunderhammer Forge.
At the center of the workshop stood a dwarf — short and stocky, probably not even as tall as Vittoria's thigh. His bare, muscular arms were almost as thick as an average man's waist. He was wielding a square-headed hammer, striking fiercely at a shield he was crafting on the anvil.
Each strike of the hammer erupted with blinding flashes of lightning. The heat radiating from the forge warped the air, and the blazing hammer glowed with a white so pure and intense that it dazzled the eyes like a flash of lightning. Even several meters away, Aldric could feel the scorching heat emanating from it.
The dwarf's face, half-covered by black protective goggles, was filled with the fervor of a sculptor lost in creation. Every strike carried his passion, his focus, his demand for perfection — his eyes carefully scanning for even the slightest imperfection in his work.
Even though it was their first meeting, Aldric could immediately tell that this dwarf was a true master craftsman — a rare artist of metalwork.
"That's him — Gloin! They say he's the best smith in all the Far South! When I was doing my advancement quest, I happened to save him from a band of pirates," Vittoria said, patting Aldric's shoulder proudly under the cover of the hammering noise. "As long as you don't call him a 'dwarf' to his face, he's actually pretty easy to deal with!"
"Enough, Gabriella! You muscle-brained barbarian woman!" The dwarf roared, apparently hearing her even over the roar of the forge. His hammer clanged furiously against the anvil. "Before you came along, everyone called me Master Gloin! But ever since you showed up, everyone's been calling me shorty behind my back!"
Unfazed by his outburst, Vittoria gave Aldric a little shove forward. "Alright, Gloin, enough complaining. I swear I'll stop spreading that nickname around the tavern. This is my friend — we've got a dangerous job ahead. Can you make him a reliable weapon?"
Before Aldric could even say a word, the dwarf pushed his obsidian goggles up and exaggeratedly exclaimed, "Do you even know how long my order list is!? If I weren't making your shield, I'd already be up at the castle earning a mountain of gold coins!"
Wait a minute — castle? The mention caught Aldric's attention immediately.
"Master Gloin, pardon my interruption," he asked, "but this order of yours — is it for the lord of this city?"
The question instantly put the dwarf on alert. "And why exactly do you want to know that?"
Aldric could tell from the dwarf's cautious tone that business-related matters were sensitive. Still, Gloin seemed to trust Vittoria, who was clearly well-respected in this city. Her reputation as the Queen of Port Anthony wasn't an exaggeration.
"Vittoria," Aldric whispered through the in-game messaging interface that only players could use, "try asking him. I think this might be connected to our quest."
Having already shared the quest log with him, Vittoria nodded knowingly. Bending down so she was face-to-face with the dwarf, she said, "Gloin, my friend here is trustworthy. He's an apprentice Witcher — his mentor is a true Witcher. You remember the one you've been talking about endlessly? If you ever wanted to see genuine Demon-Slaying Steel, this is your chance!"
At the mention of "Demon-Slaying Steel," Gloin's eyes gleamed with obsession. "Alright, fine. For Gabriella's sake — if you're really that white-haired Witcher's apprentice, I'll tell you about the order. But on one condition: your teacher has to let me study his sword for one night! No… three nights!"
"Deal!" Aldric quickly agreed, recalling that the so-called "Demon-Slaying Steel" mentioned in the White Wolf's Claw description probably referred to Valyrian steel. "But in return," he added, extending his hand, "you'll forge me a proper weapon. Money's not an issue."
The dwarf smacked his rough hand against Aldric's in a solid handshake. "Deal!"
Just as the two sealed their agreement, a cold, venomous voice cut through the air — sharp enough to pierce even through the thunderous clanging of the forge.
"Well, well, Vittoria Gabriella, former captain. After refusing my recruitment order, you've chosen to walk alongside this imperialist dog from Cathay!? You should be ashamed of yourself! You've disgraced the holy glory of the EU!"
A tall man with short brown hair strode toward them, his uniform neat and his expression twisted in contempt.
"Don't mind him, Aldric." Vittoria immediately stepped between them, shielding him with her broad frame. "Lieutenant Conrad Vasilevsky! Watch your tone — you're talking to Captain Vittoria Gabriella, orbital drop commander, twice-decorated for valor!"
"Former captain, woman!" the lieutenant barked. "You were stripped of your rank long ago. Your fancy military talk means nothing to the local garrison. I offered you a chance to reclaim your honor, but you spat on it! If you'd graduated from our School of Novora, I'd have executed you myself! Get out of my way!"
Aldric, having lived in this world for years, was no stranger to EU's political education systems. The "Novora School" — much like Cathay's own National Loyalty Academy — was infamous for its ideological indoctrination. Its official name was the National Institute of Political Education., created to resist Soviet ideological influence.
With a smirk, Aldric couldn't help retorting, "Didn't your teachers ever tell you that EU stands for Empire Union? You call me an imperialist — have you ever considered how your own masters might feel about that?"
He took a step forward, his tone laced with mockery. "I'm from the National Loyalty Academy myself. My university major? Political commissar training. Does that sound familiar to you? Come on then — let's see what your precious education taught you!"
Conrad Vasilevsky's expression contorted with fury. "Bastard! I'll make you regret ever setting foot in this world!"
With a roar, the Eastern EU officer swung his massive battle-axe and charged straight at Aldric.
(End of Chapter)