Chapter 255

“So, what do you want?”

The dwarf ignored the barbarian, and Rem didn’t blow up. He let it go without fuss.

From the start, her tone had been fierce, but not malicious.

At the right moment, Encrid stepped in and spoke.

“If you’ve got a good sword ready, I’d like to buy it.”

Encrid didn’t mince words. In fact, he found the dwarf rather amusing.

Could she fight? Probably not.

He came to that conclusion after observing her posture, gestures, and general behavior.

“Maybe I do.”

The dwarf wasn’t picky. She simply scanned Encrid up and down.

It was said that dwarves didn’t care for human appearances.

And yet, her gaze lingered on Encrid’s face.

From behind, Krys had a thought.

‘No way… her too?’

Was she also falling for the Captain?

He felt a quiet pang of unease.

Everyone knew dwarves didn’t judge by human standards of beauty. They looked inward.

They judged people by their eyes, mannerisms, and habits.

Having roamed the continent for years, this dwarf could read someone’s temperament by how they spoke and blinked.

Even if it wasn’t magic, her kind had a natural ability and trained intuition. Part of Encrid’s inner self was visible to her.

It was immense, complete, and beautiful.

Refining is the act of extracting ore and purifying it.

Blacksmithing is the art of heating metal and hammering it into shape.

After years of working with stone, iron, and various materials, one develops a certain eye.

To her, Encrid was a stone.

But not just any stone.

‘What is this?’

A stone that remained intact no matter how much it was chipped. Worn, yet never crumbling.

She had never seen a human—or an ore—like this.

It fascinated her.

And that fascination stirred the heart of a dwarf. Curiosity, the unknown, the new—these always caught a dwarf’s attention.

“Hey, I won’t kill you, so can you fix up my axe?”

The cocky barbarian next to her spoke up.

He nonchalantly held out his enchanted axe.

Didn’t this bastard say he’d kill her a moment ago?

She figured he didn’t mean it. Her dwarven insight could easily tell if someone was being sincere.

So she concluded he was just a strange guy.

His words weren’t serious, but the glint in his eyes said he might swing that axe if things went sideways.

Her gaze examined him too.

‘And what’s with this guy?’

He looked like a self-igniting stone. The blazing dawn that scorched everything around him.

If you didn’t want to burn, you had to be either just as tough—or have someone shield you from those flames.

Who was shielding him?

There was no need to say.

The stone that didn’t burn or wear away.

The black-haired, blue-eyed stone.

Her eyes swept over the group.

They were all strange in their own way.

There was one like [Truesilver] infused with divinity, tempered over tens of thousands of hours.

One like [Black Iron], forged into a single sharp blade.

Even one like the elusive [Ash-Gold], the rare metal said to appear only after tens of thousands of stones are burned away.

Ash-Gold—she’d only glimpsed it once in her life.

Truesilver, Black Iron, Ash-Gold—these were all precious metals.

And they came to mind just by looking at them? Who the hell were these people?

A dwarf’s eyes don’t lie. Their will is firm and unshaken, their minds resistant even to most mental magic.

She looked them all over again.

The strangest of them all was still the stone.

Chipped but not worn, aged but unbroken.

That stone shielded the flame, embraced the Truesilver, pushed back the darkness of Black Iron, and even wrapped around the glint of Ash-Gold.

Each stood out in their own way.

It was fascinating. The dwarf asked out of curiosity.

“What’s your name?”

Encrid assumed her age was far greater than he’d first thought—he could feel it in the way she spoke.

“Encrid.”

“Alright, give me your hand.”

Encrid calmly held it out. She examined the calluses and joints in his fingers.

“Messy.”

Not wrong.

Encrid thought so. His body had learned many techniques.

He’d crammed in whatever he could—[Sensory Art], [Heart of the Beast], [Heart of Monstrous Strength], [Isolation Technique], and even swordsmanship from the ‘respectfully wishing you a speedy recovery’ nonsense..

He’d sampled almost every sword style.

Lately, he’d become obsessed with [Fluid Sword Technique] and immersed himself in physical training.

Even without counting [Will], his body held an extensive arsenal of skills.

“Alright. I’ve got a decent sword I’ve been working on. I’ll finish it up and give it to you. And you—you just need the axe’s balance and handle fixed. And this one—why are you even carrying that? The iron’s nice, though. I’ll melt it down and reforge it. And you—eh, you don’t look like you need anything. And you—yeah, Ashy, what do you need?”

Do dwarves always talk this much?

Still, within her torrent of words, her insight was sharp.

Where Frok admired talent, dwarves possessed remarkable intuition.

She immediately saw what each of them needed.

Calling Ragna “Ashy” was odd, but she was a dwarf. No one took it seriously.

“A long, thick sword with proper balance.”

Ragna answered. He didn’t care what she called him. His purpose was clear.

Same as when the Black Blade thug had appeared.

It didn’t matter, so he ignored it.

Instead, Jaxson had acted. Rem was himself, and Audin only smiled calmly.

The dwarf nodded.

“Got it.”

So she’d fix Encrid’s sword and Rem’s axe, reforge the centaur leader’s glaive, and make a sword for Ragna.

Encrid had heard that dwarves were picky artisans—but she wasn’t at all. Just proved that rumors weren’t to be trusted.

“Hey, didn’t you tell me even a dagger was a waste?”

Krys called out.

“You’re just… so below my standards. It’d be a waste to give you one of my works. Just grab some random human-made blade over there.”

Wow. That’s discrimination.

Krys muttered, genuinely wounded.

He’d never cared much for weapons—so why now?

“Want me to buy one for you?”

Encrid asked.

“No thanks.”

Then why so sulky?

“It’s just… been a while since I got rejected.”

“Rejected?”

“I’ll explain later.”

When Krys said that, the dwarf chuckled.

Cute little guy—her face said it all.

“But it’ll take about a week to do all this. Maybe less.”

She added.

Encrid looked around the forge.

Everyone had stopped hammering and was watching them closely.

Two artisans stood by the wall, and the forge’s heat pushed back the cold.

They hadn’t been inside long, but the warmth made him sweat.

“Give those guys a few silvers. We’re using their forge, after all.”

At her second prompt, Krys handed over some silver coins.

Encrid added more.

It wasn’t about buying favor—just fairness. There’s no fixed price for courtesy.

Encrid was generous in these things.

Krys didn’t mind. Thanks to this trip, the Captain had brought in plenty of Krong.

Not that they’d ever been short before.

The man who seemed to be the forge’s owner bowed.

“Use it as you like.”

“And for payment—hey, big-eyes, hand over that pouch of gems you’re hiding.”

Once again, the dwarf displayed her uncanny intuition.

“You want *this*?”

Krys had been carrying some precious gems in his pocket.

“Yup. Come on, I’m giving you a good deal here.”

Her casual tone betrayed her age. She spoke with erratic rhythms—another sign of her years.

“Give it.”

At Encrid’s words, Krys made a face but nodded.

As he passed it over, he paused.

“How did you know I had these?”

“What do you take a dwarf’s nose for? The smell of those pricey stones is practically oozing out.”

So dwarves could smell things like that?

Didn’t matter.

Encrid let it go. They’d be staying here about a week.

They returned to the market. The forge’s heat had warmed them enough to dull the cold temporarily.

Even as the chill returned, Rem wore a cheerful expression.

“I’ve decided to love this stone.”

Thanks to the [Thermal Stone] in his coat. No surprise—he hated the cold.

Ragna silently walked beside them, uninterested in sightseeing.

“You suddenly need a good sword?” Encrid asked out of curiosity.

“Yes, I do.”

He wanted to ask why, but didn’t.

The answer was obvious: because of Encrid.

What had the Night of Stimulation left behind?

Motivation. A desire to grow. Even if they hadn’t reached it yet, the fact that it felt possible was exhilarating.

Ragna embraced that feeling.

It was a new emotion—something he’d never experienced before.

What was once boring because it seemed achievable was now exciting because it wasn’t.

So he needed a good sword. One that matched his body and hand.

He figured the dwarf could make one.

They continued wandering the market.

Smaller than the Border Guard’s, but lively in its own way.

Martai was becoming a trade hub to the East.

Krys chatted with a few merchants here and there.

He’d apparently made acquaintances along the way.

Some passersby recognized Encrid and offered a formal salute.

They were soldiers who had seen him fight—or saw him chase the centaur leader.

There were many patrols.

Three or four in a group, putting extra effort into security.

They bought white bread, and bread with raisins.

As they browsed, a young girl stepped into their path.

“I-I was just supposed to deliver the message! That’s all!”

She trembled, clearly terrified.

“What message?” Krys asked gently, trying to ease her nerves.

“The Black Blade won’t let this go…”

Her fearful eyes darted over them. Her legs shook as she finished speaking.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Krys gently questioned her further.

Someone had tossed her two silver coins to deliver the message. Her little brother was sick, and she needed the money.

Krys asked her name and gave her three more silvers.

You save when you can, and spend when you should.

“If anything else happens around here, I’d appreciate it if you told me.”

He sent her off with his signature smile.

Then let out a soft sigh and glanced into the alley she disappeared into.

“They don’t seem like they’re backing off. Should we do something?”

Krys asked.

Encrid replied without hesitation.

“Think about it.”

“…What?”

“I don’t know. So you figure it out.”

Encrid said it like it was obvious.

In a way, Krys realized—the Captain had definitely changed.

Had he always delegated tasks this well?

Maybe he used to phrase it more like a request.

But now, he took responsibility for the squad. This was fitting.

“If they come at us, we’ll just split their skulls.”

“They’ll probably just send more cheap assassins.”

“I ask the War God: may we deliver the wicked to your side?”

“I am Teresa the Wanderer—I cut down scum like bandits.”

Rem, Jaxson, Audin, and Teresa, in that order.

Encrid’s gaze turned to Dunbakel.

“What’s the debt?”

“Borrowed about fifteen gold coins at the end.”

“…Why?”

Krys asked, curious.

“To have fun.”

Fifteen gold? Did she buy a male prostitute in the capital?

Downed some expensive drinks?

Ate some lavish food?

“All of it?”

“Ah, spent two. Gave the rest away.”

“To who?”

Krys’s tone shortened in disbelief, but Dunbakel didn’t care.

To beastkin, manners just meant not stealing someone else’s meat.

“To some street kids and a monastery.”

She had used borrowed gold however she pleased. She had intended to die anyway, so she just followed her heart.

The abandoned children reminded her of herself—but she didn’t explain.

Krys was simply stunned.

“You borrowed money from bandits and thought they’d just let it go?”

Is she insane?

Spend fifteen gold and risk getting your head chopped off?

“Well, yeah… I guess.”

She wasn’t normal either.

* * *

The group moved on toward the market.

This place felt a little different from the Border Guard.

The items, the people.

Some gazes paused on Encrid.

They had striking appearances—ones that stood out anywhere.

It would be strange if no one stared.

But no one in Encrid’s group paid the merchants, patrolling guards, traveling peddlers, or suspicious-looking thugs the slightest attention.

“Is that real fur?”

Everyone only cared about what interested them.

Rem stared at fur.

Encrid at some leather pants laid out on a mat.

Audin bought a small wooden carving from a child artist—it seemed to be a rabbit.

Only “seemed” because the craftsmanship wasn’t great.

As they browsed, three thugs approached.

Trying to pull the same stunt as that idiot from earlier?

Krys looked on, intrigued.

What would these fearless fools do?

As expected—

Thump!

One thug fell flat on his face before Encrid. Didn’t care that his clothes got filthy.

“That guy wasn’t one of ours! He was just some lowlife squatter called Bento who showed up half a year ago!”

Who?

Encrid stared blankly, and the thug explained.

He meant the guy from the tavern earlier.

“Hans didn’t know anything. S-So if you’ll forgive us… I’ll punish him in your place!”

His words were a mess, but he seemed loyal.

Encrid nodded.

Hans had been the drugged guy who attacked him.

“Do what you want. And—not yet.”

“…Huh?”

Encrid brushed past him.

Toward the leather pants that caught his eye.

Rem grabbed the fur he liked.

“Big-eyes! Lend me a few gold coins!”

“Stop buying without haggling!”

Krys shouted and ran over. Audin turned to the thug leader.

“He means he’s not a knight. Yet. Street brother.”

He gave the guy a friendly pat on the shoulder with his bear-like hand.

Teresa tapped the other shoulder and added,

“If you mess around, you’ll die.”

Short warning. But who said it mattered more than what was said. To that thug, Teresa looked more than capable of snapping his neck.

While Krys haggled and the others made purchases, Ragna said he’d head back first.

Encrid told him to stay put—it’d be annoying to track him down.

Rem added a comment. Ragna complained. They bickered.

Dunbakel wanted pants like Encrid’s, but the vendor said there was no exact match, so she bought the closest thing.

Krys negotiated a fair price for everything.

After tearing through the market, they returned.

And found a balding man waiting outside their lodgings.

(T/N: Why do I find Dunbakel cute? LoL. She is following Encrid like a lost child. hahahaha)