Looking toward the source of the commotion, Roland saw a golden-haired young man striding forward, head held high.
His delicate features drew unconscious gasps of admiration from the onlookers, and his pointed ears revealed his identity as an Elf.
’Is that... the High Elf with the surna Morning Star?’
Seeing this, Roland quietly took a few steps back, avoiding the crowded throng. He stood at a slight distance, narrowing his eyes to study the other man.
Perhaps to blend in, this High Elf wasn’t wearing the exquisitely tailored, unadorned, plain-colored robes one might expect. Instead, he had changed into a set of finely crafted, exceptionally luxurious clothes.
This attire made his already aloof disposition stand out even more. The only thing that remained the sa was the circlet woven from strange vines on his head.
Just as Roland expected from his preconceived notions of the Elf Race, the High Elf’s face remained as placid as a frozen lake in the face of the crowd’s cheers, and he made no move to wave or acknowledge them.
In fact, a flicker of disgust, almost imperceptible to the average person, crossed his eyes.
Amid the clamor of the crowd, the High Elf, escorted by Guards, walked straight into the area Roland had just been forbidden to enter.
’There’s no way... they’re just renovating so building in there...’
Roland grew even more suspicious.
But in the end, this matter had nothing to do with him, so after a slight shake of his head, he turned and strode toward the Blacksmith Guild.
After winding through several noisy streets, Roland finally reached his destination.
Looking up, the Blacksmith Guild was not the isolated, grand hall he had imagined, but a vast compound composed of several sturdy, stone-built buildings.
Tall chimneys billowed with thick black smoke, and the air was filled with the distinct sll of burning tal and coal ash. The heavy gates stood open, and from within ca the faint sound of hamring, as dense and rapid as rainfall.
Just standing outside the gate, Roland could feel a wave of scorching heat wash over him.
"Hello..."
The person at the reception desk was a Dwarf.
To Roland’s surprise, this Dwarf was graceful and well-mannered, completely lacking the usual boisterousness of his kind.
"Hello, sir..."
The Dwarf gave a slight bow. Though his voice was naturally deep, he deliberately kept it soft.
"How may I help you?"
"I’d like to register for the Blacksmith Guild’s credentials."
Roland stated his purpose concisely and took the two letters of introduction from his waist pouch.
"Oh! You must be Mr. Roland!"
The Dwarf quickly glanced at the parchnt, craning his neck to give Roland a friendly smile.
"Mr. Nelson has already inford us. Please, follow ."
With that, he extended an arm to indicate the way and led Roland inside.
As they passed through a long, dark corridor, the air grew increasingly hot.
Finally, the two of them stopped before a wide door, from which the faint clang of tal on tal could be heard.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
The sound of the Dwarf’s knocking was suddenly transford, booming like muffled thunder, making him seem like a completely different person from the one who had been whispering monts before.
"Master Griffin! A gentleman is here to register for his credentials!"
The sound of hamring from within the room stopped abruptly.
The next mont, the heavy door was yanked open, revealing a figure much shorter and stockier than a human.
His beard, like steel needles, bristled and trembled with the rhythm of his roar.
"Damn it! Noel! I told you not to bother with such trivial matters!"
"S-Sorry, Master Griffin..."
The Dwarf called Noel instinctively shrank back, then took a step forward and explained in a hushed voice.
Although, to Roland, this "hushed" voice was still perfectly clear.
"This is the one Mr. Nelson specifically ntioned..."
After hearing Noel’s explanation, Griffin snorted coldly and muttered in displeasure as he sized up Roland’s sturdy physique with a sideways glance.
"Hmph, not a small lad, are you? Looks like that bastard Nelson wasn’t talking nonsense... Fine!"
He waved his hand impatiently at Noel.
"I’ll take it from here. Go do whatever you need to do! As for you..."
He crooked a thick finger at Roland.
"Co with ."
With that, he turned and went back into the room without another word.
"My apologies, Mr. Roland..."
Noel’s tone was apologetic as he gave another slight bow.
"Master Griffin has a bit of a fiery temper, but as a person, he..."
He stopped mid-sentence as if he had rembered so unpleasant past event.
"In any case, please rest assured. The Master will not make things difficult for you."
"Thank you, Noel."
Roland smiled and thanked him softly before stepping into the room.
Griffin’s attitude might have seed rude to others, but to Roland, his behavior was a reminder of Hawke from Black Water Territory.
So, instead of being offended, he actually felt a strange sense of familiarity.
As he stepped into the room, a wave of heat and a strong tallic sll washed over him.
In the center of the room, a huge forge was burning. Though the fire wasn’t at its peak, it still radiated scorching heat and a deep red glow.
A heavy anvil stood beside it, its surface covered in hamr marks, both new and old.
The walls were densely packed with tools of all sizes—tongs, Nail Hamrs, chisels, and more. A few rough tal blanks lay scattered on the floor, waiting to be forged.
In a corner, a large Quenching trough glead with oil, and next to it was a pile of half-finished weapons and farm tools.
This was less a eting room and more a fully-equipped blacksmith’s workshop.
"Hurry it up, boy! Don’t waste my ti!"
Seeing Roland still looking around, Griffin roared impatiently, his displeasure practically boiling over.
He snatched the two letters of introduction from Roland’s hands, grumbling in a rough voice.
"It’s a damn done deal, but I still have to go through all this damn paperwork. What a pain in the ass!"
His tone suddenly shifted, and the Dwarf’s already booming voice rose even higher, like a hamr striking an anvil.
"Of course! If you don’t pass the assessnt later..."
He widened his eyes, his tone leaving no room for argunt.
"Even if that old coot Nelson cos begging in person, you can forget about setting foot in this Guild’s doors! You hear ?"
"Understood, Master Griffin."
Faced with this thunderous declaration, Roland imdiately regulated his breathing and suppressed all distracting thoughts.
With a re thought, his [Concentration] Trait activated instantly.
In an instant, vast and complex fragnts of knowledge about forging surfaced clearly in his mind.
Although it had been a long ti since he’d held a hamr after leaving Black Water Territory, the Level of his [Basic Forging Skill] on his Professional Panel remained as steady as a mountain.
’If I just recall everything carefully, passing the upcoming assessnt shouldn’t be a problem.’
"Wait a minute!"
Just as Roland was concentrating on retrieving his forging knowledge, Griffin suddenly looked up. His thick finger, like a pair of iron tongs, stabbed at the signature on one of the letters, his eyes erupting with a light of mingled shock and excitent.
"Boy! This Hawke..."
His voice rose a few notches.
"Is he the one with the frighteningly loud voice, who’s always cussing, and looks, well..."
Listening to Griffin’s description, Hawke’s familiar face imdiately appeared in Roland’s mind.
The description was a pretty good match.
"And now he’s... hmm... sowhere like... Stinking Ditch Territory? Working as a private Blacksmith for so human noble?"
"Uh..."
Hearing that na, Roland corrected him helplessly.
"Master Griffin, if you’re referring to Black Water Territory... then that Hawke is probably the one you know."
"Right, right, my apologies..."
Griffin grinned as he stared at the familiar handwriting on the parchnt.
"In the Dwarven tongue, ’Black Water’ ans ’stinking ditch.’ But I never expected..."
He looked up at Roland, a hint of surprise and admiration in his eyes.
"You’re actually that stubborn mule’s apprentice... Alright then!"
With that, Griffin pulled a fresh, blank sheet of parchnt from a drawer, and with a sweep of his large hand, WHAM, he forcefully stamped a bright red seal onto it.
"Here! Take it!"
He stood up and unceremoniously shoved the nearly blank parchnt into Roland’s hands.
"As for what needs to be filled in, go find that kid Noel outside to write it."
"This... Master Griffin, what about the assessnt...?"
Roland hesitated.
"Assessnt?"
Griffin scoffed, his beard twitching.
"Since you were taught by that bastard Hawke, what’s the point of testing you?"
At the ntion of Hawke, a rare softness appeared on his usually stern face.
"Back in the day, he and I were apprentices under Master Balende. That guy was notoriously stubborn, obstinate as a block of Cold Iron! For him to write you a letter of introduction with his own hand..."
Griffin slapped the table with conviction.
"Your skills must already be miles ahead of any ordinary Blacksmith! Oh, by the way..."
He casually unhooked the flask from his waist, tilted his head back, and took several large gulps. GLUG, GLUG, GLUG. Then he roughly wiped the spilled liquor from his chin with his sleeve.
"That bastard... is he still hale and hearty these days?"
"Still... still doing alright."
The two exchanged a few more words about Hawke’s current situation before Griffin waved his hand, dismissing Roland.
"It’s getting late today. Co back tomorrow morning, and I’ll explain the Guild’s rules in detail."
As soon as he finished speaking, the heavy door slamd shut in front of Roland.
’This... counts as being registered?’
Roland looked down at the parchnt in his hand, which bore only a single, bright red seal, feeling a bit lost.
Back in Black Water Territory, Hawke had repeatedly emphasized how strict the Blacksmith Guild’s assessnt was, telling him to be thoroughly prepared and give it his all.
And the result...
Recalling Hawke’s stern face and admonitions, Roland could only shake his head helplessly and turn back toward the reception desk.
After briefly explaining the situation to Noel, the elegant Dwarf imdiately thumped his chest and promised to fill out the credentials for him, telling him he could pick it up tomorrow morning.
And just like that, in a matter of monts, Roland’s status changed from a Blacksmith Apprentice to an officially recognized, registered Blacksmith.
’I never would have thought... Master Hawke learned his craft from the Dwarves. No wonder his skills are so exquisite...’
He retraced his steps.
When he once again passed the intersection guarded by the Guards, he paused for a mont, his brow furrowing imperceptibly.
Because his keen Perception had detected that the aura of Magic Elents drifting from the direction of the restricted zone was now significantly stronger than when he had arrived.
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