Ren followed the main street, turning into a familiar narrow alley leading to the weapon forge. The old stone walls, covered in soot and the marks of time, stood as silent witnesses to the years that had passed.
The air here was always thick with the scent of burning coal, molten metal, and grease, a pungent mix, sharp and heavy, yet strangely reassuring, as if it signaled that everything was still as it should be.
Sparks from the forge occasionally flickered in the distance, reflecting off the uneven stone pavement, creating brief flashes of light that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
The closer he got, the clearer the sounds of metalwork became, each hammer strike on hot steel rang out with strength and precision, blending with the crackling of burning coal in the furnace.
Ren hesitated for a moment in front of the old wooden door, its surface covered in overlapping scratches, scars of time and use. He took a deep breath, letting the heat wash over his face, then pushed the door open.
Inside, the forge's orange glow flickered against the wooden walls, casting a warm bronze hue over the room, making everything appear hazy yet oddly inviting.
Thin wisps of smoke curled through the air, rising from the burning embers.
The blacksmith stood where he always did, a short but sturdy man, his graying hair hanging loosely by his temples. His muscular arms, crisscrossed with old scars, told the story of decades spent forging steel.
In his hands, he gripped a heavy hammer, striking down rhythmically and precisely onto a glowing red blade resting on the anvil.
Ren stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him to prevent any drafts from disrupting the forge's heat. He remained silent, waiting.
He knew the blacksmith well enough, interrupting him now would only earn a glare sharper than the blade he was working on.
So he stood still, observing, listening to the rhythmic echoes in the sweltering air, until at last, the final strike landed. The blacksmith set the sword aside and wiped the sweat from his forehead before glancing over at Ren.
"Got time to visit my shop today, kid?" His voice was rough and gravelly, worn down by years of exposure to smoke and heat, yet there was no irritation in it...just a familiar teasing remark.
Ren shook his head, refusing to be drawn into the usual banter. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small pouch and, without hesitation, placed it onto the worn wooden counter. The clinking of coins echoed sharply in the quiet space.
"I'm here to pay my debt."
The blacksmith narrowed his eyes, lifting the pouch and weighing it in his hand. His thick eyebrows arched slightly, as if mildly surprised.
"Huh, that was fast."
Ren shrugged. "Not really," he replied curtly, not in the mood for explanations. His only goal was to settle this debt as soon as possible.
The blacksmith didn't press further. He simply nodded. "Good. A clean debt means you can come back in the future."
He opened the pouch, gave the coins a quick glance, then, without another word, tucked it away into his pocket. "That's that."
Ren exhaled softly, feeling an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. A brief moment of relief, but one that didn't last long.
He nodded in acknowledgment and turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, the blacksmith's voice stopped him.
"You planning to get that sword of yours fixed?"
Ren's footsteps faltered.
His fingers instinctively tightened around the hilt at his waist, feeling the rough texture of the worn leather grip.
This sword… had been with him all this time. It was no longer new, nor was it anything special, no unique properties, no exceptional craftsmanship. It wasn't a good weapon, but it was the only one he had.
As if reading his thoughts, the blacksmith let out a quiet chuckle, leaning an arm on the counter. "No need to answer now. But if you're going to keep using it, at least let me check how many more fights it can survive."
Ren remained silent for a few seconds before slowly turning back.
His eyebrows lifted slightly in momentary surprise.
Before he could ask, the blacksmith set his hammer down and reached for a nearby cloth, wiping away some of the soot clinging to his face.
His posture was as solid as ever, but when his aged eyes met Ren's directly, there was something different about them, a sharpness Ren had never noticed before.
"I heard about what happened last night," the blacksmith said, his usual teasing tone absent. "Those wolves… if not for you and the others, the patrol squad wouldn't have made it out in one piece."
Ren blinked, realizing that he was referring to the battle against the giant wolf. The night had been so chaotic that he hadn't thought much about it, only that he needed to fight, to survive.
He remembered seeing some NPCs injured, hearing the shouts and the desperate struggle to keep the beasts from breaking through. But at the time, he hadn't known their names, nor had he cared.
"My son was there," the blacksmith stated plainly before exhaling a slow breath. "That stubborn boy… just like me when I was younger.
If you and the others hadn't held back those wolves, he wouldn't have made it home."
Ren remained silent, unsure how to respond.
He hadn't thought he had done anything remarkable. He had fought simply because he had to, there had been no intention of playing hero, no desire to save anyone.
Yet, to the blacksmith, what he had done had meant everything.
Seeing Ren's lack of response, the old man let out a quiet chuckle and patted the counter. "Doesn't matter what you think. I owe you a debt."
His eyes flicked toward the sword at Ren's waist before he gave a firm nod, as if making a decision. "Let me fix it. No charge. Consider it my thanks."
Ren stiffened, shaking his head immediately. "That's not necessary. I already paid my debt, there's no need… Besides, the captain helped me a lot, too."
"This isn't about money." The blacksmith cut him off, his gaze steady and unwavering. "You saved my son. I won't let you keep fighting with a sword that's falling apart."
Ren pressed his lips together, fingers once again tightening around the worn grip.
He didn't like owing people anything. But this time… refusing seemed pointless. The blacksmith had made up his mind.
Finally, Ren exhaled softly, then slowly unfastened the sword from his belt and placed it onto the counter.
"…Alright. I'll leave it to you."
The blacksmith nodded, picking up the blade and inspecting it closely, his sharp eyes tracing every flaw and crack, just as he always did.
He flipped the blade, running his thumb lightly along its length before clicking his tongue.
"Not bad, but not good anymore either," he remarked. "It'll last for a little while longer, but if you keep fighting like you did last night, it's only a matter of time before it breaks."
Ren wasn't surprised. He had felt it every time he swung the sword, the odd vibrations running down his arm whenever he struck a target.
This old sword had been with him since the beginning, but just like him, it was slowly reaching its limit.
The old man set the sword down on the counter, his fingers tapping lightly against the dark wooden hilt. "I can reinforce it, reforge the blade with better steel, adjust the weight a little. It won't change how it feels in your hands, but at least it'll be sturdier."
Ren nodded slightly, but just as he was about to speak, the old man raised a finger.
"But, kid, you still have to pay for it."
Ren froze.
"…Huh?"
The old man raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling into a sly grin. "I won't charge for the labor, but materials still cost money. Did you think I'd pay for them out of my own pocket?"
Ren looked at him, then at the sword on the counter, a familiar sense of helplessness creeping in.
He was used to the fact that everything in this world had a price, but just this once, he had hoped for an exception.
"You want good steel, or just a quick fix?" the old man asked, his tone relaxed.
Ren sighed, rubbing his temple. He knew he didn't have much of a choice. If he wanted to keep fighting, if he wanted to survive, he couldn't afford to be stingy about this.
"…Good steel. And… can you add this wolf fang in as well?" He spoke as if resigning himself to fate.
The old man let out a small chuckle and nodded approvingly. "Good. Now hand over the money."
Silently, Ren reached into his coat and pulled out the last of his coin pouch.
As he placed it on the counter, he couldn't help but feel a sting of regret, this money was supposed to cover his living expenses for the next few days, but now it was as good as gone.
The old man picked up the pouch, gave it a slight shake to gauge the weight, then opened it to check. Watching him flick each coin between his rough fingers, Ren felt more like he was handing money to a seasoned merchant rather than a blacksmith.
After a moment, the old man nodded, then dumped the coins into a wooden chest behind the counter. "Just enough."
Ren took a deep breath, swallowing his reluctance. "How long will it take?"
The old man folded his arms, tilting his head in thought. "About two days. If you're in a rush, I could finish it in one, but…" He glanced at Ren, narrowing his eyes. "You wouldn't want me to rush it, would you?"
Ren exhaled, then nodded. He didn't have many backup weapons, but forcing a blacksmith to rush a job was just asking for trouble.
"Two days, then."
The old man seemed satisfied with that decision. "Do you have a spare weapon?"
Ren blinked, then realized the problem. Without this sword, he would be as good as defenseless in battle.
"…No."
The old man sighed, muttering something about young people never being prepared, then turned and walked to the back of the shop.
A moment later, he returned with a wooden training sword, long, smooth, and worn with faint blade marks, clearly a repurposed piece.
"Take this." He handed it to Ren. "It won't cut anything, but at least you won't be walking around unarmed."
Ren took the wooden sword, feeling its significantly lighter weight compared to a real weapon. He wouldn't be able to fight actual monsters with it, but at the very least… he could train.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
The old man waved a hand dismissively. "Go do whatever it is you need to do. I'll let you know when it's ready."
Ren gave a small nod, gripping the wooden sword tightly as he turned to leave.
A cold morning breeze rushed in as he opened the door, carrying a misty chill against his face.
The wooden door creaked as it shut behind him, leaving only the familiar sound of hammer striking metal, steady, rhythmic, an unchanging backdrop to this part of town.
Two days.
In that time, he would have to manage somehow.
Maybe he would focus on improving his sword skills.