Human Kingdom – Morning
Dark clouds loomed low over the Human Kingdom, swallowing the horizon in shadow. Snow drifted down in thick, lazy flakes, blanketing the cobbled streets in white. Even though it was morning, the light never broke through the clouds, the entire city lay under a cold, oppressive twilight.
Vendors had still opened their shops, their breath visible in the chill air. Oil lamps burned brightly on wooden counters, their flames fighting against the gloom. The market, however, was near empty. Only a handful of customers wandered between the stalls, wrapped in layers of wool, heads down, moving quickly through the cold.
Among them, two cloaked figures walked quietly — Leon and Fruela, their faces hidden under black hoods, snow clinging to their shoulders.
"Sir! Fresh apples!" a vendor suddenly shouted, springing forward from behind his cart. He shoved an apple directly toward Leon’s face, the red skin of the fruit glistening in the frost.
Fruela reacted instantly — her hand went behind her waist, fingers curling around the hilt of her daggers. But before she could draw them—
Leon raised his hand slightly. "No thanks," he said calmly, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.
The vendor blinked, confused, and stepped aside. Leon kept walking, his boots crunching softly against the snow.
"Fruela," he said after a moment, his tone neutral. "Don’t draw your weapons so easily. Assess the situation first — draw wepons only when it’s necessary."
"I’m sorry, Master," Fruela replied softly, guilt in her tone. "It’s just... when he shoved that apple in your face, my hands moved automatically—"
Suddenly, Leon stopped walking.
"We’re here," he said simply, turning his gaze to the right.
Fruela followed his eyes and noticed a large wooden sign swinging faintly in the wind — ’Dekken’s Smithy’.
Leon stepped forward and knocked.
Almost instantly, the door clicked open.
"That was fast..." Leon muttered quietly as he looked down.
Standing there was Gerald, his beard messy, eyes tired, expression confused.
"What do you want?" Gerald asked bluntly.
"Gerald, my friend," Leon said with a small smile. "I’m here to get my sword fixed."
Gerald scoffed. "First of all, I’m not your friend. Second, close the door behind you." He turned and walked back inside, leaving the door half-open.
Leon and Fruela entered silently, closing it behind them.
The warmth and roar of the forge were gone. The air was cold and stale. The rack of swords that once stood proudly by the wall was empty — gone. The furnace was dark, its fire long dead. Scorched marks covered the ground, and the right wall bore a deep scar, as if something massive had been slammed into it.
Leon looked around slowly. "What happened here?" he asked, taking a seat on the wooden chair nearby.
"Pull out the sword," Gerald said, ignoring the question. "Let’s see what you’ve done to it."
Leon nodded, summoned Nyxter from his inventory, and laid it on the table.
Gerald reached for it, slid the blade free from it’s sheath—
The moment he saw it, his eyes widened. His mouth fell open.
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" he roared, so loudly that people walking outside jumped at the sound.
Leon stayed perfectly calm. "Relax. Can you fix it?"
"Relax? Are you fucking kidding me?" Gerald shouted, holding the blade up to the light. "This sword is one of my best creations — forged from the finest material I’ve ever worked with, and you did this to her blade?!"
Leon shrugged slightly. "I was practicing on stone dummies."
Gerald blinked. "Who the hell practices with stone dummies?!" He groaned and rubbed his temples. "Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here, take it back. I can’t repair this."
Leon frowned. "Come on. I’ll pay you more — just fix it."
"It’s not about the money," Gerald said sharply, setting the sword down and slumping into his chair.
Leon narrowed his eyes. "Then what’s it about?"
"The fire," Gerald said quietly, picking up a leather flask. "It only stops burning in a blacksmith’s furnace when the smithy itself is closed down."
He uncorked the flask, lifted it, and took a long drink.
Leon leaned forward, his voice low. "Why are you closing down?"
"Because I turned down your king’s Orders," Gerald muttered before taking another swig.
Leon’s expression hardened. "What kind of orders?"
Gerald exhaled, the scent of alcohol filling the cold room. "Every blacksmith in the kingdom has been ordered to forge three thousand swords and shields for the army. They offered me double the usual pay. I refused. They got pissed."
He took another deep drink.
"When I declined the offer, their knights came. They took every sword I had — beat the hell out of me for good measure." His tone grew bitter. "Then they gave me a notice — said if they ever saw smoke from my chimney again, I’d be exiled from the kingdom."
He looked up at Leon with tired eyes. "That’s why I can’t fix your sword, kid. So unless you’ve got a working furnace outside the kingdom, forget it."
He lifted another bottle from behind the furnace and popped the cork with his thumb.
"If you want, take it to another blacksmith," Gerald continued. "But don’t tell them who made it. Just say you found it lying on the road."
Leon stood slowly. "Very well."
"Sorry about your sword, kid, but—"
"Pack up your stuff," Leon interrupted, his tone steady.
Gerald blinked. "What?"
Leon’s eyes were calm, unreadable. "You said you could repair it in a proper furnace outside the kingdom. So — let’s go."
Gerald frowned, confused. "What nonsense are you talking about?" Chapters fırst released on novｅlfire.net
"I have a place where you can forge weapons freely," Leon said, his voice low and certain. "No knights. No royal eyes. No interference."
Gerald froze mid-breath. "Y–You do? You’re not kidding, right?"
"No kidding," Leon said. "And you’ll have ten times the space you have here."
Gerald hesitated, studying him. "What do you want in return?"
Leon looked him dead in the eyes. "Fix my sword."
Gerald blinked. "Nothing else?"
Leon’s gaze didn’t waver. "If you don’t want to come—"
"I’m coming," Gerald cut him off, already standing. "Give me a moment. I’ll pack everything."
He moved quickly, grabbing tools, leather bags, and several small crates filled with materials.
Leon watched silently, his mind elsewhere.
’There are plenty of empty floors in the dungeon,’ he thought. ’Giving him one won’t be a problem... but that furnace smoke... that might be a problem.
Oh well, I will have him as my personal blacksmith in the dungeon. At least I won’t have to come here again and again in order to get Nyxter fixed.’