In fact, in this world, probably only those who truly don’t consider money as money, the extremely rich, or the Demon Hunters, would wield heirloom-level swords to chop something.
Iron scraps can kill people; why use these precious treasures on the battlefield?
This is also a reflection of the hardships of the Demon Hunter profession.
They wield swords worth hundreds of Oren to fight monsters to the death, yet they can’t exchange these swords for money to spend in the city or buy property.
Because few would protect the property of Demon Hunters.
After a trip to the blacksmith shop, Lann had to add one more item to his hunting commission in Auridon.
When equipment needs maintenance, the village will reimburse the costs, and the village blacksmith will follow Lann to find the Master Blacksmith.
This is mainly to ensure someone knowledgeable is there to prevent Lann from asking for sky-high reimbursement.
Although the young man didn’t intend to do so at all.
"I’m not taking advantage of you. Look, the armor I brought was damaged before, and I was planning to pay for the repairs myself in the future."
Lann laughed lightly, arms crossed, walking nonchalantly at the back.
Old Allen walked in front, pouting.
Yes, you plan to pay for it yourself.
But what if, before you save enough to repair the armor, you get your belly split open by Water Ghosts because you have no armor?!
What if the Swamp Witch slices your throat?!
What about expanding the fishing grounds?!
Can the village still make money?!
Old Allen glared disdainfully at the young man’s cotton armor, about to burst with Cotton, and sighed.
He decided to have the skilled women in the village work overtime tonight, at least to sew up the outer layer of cotton armor he brought over.
Before the fishing grounds are expanded, this half-price Demon Hunter has to live well!
A single injured finger affects work efficiency!
Before Lann arrived, Old Allen would never believe he would be worried sick for a Demon Hunter’s safety.
Letting Mutants kill monsters is a natural order; no one cares about their life and death.
But now, he must face them with a smile, care for, and tend to them like a nagging old mother.
As they walked, Lann seemingly mentioned something casually.
"By the way, what happened to the families of those two poor souls who were killed?"
At this, Old Allen’s gait hesitated slightly.
Lann’s keen senses easily captured this moment; his cat-like eyes narrowed slightly.
"Did something happen to them?"
The young man’s tone remained indifferent as before, with a sense of detachment from the matter.
But inexplicably, Old Allen, walking in front, felt a chill down his neck.
"No, how should I say it?" Old Allen replied cautiously.
"One family is already... extinct. Little Turner chased his puppy into the woods and was torn apart by a pack of oozing stray dogs. His screams before death drove his mother insane, who rushed in after him. Several of us men there couldn’t hold her back, and then... neither of them came out of the woods."
The village elder sighed, but that was it. Tragedies in Velen were so common that they numbed people.
Now he mainly worried whether the loss of one family of victims would affect the Bear School’s "compensation" for the village.
Lann pursed his lips, and Old Allen felt the chill at his neck intensify.
"Didn’t you try to save them?"
"Save? How to save?" Old Allen sighed and shook his head.
"The pack of stray dogs was no longer afraid of humans; they’d all tasted human flesh. Unless you can truly kill them, ordinary intimidation doesn’t work. But at that time, there were only about a dozen men in the village, including the elderly and children."
The inexplicable chill at his neck disappeared, and Old Allen tilted his head indifferently, continuing to walk.
The young man walked behind with his head lowered, steps slightly heavy.
He came to Auridon with gratitude and a desire to compensate, unfamiliar with the two farmers who spoke for him and lost their lives.
But he is a grateful and steadfast person.
So he came here, hoping to help the widows and orphans living in hardship.
For this, he formulated a plan, trying to grasp the balance of human nature with his limited knowledge, creating a situation from which everyone could benefit.
But now, the village elder told him one family was already extinct.
No one can even hold a grudge because it was purely an accident.
There were so many emotions in his heart that he momentarily couldn’t discern what he was feeling.
"There is still Little White’s family, right over there."
Old Allen pointed to his side as he walked.
Just then, after the rain, the wind picked up; the dusky waters under the dark clouds churned.
But in the village, adults and children alike seemed to carry on as usual, busy with their tasks.
Repairing fishing nets in the rain, flipping small boats for fixing, transporting fish-laden smelly wooden barrels...
A woman in tattered, dirty clothes, with a boy in tow, was bustling exhaustively yet diligently in the village.
Repairing fishing nets for other villagers, helping out with things.
Behind her polite smile, however, her occasionally downturned face, until she encountered the next bustling villager, was full of numbness.
The villagers accepted the help as a matter of course, some even impatient and grumpy.
But the farm woman pretended not to see on purpose.
The malnourished, large-headed, small-bodied boy followed her, putting in his best efforts to help.
The malnourished boy had to use his whole body weight to push the wooden barrel filled with fish.
That wasn’t playing; the way he gritted his teeth and even used his head was really trying his best!
Though children don’t understand complexities, the family atmosphere has already taught them to follow the adults in their work.
Thus, on the face that should have been childlike innocence was a forced smile of appeasement after gasping heavily.
That smile chilled Lann’s heart.
But he still didn’t show it.
Because showing too much enthusiasm or anger would unsettle the villagers.
You came to do good deeds, meaning you should suffer losses. You shouldn’t concern yourself with these things.
The villagers’ limited knowledge and wisdom would confuse them, lead to panic, and eventually turn into hostility.
To calm himself, Lann wanted to press his own chest.
But the feel on the cotton armor was a hard cylindrical shape.
It was the storage jar containing genetic seeds.
But this time, Lann did not let go after recalling the grotesque appearance of the flesh in the jar.
Instead, he tightly grasped the glass jar in his arms.
It seemed as if he was holding onto power itself!