*Creak…!
With another drawn-out creak, the blacksmith pushed open a wooden gate that separated the main forge area from a smaller side room, revealing a neatly organized display of the weapons and armor of vary that he had forged over time.
The room beyond was dimly lit, but the soft glow of a few lanterns along the walls made the rows of metal gleam with a faint orange hue, casting reflections that danced across the surfaces of both the blades and armors.
There was a wide variety of weapons arranged in a long, orderly manner—shortswords with narrow hilts and sharp tips, longswords balanced with precision, and massive greatswords that looked like they required two hands and a strong back to swing properly.
Meanwhile, some blades were straight and practical, meant for clean, efficient strikes.
While others curved and twisted, shaped in strange patterns that gave them an exotic, almost serpentine appearance, as though they had been forged for speed and finesse rather than brute force.
Elyn stepped forward and let her gaze move along the racks slowly, taking in the collection with interest evident in her eyes.
To the side, her eyes caught another display—crossbows fitted with reinforced arms, single-shot pistols that looked like they had been handcrafted with care, and bows of various shapes and sizes, their wood polished smooth and their strings taut with tension, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice
And at the center of the room stood an impressive collection of armor, set on wooden mannequins or resting on sturdy racks.
light leather vests that offered flexibility and speed, chainmail tunics that shimmered with interlocked steel rings, and full plate armors that stood tall and silent, their polished surfaces gleaming under the lantern light, looking as though they could take the blow of a hammer without flinching.
"Great collection you have here," Elyn said as she walked just behind the blacksmith, her eyes still drifting from one item to another, her voice carrying a mix of honest admiration and curiosity.
"I assume you've just moved in? Haven't seen you around before."
"Aye, just a few days ago," the man replied, glancing back at her over his shoulder with a small chuckle.
"Had a bit of a tussle with some locals and thugs here and there—nothing too serious though," he added, lifting his hand to scratch the side of his head as he walked ahead, the clinking of tools hanging from his belt matching the steady sound of his boots against the wooden floor.
"But I've been all right, settling in fine so far."
The blacksmith ruffled his thick beard with one hand, a slight scoff escaping from him as he gave Elyn a sidelong glance over his shoulder.
His eyes briefly studying her with a mix of curiosity and familiarity.
"You seem like a well-traveled person," he said, his tone half-question and half-observation.
It was the kind of remark that came from someone who had seen a few wanderers pass through and had learned how to read the wear in their clothing, the posture in their stride, and of course—the look in their eyes.
He had seen it on Elyn—she was a fighter, a warrior—at least that's what he thought.
He walked a few more steps before coming to a casual stop, turning slightly as his voice lowered just a bit.
"So," he asked, "found anything interesting?"
Elyn paused for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the weapons mounted along the wall, then gave a small but clear nod.
Without saying a word, she reached out and extended her arm toward a longsword displayed just slightly above eye level, its polished blade catching the nearby lantern light and casting a faint golden reflection along the edge.
Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, lifting the weapon off its hooks with practiced ease as she took a step back to create space.
She began to test the weight carefully, holding the sword with both hands at first, then shifting her grip as she moved it through the air in a slow, controlled arc.
There was no show in her motion—no exaggerated flourishes or unnecessary movements—just a smooth test of balance, a silent assessment of how the blade responded to her control.
She rotated her wrist once, reversed the grip, and then rested the blade across her palms, holding it still for a few seconds before nodding again with a quiet tone in her voice.
"This will do."
The blacksmith let out a low hum of approval and nodded back, a pleased smile spreading across his face as he watched her handle the weapon.
"A good choice indeed, lass!" he said with a bit more warmth, clearly satisfied by her selection.
Elyn, wasting no time, turned from the sword rack and walked with purpose toward the opposite end of the room where the ranged weapons had been displayed.
She scanned the options quickly, her eyes sharp and discerning, then reached forward and grabbed two flintlock pistols—well-crafted and compact, their wooden grips polished and the metal barrels gleaming with a faint bluish tint.
Once both pistols were in hand, she turned around and made her way back toward the front desk where the blacksmith had returned, her steps light and steady as the weight of her new weapons settled naturally into her grip.
"So how much would it be?" Elyn asked, her tone calm as she laid all the equipment she had gathered onto the wooden counter in front of her.
She placed down the longsword first, its weight making a dull thud as it rested on the wood.
Right beside it, she set the two flintlock pistols, carefully positioned so they didn't roll.
Finally, she placed a pouch filled with bullets and gunpowder, its weight clear from the way it hit the surface with a soft, shifting sound.
The blacksmith leaned over slightly, squinting as he inspected the items.
He scratched his beard, thinking, then gave a quiet grunt.
"Mhm, let's see…" he muttered under his breath, running a hand along the edge of the sword's sheath before tapping the flintlocks lightly.
After a moment, he held up six fingers, paused, then raised a seventh as a grin tugged at the edge of his mouth.
"Sixty-five bronze moons should do it," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.
"Very well," Elyn replied, without argument.
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a pouch—small, worn, and tied tight with string.
Inside were the spoils of her last contract.
She didn't even glance down as she counted, her fingers moving with familiarity as she placed the coins one by one onto the counter.
*Clink! *Clink! *Thud!
Each bronze moon made a quiet clink as it landed.
The blacksmith watched closely, then nodded when the last coin was placed.
Satisfied, he scooped up the payment and stored it away before reaching under the counter.
He brought out a leather belt designed to carry the pistols across the chest, along with the sword already sheathed and fastened for free.
"Here," he said simply, handing the gear over.
"Use 'em well."
Elyn nodded in return, her eyes not lingering long as she turned and made her way to the door.
She pushed it open with her elbow, letting it creak wide as she stepped out into the open street once more.
As the door swung shut behind her, she adjusted the new gear with swift, practiced hands.
The belt went across her chest, snug but not tight.
She then slid both flintlocks into their holsters, then let her cloak drop over them to keep them out of sight.
Reaching to her hip, she unfastened her old belt and let the worn sword fall away without regret.
It had served its purpose, but it was no longer needed.
With a steady hand, she snapped the new sword into place, the weight familiar and welcome.
"Mhm," she hummed under her breath, a soft sound of thought as she glanced down at the fresh gear.
"Let's get that artifact now, shall we?" she murmured.
Her pace picked up as she walked, her boots hitting the stone road with steady rhythm.
The gate ahead rose tall and unmoving, guarded on each side by soldiers standing alert, though not particularly watchful.
But just before she reached it, something off to the side caught her attention.
Near the edge of the courtyard, tucked beside an archway made of weathered stone, stood a small stable.
Horses stood idle within, some with saddles already fastened, others still half-prepared.
A man sat beside the stable's entrance, slouched forward on a stool with his hat pulled low, his chest rising and falling slowly—clearly asleep and unaware.
Perfect.
With barely a change in expression, Elyn turned from the gate and made her way toward the stable, her footsteps light and her presence nearly unnoticed as she approached the stablemaster in silence.