Chapter 91

Ethan's questions didn't continue. Mikhail watched the bidding unfold in silence.

"Request number thirty-two goes to the research students from the Magic Tower! Requester and assigned personnel, please proceed to the right to negotiate terms and finalize your contracts! And don't forget the brokerage fee!"

"Request number thirty-nine! Now, this one's actually come around for a second time. The previous crew faked noble house trainee credentials to land the contract, and it turned into an absolute disaster! Well, that just goes to show how attractive this request is! The job is collecting boxes engraved with ancient patterns from Route Three! Starting bid is thirty gold!"

The host's infectious energy anchored the room as prices flew back and forth in a boisterous chorus.

Amid the noise, Mikhail turned his gaze toward a far corner of the hall.

A man sat there—unusually short in stature, with a scruffy beard and a pair of stocky, broad shoulders.

Mikhail curled his fingers over the hand resting on his knee and kept his eyes locked on the man.

The same appearance he knew by heart. A key figure in the ruins village of Melphendes.

One of the five finest blacksmiths in the kingdom, and unrivaled in the present day when it came to forging with special materials.

Fredik Bech, the Wandering Master Smith.

"Now then—request number forty-five!"

Mikhail had been running through the system functions he'd need when the host's voice rang out, charged with fresh energy.

He watched as the man rose from his seat and made his way toward the platform.

The host glanced at the figure stepping up, then unfolded the sheet detailing the next request.

He began scanning the contents. The further he read, the more the easy grin plastered across his face faded.

"Ah… um, this one is…"

The host faltered, eyes darting sideways. The man snorted as if to say get on with it and jerked his chin forward.

The host forced a strained smile and began reading the request aloud.

"So… request number forty-five. This one features an item that's rather unfamiliar even to me, and I've been hosting for three years. The job involves retrieving an ore said to be extraordinarily rare in Melphendes—Red Sun Metal."

"…Red Sun Metal?"

"What's that? Never heard of it."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, peppered with scoffs and clicks of the tongue.

Mikhail watched the platform without a word.

"Red Sun Metal is known to appear across Routes One through Fifteen at an extremely—and I do mean extremely—slim probability. The last person who actually managed to obtain it was… hmm, roughly twenty years ago. One individual. Truly blessed by fortune… however."

The host trailed off, clearly aware of the growing restlessness, and swept his gaze around the room.

"B-but still! You know what they say—life's all about that one big break! The lucky winner could be any one of you! And with something this rare, the commission must be enormous, right? A hundred gold? Two hundred? Now then, let's see what our requester, Mr. Fredik, has written down…"

Fwip.

The page turned, and a dazed sound tumbled from the host's mouth.

"Ten gold… and one session with the kingdom's greatest blacksmith… Is that correct?"

"That's right! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity money can't buy!"

The host squinted at the paper, flipping it up and down several times as though he couldn't believe his own eyes, then spoke in a bewildered tone.

"But who exactly is the kingdom's greatest blacksmith?"

"Me."

"Sir! Y-you can't just—you can't make false claims like that. The kingdom's greatest blacksmith, as far as I know, is—"

"Hah! What's so impressive about a bunch of nobodies holed up in their little corners, polishing their own names!"

The retort came with the shamelessness of a man wearing ten layers of iron on his face. The host gaped, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

The murmurs curdled into mockery and irritation in an instant. Some jeered; others grew heated.

"Bahahaha! Is this guy out of his mind?"

"Tsk, tsk. A man his age, pulling stunts like this. Hey! If you're just going to spout nonsense, get off the stage! You're wasting everyone's time!"

"Oi, host! You going to run this thing properly or what? You're supposed to weed out the frauds. What are you even doing up there?"

Angry voices crashed down like a wave, but Fredik showed no intention of stepping down on his own.

Arms folded, jaw set, he held his ground without budging an inch.

"……"

Mikhail watched the scene in silence.

The moment he caught Fredik scanning the crowd with a deepening scowl—he raised his hand.

"Request forty-five. I'll take it."

The room went dead quiet. Mikhail rose to his feet under the weight of dozens of stares.

Fredik, standing rigid on the platform, fixed his gaze on Mikhail, the creased corners of his eyes twitching.

Mikhail dipped his head in a brief bow, then addressed the host.

"Please proceed."

"Oh—r-right! Yes, sir!"

The host snapped back to his senses with a start, fumbling as he raised the paper in his grip and opened his mouth—

"No!"

But the requester in question, Fredik, beat him to it with a thunderclap of a shout.

"Don't you dare look down on me! No matter how pressed I am, I'm not the kind of man who asks a kid for help!"

Fredik's face was carved with iron stubbornness as his voice boomed across the hall.

Mikhail studied the man—not a shred of flexibility to be found—for a moment.

Then a confident smile settled across his lips.

"I have something that can vouch for my skills. So don't worry—come on down."

"Hand over the proof!"

They were at a noise-dampened table tucked away on the far side of the request office.

Mikhail smiled at Fredik, who'd started shouting the instant they sat down.

"There's no need to rush."

"I said hand it over!"

"Sir, please. Instead of bulldozing ahead like this, why don't you hear us ou—"

Ethan cut in, apparently trying to mediate. Mikhail pressed his fingers to his lips and shook his head.

"……"

Ethan backed off without adding another word. Mikhail turned to Fredik again.

"Sorry, but the document's still being processed—it'll take a little time. How about we chat in the meantime?"

"What? The nerve on this brat—what kind of scheme are you pulling!"

Fredik's face flushed red and purple in the same breath. He slammed his foot against the floor and shot to his feet.

Mikhail leaned back with an easy smile and flicked his thumb toward the bustling platform behind them.

"Even if you went back to find another volunteer, you'd be waiting three or four hours at least. And there's no guarantee anyone would step up in the first place."

"You insolent little—!"

Fredik's voice spiked with fury for an instant, but after a string of deliberate throat-clearings, he sank quietly back into his chair.

Mikhail laced his fingers together and rested them on the table.

If the game function that had always activated around this point—triggered by a direct encounter with a crafting NPC—worked the same way as ever…

Then the conversation ahead would tip the final outcome toward something considerably better.

"Why do you need Red Sun Metal?"

"Hmph. Does a blacksmith need a special reason to want metal?"

Fredik buried himself against the chair's backrest and fired off a curt reply.

His rough hands moved to stroke his beard, repeating the motion three or four times.

A silence thick with thought drifted between them like a gentle current.

The wall of wariness lowered by a fraction.

Before long, Fredik's expression had softened. He let out a sigh and slowly began to speak.

"The state of the world gets more unsettled by the day, and the places you can travel safely just keep shrinking. Things might be fine right now, but who knows when even these ruins could close for good. The chances to observe and handle different metals and materials—those are only going to get rarer."

His tone had shifted into something far more candid than before. Mikhail watched him and nodded slowly.

Fredik went on.

"So what choice do I have? I've got to get my hands on whatever I can, while I still can. If you thought a blacksmith only cares about hammering steel, you'd be dead wrong."

Fredik clicked his tongue lightly, then raised his voice a full notch and steered the subject.

"Anyway! That's why I want Red Sun Metal! An ore you can barely even confirm exists! Actually getting to work with something like that—there's no greater growth, no greater reward! I'll do anything for whoever brings me rare materials! And if they'll share a drink with me on top of it, I'd hand over my liver and gallbladder both!"

"So that's how you knew Alex."

"Exactly! Alex the mercenary captain! That bastard dragged in all sorts of unusual materials and metals from wherever the hell he'd been roam—"

Fredik's upper body lurched forward. Shock flooded his face as he stammered at Mikhail.

"W-wait. How do you know Alex?"

Mikhail let a sly grin slip and tilted his head. Then, with a quiet hum of amusement, he reached into his coat.

Rustle.

What emerged in his fingertips was a paper envelope. He held it out to Fredik.

Fredik's eyes darted between Mikhail and the envelope before he accepted it with a cough.

Riiip.

The seal tore open and the letter inside slid free.

"What's this… a skills endorsement? Alex Flon?"

Fredik let out a disbelieving laugh as his eyes traced the lines on the page.

But when he reached the end, he slapped the letter down with an audible smack and glared at Mikhail.

"You little punk! Didn't you just say it was still being processed!"

"I wanted to hear more of your story, Mr. Fredik. Couldn't be helped."

Mikhail shrugged with perfect nonchalance, and Fredik stared at him in blank stupefaction, utterly lost for words.

Then, as if a switch flipped, he gathered himself and demanded:

"What? Why would you suddenly want to hear my story!"

"Well, obviously…"

Mikhail pretended to weigh his words for a moment.

The instant Fredik leaned in, curiosity stamped across his face, Mikhail smiled.

"An honest conversation can make anyone a friend, no matter the circumstances. That's the Wandering Master Smith's philosophy, isn't it? So… I wanted to see if I could become your friend too."

The answer, drawn straight from memory, landed perfectly.

In front of Fredik—struck speechless, his face caught somewhere between flustered and sheepish—

FLASH!

A golden system message blazed into view.

[Notice: Crafting NPC Affinity Bonus has been applied.]

[Notice: Crafted product success rate increased by 50%. Highest-grade crafted product probability greatly increased.]