Inside the smithy near the port, the old smith they knew so well raised the magnifying glass in his hand, meticulously examining the materials Altaïr and the others had brought.
It wasn't until several dozen minutes later that he finally lowered the magnifying glass, his expression solemn and regretful. "My apologies. These materials are unlike anything we've ever seen; we cannot process them here."
"Even you can't?" the old smith's son, who was also the workshop owner, asked without thinking.
The old smith stroked a piece of grayish-white shell the color of withered bone, slowly shaking his head. "The origins of this material are extraordinary. It doesn't belong to any known Monster, does it?
"No one has ever forged equipment using materials from a Monster like this. In other words, whether it's a weapon or Armor, everything must be designed from scratch based on the properties of the material itself.
"If I were twenty years younger, no, even just ten years younger, I would absolutely have given it a try, no matter what.
"But I am far too old, and I no longer have the energy needed to design from scratch and craft a full set of equipment."
"We can help, Grandpa! You handle the design, and leave the forging to Father and me," the younger smith, Arman, said insistently from the side.
"No, you aren't qualified yet," the old smith refuted flatly. "These are very likely one-of-a-kind, rare materials in the entire world. There are no chances for trial and error.
"From the design and initial processing of the materials to the subsequent forging and assembly, if anything goes wrong in the process, what would we use to compensate for it?"
Having given his grandson a scolding, the old smith very firmly packed those materials up and pushed them back. "You should all seek out greater expertise.
"If you truly don't know who else to ask, I know the Village Chief of Harth somewhat, so I can arrange an introduction there.
"With Troverian craftsmanship, processing these would naturally be no issue at all; it's only that the journey there and back would take some time."
At this, the old smith suddenly paused. "Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Aren't you acquainted with that Wyverian artisan in Val Habar?
"You even commissioned his help to forge transitional equipment like Iron Gospel and the Defender Gunlance.
"That man is a true master smith. If he takes over, these materials are certain to be put to the best possible use!"
"Uncle Smithy, huh." Isis scratched her head. "Now that you mention it, it's been quite a while since we've seen him."
Noticing Isis's interest, Altaïr said with a smile, "Or shall we all head to Val Habar together? It's not just Smithy we haven't seen; we haven't met up with Guildmarm Sophia, Jara, and the others for a long time either.
"Now that I think about it, I find myself missing the blowing sands of the Great Desert a bit myself."
Sajji's little head bobbed up and down at high speed. "Nya also has many questions saved up that nya wants to ask Teacher Naziya, meow!"
"I'm fine with it." Isis nodded emphatically. "In any case, we haven't decided our next steps for now, so staying in Val Habar for a while is no problem at all!"
"I've no objection either," Nymera said, beaming. "I've never been to the Great Desert. Kamura also has sandy plains, but I've heard the Great Desert is more than ten times as vast. What sort of magnificent scenery must that be?"
After a brief discussion, the trip to the Great Desert was settled.
The three of them were talking about when to set out when Altaïr suddenly remembered something. "Ah, I almost forgot. What about Lambert?
"She came all the way here for us. If we just leave her behind and head straight for the Great Desert, aren't we being rather irresponsible?"
"Let's find her and ask," Nymera said with a smile. "She's a rookie. Whether she's picking mushrooms or hunting Small Monsters, it's all much the same wherever she goes.
"She's been in Metapetatto less than a day; there can't be any hard feelings about leaving yet."
"Mm. If she doesn't want to go, we still need to find someone to look after her a bit."
—--
Having made their decision, the group left the smithy and returned to the Guild Hall.
Nymera, being a Gunner, had plenty of gear to pack, so she headed to her room first to sort things out. Altaïr and Isis, meanwhile, asked at the counter about the location of Lambert's Hunter Cabin and went looking for it.
Lambert's Hunter Cabin was in a very out-of-the-way spot. According to the young receptionist Lillian, Lambert had asked for it herself.
"This should be the place, right?" Staring at the narrow, dim stairwell ahead, so tight it allowed only one person at a time, Altaïr felt uncertain.
It was an isolated attic room at the very top of the Guild Hall. The highest point above served as a bell tower, and until now they hadn't even known there were rooms up here.
"Let's go up and see." Isis took the lead, but the exaggerated pauldrons of her Basarios Armor Set immediately got stuck, forcing her to sidle up sideways.
After two switchbacks up the stairwell, an inconspicuous wooden door came into view.
Altaïr looked around with an odd expression. He strongly suspected this had originally been a storage closet, the kind of place where mops and brooms were kept.
If Lambert's parents knew their precious daughter was living in a place like this, wouldn't they grab him by the collar and chew him out?
"Gi-ang, clang! Crash! Yaa-ha!"
A sharp metallic whine, jarring percussive blows, and full-throated shrieking pierced through the wooden door.
It didn't sound like noise a single person could make.
Altaïr's eyelid twitched. He suddenly understood why Lambert had chosen to live in a place like this.
Had she been put anywhere with neighbors close by, she'd have been collectively strangled to death by everyone around her on the very first night.
"Wh-what is all that noise?" Even the normally bold Isis looked a little frightened.
Altaïr gestured for her to step aside, positioned himself before the door, and raised his hand to knock.
As expected, the knocking was swallowed by the din inside, the chaotic racket continuing unabated.
Left with no choice, Altaïr put more force into it and pounded heavily on the door a few times.
This time the person inside finally heard. The disorderly noise stopped abruptly. After a few seconds, the door opened a crack, revealing a single, equally dark eye peering out from the dim room.
After a second of silence, the door was pulled open. Lambert, hair disheveled, ducked her head slightly in greeting. "Senior Altaïr, Senior Isis."
"We came to check how you're settling in. What the... it really is a storage room?!" Halfway through the sentence, Altaïr couldn't stop himself from blurting out the moment he stepped inside.
Lambert tilted her head, one corner of her mouth stretching sideways, a few strands of hair caught at the edge of her lips, her whole appearance unsettlingly sinister. "I asked for it. The place isn't bad."
"Those metal barrels and that pitchfork make some truly excellent sounds! Hehehe..."
Altaïr was speechless. Knowing Guildmarm Noya's attitude toward Lambert, it was clear Noya would never have shortchanged her. So staying in a place like this was definitely something the girl had requested herself.
"Fine. As long as you're happy living here. Just don't bang on things day and night, and tidy the place up when you get the chance."
After a few simple words, Altaïr got down to business. "There's something else I need to tell you. For certain reasons, we have to go to the Great Desert. I'm sorry we won't be able to look after you here during this time."
"I can find some reliable friends and ask them to keep an eye on you. If you need help with anything, they or Guildmarm Noya will be able to assist."
"Alternatively, you can come with us to the Great Desert. We'll probably be staying in Val Habar for a while. The choice is yours–"
Before Altaïr could finish, Lambert lunged at him like a Monster pouncing on prey, ignoring the sharp edges of the Regios Armor Set's pauldrons, and grabbed his shoulders tightly.
Her eyes went wide, and the corner of her mouth twisted upward into an almost grotesque angle.
"Val Habar?! I want to go! I have to go! I know that place, the bone-scouring gales! The blazing, brutal sun! A living hell of nothing but yellow sand! A moving city that migrates across an endless dead sea!"
"There's no place more rock 'n' roll than that! GIIAAA!!!"
Watching the deranged girl throw her head back, fists clenched, letting out one bizarre shriek after another, Altaïr's expression darkened.
The Great Desert is just a bit barren. There's no need to make it sound so outrageous!
He was beginning to regret this. Why on earth had he been so muddle-headed as to accept the job of looking after this weirdo?
(Translated by yourtl.app)