Translator: CinderTL
"Enough!"
The argument abruptly ceased.
A slightly gaunt figure shoved open the door and hurried away, head bowed.
"Sam!"
Before Roland could react, another man, burly and imposing, appeared in the doorway.
Sean waved excitedly at the sight of him.
"Pey—"
But the burly man merely glanced at Roland and Sean before chasing after the first figure, disappearing down the street.
"Uh..."
Sean lowered his raised hand, awkwardly scratching his nose.
"That man who just left—that was my uncle, Peyton."
"Hmm."
"Anyway, let's go inside."
With that, Sean pulled Roland into the house.
The interior was sparsely furnished but impeccably clean and tidy.
"Sean, where's your father?"
"He should be at the butcher shop selling meat right now."
Sean closed the door and tossed the bundle he was carrying onto the wooden table with a dull thud.
"So..."
He stared at the bundle on the table, speaking slowly.
"What exactly is this?"
Roland glanced around to confirm they were alone in the room before stretching languidly and nodding slightly.
"Open it and see for yourself."
"So mysterious," Sean muttered, annoyed, as he reached for the package.
When the wrapping fell away, revealing three Iron Swords, his puzzled expression froze, then transformed into shock.
"By the Heavenly Father!" he exclaimed, grabbing a sword by the hilt and raising it high, his wide eyes filled with disbelief.
After standing frozen for a long moment, he slowly turned his dazed gaze toward Roland.
"B-buddy... is this... an Iron Sword?" His voice trembled slightly with shock.
"I think your eyesight is perfectly fine," Roland chuckled, shrugging.
"No, I mean..." Sean waved the sword excitedly a few times, the cold metal confirming its reality. Then, cradling the Iron Sword carefully against his chest, he asked in a trembling voice, "Where did you get this?"
"Of course I forged it myself," Roland replied.
Sean didn't doubt Roland's words, but seeing his calm demeanor, a pang of frustration welled up in his heart.
They had both learned under Hawk, yet Sean hadn't even mastered the most basic forging techniques, while Roland was already crafting weapons independently!
The gap between them was simply...
"Tch, the difference between people can sometimes be greater than the difference between people and dogs," he muttered under his breath.
But then he remembered: this genius before him was his best friend!
That thought instantly dispelled the gloom in Sean's chest.
He hugged the Iron Sword tightly, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He stroked the blade for a long moment before reluctantly wrapping it up again.
"Are you planning to sell it?" Sean asked hesitantly.
"My dad said it's illegal to sell tools privately without joining the Blacksmith's Guild."
"But I can ask around at the tavern. Maybe there's another way."
Hearing these words, a warm feeling welled up in Roland's heart.
When he had first arrived in this world, his frail physique had made him an easy target for bullying among the other apprentices.
Sean had always stood up for him during those times, and throughout their time together, he had consistently looked out for Roland.
Without Sean, Roland might never have had the focus to dedicate himself to mastering his craft, let alone successfully become a blacksmith apprentice and distinguish himself among the other apprentices.
For these reasons alone, Roland felt that gifting Sean an Iron Sword was hardly enough to repay his kindness.
"Why would I take it back? Your birthday's just a few months away, isn't it?" Roland said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "This is a gift I specially prepared for you."
"A gift? For me?" Sean's pupils constricted sharply. The usually boisterous young man suddenly became flustered, his hands trembling as he carefully stroked the sword's blade. His voice stuttered, "T-this is too valuable... I've never bought a weapon before, but I know an Iron Sword like this must cost a fortune."
"Enough, enough," Roland said firmly, stepping forward and pressing the sword into Sean's arms.
"Didn't you say it yourself? We're the best of brothers."
"The best of brothers," Sean murmured, repeating the phrase. He suddenly nodded vigorously, his eyes gleaming.
"That's right! We are the best of brothers!"
He roared with laughter and gave Roland a bear hug, squeezing so hard that Roland's bones creaked.
"Easy, easy," Roland gasped, struggling to break free from the enthusiastic embrace. "No matter who asks—even your father or Uncle Peyton—don't reveal that I forged these weapons, understand?"
"Understood!" Sean replied, mimicking a manor guard's salute before turning his attention back to the Iron Sword, which he began to examine with obvious delight.
After a while, he noticed another item in the bundle.
"Hey, what's this thing?"
"This thing..." Roland stared at the iron plate Sean held up, which was attached to two strips of cloth. The corner of his eye twitched involuntarily.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to approach calmly.
"Look," he said, tying the crudely made breastplate over Sean's left chest. "This will at least block a fatal blow aimed at your heart."
"I see!"
Sean playfully flicked the iron plate on his chest, producing a crisp "ding," before clapping Roland heartily on the shoulder.
"Mate! You're a forging genius!"
"Genius?" Roland offered a wry smile, shaking his head helplessly. "Alright, Sean. Let's put this... armor away for now."
Just as they finished packing up, heavy footsteps echoed outside the door.
They turned to see Peyton pushing the door open, his face grim.
Bathed in the bright sunlight from outside, Roland finally got a clear look at him.
Beneath a prominent aquiline nose, deep-set eyes radiated a sharp, piercing gaze. His sharply defined features were as rugged and resolute as if carved from stone. Combined with his towering physique, he exuded an almost palpable sense of authority.
"Uncle Peyton, I'm back!" Sean called out excitedly. "This is Roland, the one I told you about!"
Peyton grunted without looking up, casually pulling a small wooden barrel from under the counter.
As the oak stopper was removed, the room immediately filled with the fruity, acidic aroma of wine.
He tilted the barrel back and took several long gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow.
Wine trickled down his chin, forming droplets that clung to his thick beard.
Peyton casually wiped his chin with his sleeve, a sardonic smile twisting his lips.
"What's this, Sean? Did your noble master kick you out for being a lousy apprentice?"
"Not at all. Tomorrow's the Heavenly Father's Festival, and Mr. Hawk gave us the day off."
Sean seemed long accustomed to Peyton's mocking tone.
Thinking of the Iron Sword he had just acquired, he blurted out eagerly, "Uncle Peyton, please teach us some swordsmanship!"
"Us?" Peyton raised an eyebrow, the barrel of ale freezing mid-air.
"Yes!" Sean nodded vigorously, first pointing to his own muscular chest, then patting Roland's slender shoulder.
"You know, as soon as the festival ends, Lord Beckham will be conscripting soldiers to fight the demonic beasts in the Black Cedar Forest. I want to enlist, but all I have is brute strength." He scratched his head sheepishly. "As for Roland..."
Sensing Peyton's scrutinizing gaze, Roland offered a modest smile.
"Uncle Peyton, I'm also very interested in swordsmanship."
"Hmph."
Peyton chuckled twice and set down his barrel of wine.
"What a coincidence. While I'm not skilled with other weapons, I do have some expertise in swordsmanship. I could teach you both, but..."
He narrowed his eyes, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"What are you offering as tuition?"
"Tuition?!" Sean's eyes widened. "Uncle, I'm your own nephew!"
"Spare me the sentiment!" Peyton tilted his head back and took another swig of wine, belching contentedly.
"Do you know how much those retired veterans at the training grounds charge for lessons?"
He raised a calloused finger.
"Ten silver coins a month!"
Lowering his voice to a feigned tenderness, Peyton continued, "But since we're family, I'll only charge you five silver coins. How's that?"
(End of the Chapter)
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