Translator: CinderTL
Following the sound, Roland saw a golden-haired youth striding confidently toward them, head held high.
The youth's exquisite features drew involuntary gasps of admiration from the crowd, while his pointed ears unmistakably marked him as an elf.
"Is that... the high elf with the surname Morning Star?" Roland murmured, recognizing him.
Seeing this, Roland quietly retreated a few steps, avoiding the throng of people. He stood at a slight distance, squinting as he studied the newcomer.
Perhaps adapting to local customs, the high elf had abandoned his usual austere, unadorned robe in favor of a meticulously crafted, extravagantly ornate outfit.
This attire only accentuated his already otherworldly aura. The only constant was the peculiar vine-woven circlet adorning his head.
True to Roland's preconceived notions of the elven race, the high elf's expression remained as placid as an ice-covered lake despite the crowd's cheers. He made no gesture of acknowledgment, his face utterly impassive.
Yet, a fleeting flicker of disdain, barely perceptible to the average eye, crossed his gaze.
Amidst the clamor of the crowd, the high elf, escorted by guards, strode directly into the area Roland had been forbidden from entering earlier.
There's more to this than just building repairs... Roland thought, his suspicions deepening.
But since the matter didn't concern him, he merely shook his head slightly and turned to stride purposefully toward the Blacksmith's Guild.
After navigating several bustling streets, Roland finally arrived at his destination.
To his surprise, the Blacksmith's Guild wasn't the isolated, grand hall he had imagined, but rather a sprawling courtyard composed of several sturdy stone buildings.
Towering chimneys belched thick black smoke, filling the air with the distinctive scent of burning metal and coal ash. The massive gates stood wide open, and the rhythmic hammering of countless forges echoed like a relentless downpour from within.
Even standing outside, Roland could feel a wave of scorching heat radiating outward.
"Hello..."
The receptionist was a dwarf.
Contrary to Roland's expectations, the dwarf's demeanor was remarkably refined and proper, entirely lacking the gruffness typically associated with his kind.
"Good day, sir..."
The dwarf bowed slightly, his voice naturally deep but deliberately softened.
"What can I assist you with today?"
"I'd like to register for a Blacksmith's Guild certificate," Roland replied concisely, retrieving the two letters of introduction from his pouch.
"Ah! You must be Mr. Roland!"
The dwarf quickly scanned the parchment scrolls, then looked up with a warm smile.
"Mr. Nielsen has already informed us of your arrival. Please follow me."
With a gesture indicating the way, the dwarf led Roland deeper into the building.
As they traversed the dimly lit corridor, the air grew increasingly hot.
Finally, they stopped before a massive door, from which the clang of metal striking metal echoed faintly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The dwarf's knock abruptly transformed into a thunderous pounding, a stark contrast to his earlier gentle demeanor.
"Master Griffin! A gentleman wishes to register for a certificate!"
The hammering inside the room ceased immediately.
The heavy door swung open violently, revealing a figure much shorter and stockier than a human.
His steel-needle-like beard bristled, quivering with each angry roar.
"Damn it, Noel! I told you not to bother me with such trivial matters!"
"I... I apologize, Master Griffin..."
The dwarf called Noel instinctively shrank back, then stepped forward, lowering his voice to explain.
Though this "lowered" voice remained perfectly audible to Roland.
"This is the man Mr. Nielsen specifically instructed us to assist..."
After hearing Noel's explanation, Griffin snorted coldly, sizing up Roland's muscular frame with a sidelong glance and muttering in displeasure.
"Hmph, he's certainly got the bulk. Looks like that bastard Nielsen wasn't lying after all... Fine!"
He waved impatiently at Noel.
"Leave this to me. Go back to your work! As for you..."
He crooked a thick finger at Roland.
"Come inside."
With that, he turned and strode into the room without waiting for a response.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roland..."
Noel's voice carried a hint of apology as he bowed slightly again.
"Master Griffin's temper is a bit fiery, but his character..."
He trailed off mid-sentence, as if recalling some unpleasant memory, and abruptly stopped speaking.
"In any case, rest assured, Master Griffin won't give you any trouble."
"Thank you, Noel," Roland replied with a faint smile, stepping into the room.
Griffin's manner might have seemed rude to others, but to Roland, it reminded him of Hawk from the Blackwater Territory.
Far from being offended, he felt a strange sense of familiarity.
As he entered, a wave of heat and the pungent smell of metal washed over him.
In the center of the room stood a massive iron forge. Though the flames weren't at their peak, they still radiated scorching heat and a deep crimson glow.
Beside it stood a heavy anvil, its surface scarred with countless hammer marks, both old and new.
The walls were densely lined with tools of all sizes: tongs, hammers, chisels, and more. Scattered across the floor were rough metal blanks awaiting their turn at the forge.
In one corner, a large quenching tank gleamed with oily sheen, surrounded by piles of half-finished weapons and agricultural implements.
This place was less a reception room and more a fully equipped blacksmith's workshop.
"Hurry up, kid! Don't waste my time!"
Seeing Roland still looking around, Griffin roared impatiently, his frustration nearly boiling over.
He snatched the two letters of introduction from Roland's hand, grumbling loudly.
"This should be a done deal, but they insist on making me go through these damn procedures! What a pain!"
His tone shifted abruptly, his already booming voice rising like a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil.
"Of course! If you fail the assessment later..."
His eyes narrowed, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"Even if that old codger Nielsen himself comes begging, you won't set foot inside the Blacksmith's Guild! Got it?"
"Understood, Master Griffin."
Faced with this thunderous declaration, Roland immediately regulated his breathing, suppressing all distractions.
With a mental command, his Focus trait activated instantly.
In that instant, fragments of vast forging knowledge flooded his mind with crystal clarity.
Though he hadn't held a hammer since leaving Blackwater Territory, the Basic Forging Technique level on his Job Panel remained as solid as a mountain.
With a little focused recall, he was confident he could handle the upcoming assessment without issue.
"Wait!"
Just as Roland was fully immersed in recalling his forging knowledge, Griffin's head snapped up. His thick, iron-like fingers jabbed at the signature on one of the letters, his eyes blazing with a mixture of surprise and excitement.
"Boy! This Hawk..."
His voice rose several notches.
"Is he loud and intimidating, always swearing, and... well, you know..."
As Griffin described him, Hawk's familiar face immediately flashed through Roland's mind.
The description matched the dwarf's words almost perfectly.
"And now he's... uh... working in some... Stinky Ditch Territory? As a personal blacksmith for a human noble?"
"Uh..."
Hearing the name, Roland reluctantly corrected him.
"Master Griffin, if you mean Blackwater Territory, then this Hawk is likely the one you know."
"Right, right, sorry..."
Griffin stared at the familiar handwriting on the parchment, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"In our dwarven language, 'Blackwater' means 'Stinky Ditch,' but I never expected..."
He looked up at Roland, his eyes filled with surprise and admiration.
"You're that stubborn mule's apprentice? Alright then!"
With that, Griffin pulled a fresh, blank parchment from a drawer. With a flourish, he slammed a crimson seal onto it with a resounding thud.
"Here! Take it!"
He stood up and casually shoved the nearly blank parchment into Roland's hand.
"Go find that kid Noel outside to fill in the details."
"But... Master Griffin, what about the assessment?" Roland hesitated.
"Assessment?" Griffin scoffed, his beard twitching. "If you were trained by that bastard Hawk, what's the point of an assessment?"
At the mention of Hawk, a rare softness flickered across his usually stern face. "Back when we were apprentices under Master Balrend, that stubborn mule was famous for his rigid thinking—as unyielding as cold iron! For him to personally write you a letter of introduction..."
Griffin slammed his hand on the table with conviction. "Your skills already far surpass those of ordinary blacksmiths! Oh, right..."
He casually unhooked the flask from his hip, tilted his head back, and gulped down several large mouthfuls of wine. Then, he roughly wiped the wine stains from his chin with his sleeve.
"Is that bastard still in good health?"
"He's... doing alright."
After a brief exchange about Hawk's current condition, Griffin waved Roland away. "It's getting late. Come back early tomorrow, and I'll explain the guild's rules in detail."
Before the words had even finished leaving his lips, the heavy door slammed shut in Roland's face.
"This... this counts as registration?"
Roland lowered his head, staring blankly at the parchment in his hand, which bore only a single crimson seal.
Back in Blackwater Territory, Hawk had repeatedly emphasized the Blacksmith's Guild's rigorous assessment, urging him to prepare thoroughly and give it his all.
And yet...
Recalling Hawk's stern face and earnest warnings, Roland could only shake his head helplessly and turn toward the reception desk.
After briefly explaining the situation to Noel, the elegant dwarf immediately pounded his chest in reassurance, promising to complete the certificate's details and have it ready for pickup the next morning.
In mere moments, Roland's status had officially transitioned from blacksmith apprentice to a registered blacksmith, recognized by the authorities.
I never imagined... Master Hawk's exceptional craftsmanship was learned from the dwarves. No wonder it's so refined...
He retraced his steps.
As he passed the guard-manned checkpoint again, his pace faltered slightly, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
His keen senses detected that the magical elemental aura emanating from the forbidden zone had grown noticeably stronger since his arrival.
(End of the Chapter)
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