The crowd swelled around him, bodies pressing and shifting but somehow parting just enough for him to pass without effort.
Then a voice pierced through the noise.
"Here! A special offer, today only!"
The words reached him first, sharp and bright.
Then came the impact of a crumpled piece of parchment striking his chest with urgency, delivered by a blur of motion that vanished into the crowd before he could so much as lift a brow in protest.
'What a pain… he surely was quick with it too.'
Ruvian puffed out a cold breath as he slowly inspected the crumpled parchment in his hand. The flyer itself was a sorry thing.
The ink had bled in places, smudged into clouds of grey. The handwriting was enthusiastic but desperate, with bold letters screaming across the top with confidence:
"LIMITED TIME MAGICAL DEAL".
Near the bottom, a rough sketch of what might've been an animal doll figure or an ordinary stone with a stamp of "40% OFF!" in bright red ink.
Ruvian folded the flyer and slid it into the inner lining of his coat.
"Oh well, I've seen worse flyers before."
His attention immediately returned to the plaza. Ruvian's gaze flicked across the familiar landmarks.
"If memory serves, then the blacksmith's shop should be just beyond the row of talisman vendors."
Then, just as his eyes were adjusting to the motion of the crowds, his gaze instinctively locked toward a figure.
The figure appeared pale from head to toe, cloaked in a dark robe that flowed unnaturally without wind, standing still among the moving crowd.
'Hm?'
At first, he thought it was merely some priest or a performer in ceremonial garb, but the way the crowd parted around the figure yet refused to acknowledge her at all made his stomach tighten.
The figure also wore a dark blindfold, and there was no mistaking the curve of her lips. A placid smile stretched widely and held too long, her face hidden by the veil.
Her figure was obscured by the shifting distance. He didn't know why, but a subtle dread had bloomed in his chest.
Just as instinct began to pull something from the depths of his memory, a group of townsfolk passed in front of him, laughing, bartering, and in that second, the connection snapped.
When the path cleared again, the figure was gone.
'Hmm. I swear I saw someone was there. That wasn't my imagination… right?'
Ruvian blinked a few times, slowly letting the moment pass over him.
In any webnovels he used to read, the mystery or dread always offered a hand first, then dragged them by the throat. So, yeah, he wasn't about to let this world do the same to him.
Whatever it was, Ruvian trusted his survival instincts. He doesn't want to pry into something where he was still weak.
'I need to be careful. I can't simply trust anyone that I didn't know aside from the characters that were mentioned in the novel.'
There was a reason he feared such notions.
In truth, over time, the world had gradually forgotten about demons. Because humanity had advanced relentlessly and purged them from the land so thoroughly that they rarely appeared thereafter, a long time ago.
However, having proofread the novel, he knew the demons were not completely wiped out.
That said, there was no need for him to be worried too much about encountering a demon, especially not at this stage of the story yet.
According to the author, that moment would not arrive until much later—somewhere around the 4th volume.
For now, the story was still in its prologue stage. So there shouldn't be any events involving demons.
Still, who could say for sure?
It was easy to trust that nothing would happen, to assume that danger would wait its turn simply because the story said it should.
But of course, the world had never respected such expectations.
After all, they could be anywhere among humans, hiding and disguising. In fact, the author even mentioned that they had already begun making their moves for their revenge even before the protagonist was born.
Ultimately, if push came to shove, Ruvian just needed to be prepared.
He sighed, adjusted his coat, and resumed his path through the plaza. But before going to that blacksmith's shop, he stopped before a modest stall that glinted with soft menace.
The knives gleamed, dozens of them, each one aligned in the military formation; paring knives, cleavers, and even long blades that whispered of expert craftsmanship.
The merchant was hunched behind the display, eyes like a hawk's, polishing a curved blade that reflected the sunlight.
Ruvian tilted his head slightly, studying the set.
He wasn't here to buy them, but only for the context, taking note of a few things before meeting that person.
'A good first impression is very important after all.'
*****
After a minor detour, Ruvian finally returned to his original path. Nestled shyly between two oversized buildings stood the place.
It was easy to miss.
Perhaps, it wanted anyone to miss it.
A small, unimposing structure slouched in the shadows of its grander neighbours. The wooden sign above the door swung gently with each cold breeze, creaking.
Ruvian stopped in front of it and gave it a long, unimpressed look.
'This should be the place.'
He pushed open the door. The hinges voiced their protest in a long, dramatic groan. Inside, the light dimmed, and the light outside faded behind him.
Ruvian took one step forward, and that's when he heard it.
Clang! Clang!
The sharp, intermittent rhythm of a hammer striking iron echoed from within the heart of the workshop, slicing through the silence with an almost ritualistic weight.
'That sounded like real work.'
He let the moment breathe, standing by the entrance as the clangs rang through the air.
Casually, he asked, while making his voice deeper.
"Ahem… is anyone here?"
Soon, the hammering stopped instantly.
A few seconds passed.
Finally, the curtain behind the counter rustled. A figure stepped through. It was a boy. No, a young man would've been more accurate, but his face still carried the lingering sharpness of youth.
He was a few fingers taller than Ruvian, his frame already beginning to settle into the shape of an adult. His hair was a deep brown, matching the steady shade of his eyes.
Ruvian's gaze narrowed, just a little.
'Hmm, he's got quite the build, but not as good-looking as Ruvian.'
With a single glance, he had a good guess that this was Dain Forgewell's son.
Despite the novel rarely mentioning the blacksmith's son, it did give him a clear description. So he knew that the person standing before him was most likely his heir, Gared Forgewell.
But Ruvian was more interested in his father.
Dain's name was not found inside the margins of any history books. He didn't forge mythical blades destined for chosen heroes, nor did he bless his work with high-grade metal.
No, he was just a simple man.
In a world obsessed with creation, Dain Forgewell specialised in something most smiths considered mundane.
He didn't make any new weapons anymore. He just saved the old ones. Rust-eaten swords, cracked shields, shattered breastplates, or pieces others discarded, Dain restored them determinedly.
It wasn't glamorous, but adventurers, mercenaries, knights on shoestring budgets, they all came to him when their gear was broken.
Just a humble man who wasn't known as the hero of the forge but as the unsung healer of steel.
That was the title Ruvian himself had suggested for Dain.
'…Come to think of it, that's actually a good one.
As the thought faded, Ruvian blinked and returned to the present, only to realize that Gared was watching him with a composed stare just a shade too cold to be welcoming.
His stance was confident but not boastful. He looked like he belonged here, as if the forge wasn't just a workplace but was part of his spine.
"What business do you have here?" he asked.
A long silence stretched between them.
"I've come to make a request."
Ruvian put up a benevolent smile.
"Just a custom-made craft, so do tell me, this is the place for such a thing, isn't it?"
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[Chapter 8: The Evermere Plaza]