Chapter 28
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: The Peddler (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
#28
The Song of Iron Forge was facing an unprecedented crisis.
"Huff... huff..."
Bilmois was gasping for breath. He was hiding in the warehouse, clutching his broken sword. Blood from the wound on his shoulder dripped steadily onto the floor.
"Damn it, what kind of blacksmith fights like that? Taking down two of us."
"You elf bastard! Quit your tricks and crawl out here!"
Irritated voices came from beyond the wall. They were intruders who had burst in out of nowhere in the dead of night. They'd tried to kidnap Bilmois without warning, but the old elf, who had lived by the blade in his youth, wasn't going down without a fight.
"If I'd known it'd come to this... whew, I should've left him one eye..."
Bilmois gave a wry smile. Time was merciless. It felt like only yesterday he'd been known as Glenmoril's Fang.
"This won't work. Hey! Look for something useful!"
"This old elf sure is tough. How about this?"
"Looks good as a crowbar. Let's do it."
The situation wasn't looking good.
It was deep into the night. Hardly anyone ventured into the crater's interior. Cries for help or screams would just be swallowed by the pulse of the Dragonheart Road, futilely.
He'd sent a letter, but the chances of it being received at this hour were slim to none.
'If only I knew why this was happening.'
The thugs would eventually drag him out and take him away. They might even chop off a limb or two to vent about their fallen comrades. Still, it wasn't like there was no way out of this mess.
'If I use that thing...'
Bilmois turned his head. On the workbench lay a weapon wrapped in tarpaulin. It was Bran's weapon, completed just hours ago. The violent waves from the Harmeno catalyst used in it pulsed even here.
It was one of the finest works of his long life as a blacksmith. With it, slaughtering these brazen intruders in turn wasn't some pipe dream.
"No. That won't do."
But he couldn't. The first blood on a weapon had to come from its owner. It was an ironclad rule he'd never broken in all his years as a smith.
Clang!
The sound of metal prying at the door crack came next.
"Got it! Pull!"
"Raaagh!"
The hinges screamed. This was the end. All he could regret was not etching his name into the annals of steel. Bilmois set Bran's weapon aside in the corner and draped his shirt over it.
"Valkeros. In the end, I couldn't reach you."
Whoever came through first would have company on the road to the afterlife. As Bilmois gripped his sword hilt, preparing for his last stand—
Boom—!!!
The door was ripped off from beyond the wall.
"What the—?!"
"Who the hell are these guys... What are they doing out there... Argh!"
The thugs' conversation cut off. The sound of flesh being sliced and screams erupted simultaneously. A third party had intruded out of nowhere and begun a one-sided massacre.
"M-monster...!"
"Everyone, rush him at once! He's just one guy... Gah."
"Arrrgh! My arm!"
Sounds heralding death echoed sporadically. Guts spilling from split bellies. Heads smashing into the ceiling. Those heads crushed underfoot, other skulls split open. A hellish scene unfolded vividly in the darkness.
"......"
Silence soon fell. Only the low groans of those barely clinging to life remained.
"Huff... huff..."
Bilmois stood frozen, merely breathing hard. His legs wouldn't move. His resolve from moments ago had long been crushed by the overwhelming pressure of the merciless slaughter. Footsteps drawing nearer halted before the door to his hideout.
Bang!
The iron door was torn away in one go, and the slayer's shadow loomed over Bilmois's face.
"Ah, found you."
He asked,
"Bilmois. You okay?"
"......!"
It was a familiar voice. Very familiar. A smile crept onto Bilmois's lips after a long daze.
"......Ah. I've been waiting."
Once the fight ended, a pleasant notification appeared before his eyes.
You have fought and emerged victorious against multiple enemies. Tenacity of the Weed activates!
Agility growth rate slightly increases.
"Nice on the Agility."
Bran grinned. As expected, growth rate boosts were better than direct stat increases. It raised the ceiling, after all. Soon enough, he might gain Strength and Stamina just from eating and strolling.
Kael, who was bandaging Bilmois's wound, nodded.
"Yeah. That should do it. Try moving it?"
"Ooh! Feels all better already. That's almost professional-level work!"
Bilmois rotated his arm. It was wrapped neatly and tight. Who knew Kael had talent for this too.
After finishing first aid, Bilmois let out a sigh of relief.
"Whew! Thanks to you, I survived. Nearly died without leaving proper last words."
"Glad you're safe. But why were you shirtless?"
"Just desperate measures to protect your weapons from those scoundrels. Talk about perfect timing."
Bilmois laughed. Hard to believe this was the guy who'd almost been kidnapped. His optimism was unreal.
His finger pointed to three men bound in chains, kneeling.
"Wh-what are you gonna do with us...?"
"Urk, grrr..."
"M-my arm."
None were unscathed. One had lost an arm. Still, they stayed quiet—better off than their dead comrades, no doubt.
Bran said,
"Bilmois. Hate to ask right after all this, but can we get our weapons first?"
"Ah, of course! Slipped my mind too."
Bilmois placed the tarpaulin-wrapped weapon on the workbench. It was hefty. A heavy metallic clank echoed.
"I feared losing this more than dying. Take a look."
"Ooh..."
Expectations soared. What had Valkeros's top smith picked? Sword? Spear? Polearm? Axe? A staff that turned into a whip at the press of a button?
As he untied the cord, a long sword revealed itself.
"A sword, huh?"
"Precisely, a longsword! I agonized over yours especially, Bran. Your build's so balanced, you could wield anything well. But considering your hit-and-run style, I figured a sword suited best."
"Classics are classic for a reason."
Bran nodded. Sound analysis. Spears were easier than swords but hindered mobility due to length. He regretted forgoing the reach advantage, but for versatility, sword it was.
"Anyway, let me explain its functions. Want to hold it?"
"Like this... What the hell."
Bran swore as he took the longsword. It was ridiculously light. Lighter than a broom of the same size.
Hearing his shock, Bilmois continued with a satisfied smile.
"Haha, impressive, right? Mass adjustment—only possible with pure numerite weapons."
"Unbelievable. Didn't expect this level."
He knew numerite's effects, but feeling it was another level. In-game, it was just attack speed up light, damage up heavy. No real sensation.
Bran spun the sword on his pinky, chuckling dryly.
"This thing's killer. How to make it heavier?"
"Imagine the weight you want and infuse mana. But heavier means more mana drain—be careful."
"Mana, huh. Sorry, Bilmois, can you set it to a good weight for me?"
"Pardon?"
"I, uh, can't handle mana yet."
"......Pardon?"
Bilmois's face stiffened. No surprise there.
"Wait. So you've been wielding that monstrous strength without mana? All this time?"
"Yup. Unique constitution."
He'd used Power of the Great Tree occasionally, but it just doubled Strength—no mana cost.
Bilmois shook his head.
"Incredible. Truly. Got a giant in the family tree?"
"Who knows. If giant genes kick in later, maybe hit 3 meters. No more petty trouble then."
"I'll adjust the weight for you. This is unexpected."
Side effect of his pure physical build. He'd focused so much on physical/mental stats he'd forgotten about mana entirely.
'Mana... Time to learn Reinforcement Arts maybe.'
In Return Lord's world, mages weren't the only mana users. Most martial artists used Reinforcement Arts, nine stages of mana control—crucial later on, rivaling raw stats.
Bran pegged himself at 2-star level.
'Might be too early. Tricky.'
He wanted a solid foundation first. Learning mana and Reinforcement would shift focus from pure stats.
Oh, Heavy Strike doesn't use mana either.
Bilmois handed back the adjusted longsword.
"Doesn't matter. This beast doesn't need mana to be monstrous."
"Feels like it."
Bran agreed. It looked ordinary at a glance—but no. An extraordinary aura pulsed along the pristine blade. Sharp yet savage. Anything brushed against the edge would slice clean. If mass control was numerite, this edge was Harmeno's doing. The grand vitality from the Underground Farm now craved blood.
"I'll put it to good use. Mana soon enough—don't worry."
"I trust you. Weight okay?"
"Like an extension of my body."
Bran swung it, tracing an 8 in the air. Smooth. Perfect balance, fitting his grip just right.
Bilmois smiled in relief, then pulled out another weapon.
"Now for Kael's. Here."
"A staff...?"
Kael's eyes widened. Bilmois held a long staff. Plain, straight, ivory-white like carved elephant tusk.
"Yes. Not my specialty, but I gave it my all. Aids holy power or spellcasting."
"Th-thanks... Super light."
"Heh, numerite in there too. Less than Bran's sword, though."
Bilmois explained extras to Kael: gathering holy power, catalysts used, etc.
"What's your holy power circle level?"
"Uh, well... Sorry, are there specific stages for holy power...?"
"?"
Same as the mana bit. Kael needed systematic holy training too.
Overkill. Did I not explain basics?
Bran asked,
"Oh, Bilmois. The other weapon I commissioned isn't done yet, right?"
"Correct. It's huge, so. Finished yours first since you needed them urgently and contacted ahead."
"Got it. No rush. Just make it right."
The third commission was pending. Fire put out, so fine.
Bran approached the kidnappers.
"So. Who from White Silver Company sent you?"
"......Sharp one."
Obvious with a little thought. The apparent leader clicked his tongue.
"Can't say. Our word is our bond. Kill us."
"Maybe."
"Wh-what are you doing?!"
Bran hoisted all three at once. Striding to the cold forge, he shoved them in. Spacious enough for three.
"You bastard! How dare—!"
"You begged to die. No cleanup needed. Perfect."
The forge linked straight to the Dragonheart Road. The trio blanched at their future. As Bran gripped the lever—
"Wait—!!"
One screamed. Bran raised a brow, pausing.
"Hm?"
"I-I'll talk! Honor over life? Bullshit! There's limits to posturing, damn it!"
"Y-you traitor...!"
"Quit the hypocrisy! You don't wanna die either! Better rolling in shit than dead!"
The man's face twisted in terror. Makes sense—no one in the city didn't know the Dragonheart Road. Human flesh in numerite-melting flames? Like oiled tissue.
All thinking the same? The leader slumped.
"......Damn it."
"Sob, spare us!"
One even sobbed. Bran released the lever. Why he'd spared three—bound to be a weak link.
The broken leader confessed.
"Chloe Gibitz, executive director of White Silver Company, hired us. Orders: kidnap you two and the smith, extract info."
"On the numerite's whereabouts?"
"How—?!"
"Obvious. Old man Leodorn's been snatched too."
Bran sighed. Suspicions confirmed.
Kael's eyes bulged, trembling on the lever.
"B-Bran, what?! Grandpa Leodorn kidnapped?!"
"Else it doesn't add up. Vanished for a fortnight, now targeting us? Only reason."
Gatekeeper was likely a plant. Daughter in college on the foundation's dime—repaying like this.
Bran explained steadily.
"They targeted Leodorn first. Sole goal: eliminate before the company meeting. Mid-plan, realized he had numerite."
How? Spy or bug—executive resources.
"Snatched him eventually. But he'd hidden it already. Wouldn't crack, so now shaking his circle. Folks like us."
Bran thumbed himself. Bilmois hit because they got word of him and Kael heading there.
"B-but Ilrak's guarding! How?!"
"Beats me. Didn't kill her for the snatch—some dirty trick."
Good news: Leodorn likely alive. Act fast, rescue feasible.
As Bran pressed for location—
Boom—!!!
The workshop ceiling shattered, a massive thug landing. Dust and debris flew. Choking clouds engulfed the forge.
Screams from Kael and the thugs.
"Eeeek!"
"Arrrgh!"
"Kyaaah!"
Huge build. Hunched over, still taller than Bran. Only Bran stayed calm, recognizing her.
A booming shout rang out.
"Leodorn! You here?!"
A voice overpowering even the Dragonheart pulse. Dust parted to reveal a red-haired woman. Familiar face, sharp eyes twisted in rage. Heat radiating from her made breathing hard.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Those bastards...!"
Her thick tail whipped with ragged breaths. She'd smash everything in sight if not stopped.
Suddenly locking eyes with Bran, she froze.
"You...!"
"Calm down, Ilrak. We can still save him."