Anthierin walked toward the betting corner. It was a miserable place, a corner where fortunes had just gone up in smoke, replaced by the furious wails of ruined men.
The moment she stepped into view, the dense, angry crowd physically split in two, making a wide path for her. She felt a sharp spike of nervousness at the sudden attention, but nothing a deep, steadying breath couldn't fix.
She strode confidently forward, stepping right up to the iron-barred locket.
The tired clerk behind the counter shook her head in sheer disbelief and gave a slow, respectful clap. "You are perhaps the queen of gamblers."
"I don't like gambling," Anthierin replied flatly, reaching through the bars to take her prize.
The massive leather pouch was heavier than her entire forging belt, but it was nothing her blacksmith arms couldn't handle.
80,000G.
She had never held that much wealth in her hands before. She had also never felt such intense, suffocating envy radiating from the people around her. Hundreds of greedy, bloodshot eyes were prying at the heavy pouch in her grip.
The vast majority of the arena had lost everything betting on Klauss and Vance. The few lucky fools who had thrown a single copper coin at Lexel as a joke had won barely enough to cover their spilled ale.
Anthierin, however, had broken the bank.
Anthierin tightened her grip on the heavy leather pouch. The greedy stares of the ruined gamblers felt like physical daggers against her back. A desperate man in a torn tunic took a sudden step forward, his bloodshot eyes locked entirely on the gold.
A heavy line of armored guards shoved him violently aside.
The hostile crowd instantly parted again, bowing their heads in deep fear as polished steel pushed through the mud and despair of the betting corner.
Mera, the Baron's daughter, stepped gracefully through the opening. She wore a pristine silk dress, appearing completely unbothered by the dirt and sweat of the commoners surrounding her.
Anthierin's jaw tightened. She remembered the mocking laughter in the alleyway. She remembered the arrogant sneer from the VIP box.
Mera wore a completely different expression now.
A perfectly manicured, incredibly fake smile stretched across the noblewoman's face.
"Anthierin, wasn't it?" Mera asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She stopped a few feet away, clasping her hands delicately in front of her. "My, what an absolutely breathtaking victory."
Anthierin narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"
Mera let out a soft, rehearsed giggle, ignoring the blunt hostility entirely. Her eyes flicked briefly to the massive pouch of gold, then back to the blacksmith's face.
"My father, the Baron, is hosting a grand victory banquet at our estate tonight," Mera said smoothly. "It is a tradition to honor the winner of the Battle Royal. We noticed your close relationship with the new champion, Lexel. It would be an absolute tragedy if his closest companion missed the celebration."
Mera stepped closer, leaning in with a coy, conspiratorial whisper. "Please, consider this a formal invitation for both of you. We insist."
She's planning something, Anthierin thought, a cold knot forming in her stomach.
Anthierin gripped the heavy bag of gold tighter, her mind racing for a polite way to decline a direct order from the ruling family.
Anthierin opened her mouth to decline the trap, but the words that echoed in the tense air didn't belong to her.
"Tonight?" a lazy voice whispered.
Mera gasped, her shoulders jumping. An involuntary, fiery flush of red rushed straight to her cheeks.
Lexel was standing directly behind her, close enough to whisper right into the noblewoman's ear. No one in the dense crowd, not even the trained escorts, had seen him move from the arena tunnel. He had simply appeared.
The armored guards flinched, taking a collective, shocked step backward. Realizing their massive failure, they scowled, ripping their heavy steel swords from their scabbards and instantly pointing the razor-sharp tips directly at Lexel's neck.
Lexel didn't even blink at the encroaching steel. He didn't bother raising his hands. He could hear the faint, high-pitched rattling of the metal. The guards' hands were shaking violently. It was the undeniable sound of sheer, terrified indecision. They knew perfectly well that if they swung, they would die.
"Lexel!" Anthierin called out sharply, shooting him a heavy frown. It was a clear signal of a trap.
Mera raised a trembling hand, forcefully regaining her noble composure.
"Rest your blades," Mera commanded.
The guards immediately sheathed their swords, the collective breath of inward relief so loud it was almost comical.
Mera turned around, pasting that perfect, calculating smile back onto her flushed face. She looked up at the young man who had just bankrupted her family.
"Ah," Mera said smoothly, her eyes locking onto his. "Here is our grand winner... Lexel Torga. I am hosting a victory banquet tonight at the Baron's estate to honor your strength. I insist you attend."
"Sure," Lexel replied, sliding his hands lazily into his pockets. "I'll be there."
Anthierin's jaw practically hit the floor. Mera's calculating smile widened into genuine satisfaction. The noblewoman gave a graceful, mocking curtsy, turned on her heel, and glided away through the parting crowd of armored guards.
The moment the polished armor disappeared from view, Anthierin whipped around to face Lexel.
"Why would you accept that?" Anthierin hissed, her voice trembling with absolute disbelief. "The Baron just lost half a million gold because of you! You just agreed to walk straight into a noble's death trap!"
Lexel shrugged, completely unbothered by her panic. "My dad never turns down a banquet. It's a family rule. Even though he's the weakest drinker in the whole house, he still goes for the free food."
Anthierin stared at him, her eyes wide. "Are you entirely insane?"
"Rin!" a breathless voice called out.
Uncle Daren pushed his way through the lingering spectators, his tunic soaked in sweat. He looked at Lexel, his eyes wide with a mixture of profound awe and lingering terror, before shifting his gaze to the massive leather pouch in Anthierin's hands.
Lexel clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Let's head back. I need to wash this sand off before the banquet."
---
The heavy wooden doors of Daren's workshop slammed shut, muting the chaotic, celebratory noise of the Einjaar streets.
Anthierin walked straight to the sturdy oak anvil block. She dropped the massive leather pouch onto the wood with a heavy, satisfying thud. The thick drawstrings loosened, revealing a blinding, overflowing mountain of pure, stamped Einjaar gold.
Daren collapsed onto a wooden stool, wiping his greasy forehead with a rag. He stared at the glowing metal, rendered completely speechless.
Anthierin plunged her hands directly into the pile. She scooped out a massive pile of coins, roughly estimating the weight of ten thousand gold pieces, and shoved them across the wooden block toward her uncle.
"There," Anthierin said, letting out a long, exhausted breath. "That covers the shop's debt. The Baron has zero leverage over you now."
Daren stared at the mountain of gleaming coins. His calloused hands trembled, and hot tears spilled over his weathered cheeks, disappearing into his thick beard. The crushing weight of the debt that had suffocated him for months was completely gone.
A wooden door creaked open at the back of the workshop.
Lexel strolled out of the washroom, enveloped in a cloud of warm steam. He wore a simple white towel secured loosely around his hips, actively scrubbing his wet hair with a second towel.
"Unc Daren," Lexel said casually, tossing the damp hair towel over his broad shoulder. "You better relocate, to be honest."
Anthierin frowned, turning away from the gold to look at him. "Why are you suggesting that?"
"He's right," Daren interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. He wiped his wet eyes with the back of his greasy hand. "This money certainly helps clear the books, but the root of the cause is the Baron himself. If I stay in Einjaar, he will just find another way to bleed me dry."
"But—" Anthierin started.
"I was already prepared to leave anyway, before the two of you paid a visit," Daren confessed, looking down at the heavy oak anvil. "I just didn't have the funds to make the journey."
"But, where are you moving?" Anthierin asked, her frown deepening into genuine worry. "My village is completely ransacked. You can't go there."
"Out of town," Lexel said simply, walking barefoot across the workshop floor. "A different city."
"Correct," Daren nodded heavily. "Far away from the Baron's reach."
Lexel stopped in front of the massive leather pouch resting on the anvil. He entirely ignored the loose mountain of coins Anthierin had already scooped out. Instead, he reached deep inside the main bag, feeling around for a moment before pulling out three tightly bound, smaller pouches of gold.
He tossed them casually onto Daren's lap. They hit the blacksmith's leather apron with a heavy, metallic thud.
"Then you'll need some more money to live off," Lexel said, suppressing another lazy yawn. "Here. Take thirty thousand. I think that's enough to start a new blacksmith shop, right?"
Anthierin and Daren froze. Their jaws slacked completely open, staring blankly at the casual display of unimaginable wealth.
Lexel had just dropped the equivalent of a royal lottery win onto a man's lap like he was paying for a loaf of bread. To the young man standing half-naked in their workshop, the absolute pinnacle of their kingdom's currency held absolutely no meaning whatsoever.
He isn't just strong, Anthierin thought, her mind completely short-circuiting as she stared at the mountain of gold. He genuinely doesn't understand the value of anything in this world.