"Hmm... that's good. You must already be having a hard time keeping up with so many people, right?" Ethan smiled.
One blacksmith for eight hundred people, a population that kept growing without any sign of slowing down, was a dangerous ratio.
Sooner or later, Roderik would find himself unable to meet the demand. Especially since he also maintained the guard's equipment.
"At the current rate of growth, we'll have problems in a few months. The shortage of steel and manpower alone..." Roderik trailed off, wiping his soot-blackened hands on a rag before motioning Ethan to sit beside him on a worn bench.
The blacksmith's wife appeared shortly after, carrying a jug of juice.
Ethan accepted a wooden cup with a thankful smile and brought it to his lips.
The juice was simple, but pleasant. Sweet, and made with care.
"I know," he said, setting the cup down. "The guard will bring you more weapons and armor soon. They're already collecting them from the dead outside the city."
