"That's enough!"
The arguing stopped abruptly.
A somewhat lanky figure forcefully pushed the door open and hurried away with his head down.
"Sam!"
Before Roland could react, another man, this one with a burly frame, appeared before him.
Seeing the man, Sean waved his hand excitedly.
"Pey—"
But the burly man only glanced at Roland and Sean before chasing after the first man, disappearing at the end of the street.
"Uh..."
Sean lowered his raised right hand and rubbed his nose in embarrassment.
"That man from a moment ago... that's my uncle, Peyton."
"Oh..."
"Anyway... let's go inside first."
After saying this, Sean pulled Roland into the house.
The furnishings inside were a bit plain, but everything was very clean and tidy.
"Sean, where's your father?"
"He should be at the shop selling meat around this time..."
Sean closed the door and tossed the bundle he was holding onto the wooden table with a dull thud.
"So..."
He stared at the bundle on the table and spoke slowly.
"What exactly is this thing?"
Roland looked around, and after confirming there was no one else in the room, he stretched and gestured with a slight lift of his chin.
"Open it and see for yourself."
"So secretive..."
Sean grumbled in dissatisfaction and reached out to unwrap the bundle.
When the cloth wrapping fell away to reveal three Iron Swords, his previously confused expression instantly froze, then morphed into shock.
"Celestial Father above!"
He cried out in astonishment, grabbing a hilt and holding the sword high, his widened eyes filled with disbelief.
He stood there dumbfounded for a long time before slowly turning his stunned gaze to Roland.
"P...Pal, is... is this an Iron Sword?"
His voice trembled slightly with shock.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with your eyesight."
Roland chuckled and shrugged.
"No, I mean..."
Sean swung it around excitedly a few times. After the cold touch of the metal convinced him it was all real, he carefully cradled the Iron Sword to his chest and asked in a trembling voice.
"Where did you get this?"
"I forged it myself, of course."
Sean didn't doubt Roland's words, but seeing his friend's calm expression, he couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration.
'We're both learning from Hawke, but I haven't even mastered the most basic forging techniques, and Roland can already craft weapons on his own!'
'The gap is just...'
"Tsk, the difference between people is sometimes greater than the difference between a person and a dog."
he muttered under his breath.
But then another thought struck him: this genius before him was his best friend!
That thought instantly swept away the gloom in Sean's chest.
He hugged the Iron Sword tightly, an uncontrollable, goofy grin spreading across his face. He stroked the blade for a long while before reluctantly wrapping it back up.
"Are you planning to sell it?"
Sean asked hesitantly.
"My dad says that if you haven't joined the Blacksmith Guild, it's illegal to sell tools and equipment privately..."
"But I can help you ask around in the tavern. Maybe there's another way."
Hearing these words, Roland couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in his heart.
When he had just transmigrated here, he was often bullied by the other apprentices because he was so thin and weak.
Every time it happened, Sean would be the one to stand up for him. As they spent more time together, Sean always took great care of him.
Without Sean, he might not have had the energy to focus wholeheartedly on practicing his craft, let alone successfully advance to a Blacksmith Apprentice and stand out among the many young trainees.
Based on these points alone, Roland felt that giving him an Iron Sword was nowhere near enough to repay his friendship.
"Why are you putting it away? Isn't your birthday in a few months?"
A slight smile touched Roland's lips.
"This is a gift I prepared especially for you."
"A... a gift? For me?"
Sean's pupils suddenly contracted. The usually carefree young man was now at a complete loss.
He carefully stroked the body of the sword, his voice starting to stutter.
"This... this is too valuable... I've never bought a weapon, but an Iron Sword like this must be worth a fortune..."
"Alright, alright..."
Roland stepped forward without taking no for an answer and pushed the Iron Sword into his arms.
"Didn't you say it yourself? We're the best of friends."
"The best of friends..."
Sean repeated in a mumble, then suddenly nodded emphatically, his eyes shining.
"That's right! We are the best of friends!"
He laughed and gave Roland a bear hug, squeezing so hard that Roland's bones creaked.
"Easy... easy..."
Roland struggled to break free from the enthusiastic embrace and warned him.
"No matter who asks, even if it's your father or uncle, don't reveal that I forged these weapons, understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
Sean mimicked a Manor Guard's salute, then began to play with the Iron Sword in his hands, unable to put it down.
After a while, he finally noticed something else in the bundle.
"Pal? What's this thing?"
"That thing..."
Roland stared at the piece of iron with two cloth straps hanging from it that Sean was holding up, and the corner of his eye twitched involuntarily.
After taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain calm and walked over.
"Look..."
As he spoke, he tied the crudely made Heart-Protecting Mirror to Sean's left chest.
"This way, it can at least block a fatal blow aimed at the heart."
"Oh, I see!"
Sean flicked the iron plate on his chest with a finger, intrigued. It made a crisp DING sound. He then slapped Roland hard on the shoulder.
"Pal! You're a forging genius!"
"A genius?"
Roland gave a bitter smile and shook his head helplessly.
"Alright, Sean... just put this... uh... protective gear away for now."
Just as the two of them finished putting things away, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from outside the door.
Turning to look, they saw Peyton push the door open and enter, his face dark.
Thanks to the bright sunlight from outside, Roland finally got a clear look at his appearance.
Below a high, aquiline nose, sharp eyes glinted from deep-set sockets. His chiseled, angular face was as stern as if carved from a blade.
Paired with his burly frame, he exuded a faint but palpable sense of pressure.
"Uncle Peyton, I'm back!"
Sean shouted excitedly.
"This is the Roland I told you about!"
Peyton grunted "Mm" without lifting his head and casually grabbed a small wooden keg from under the counter.
As the oak stopper was pulled out, the aroma of wine with a fruity, acidic tang immediately filled the room.
He tilted his head back and took several large gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
The liquor trickled down from the corner of his mouth, forming droplets that clung to his thick beard.
After casually wiping his chin with his sleeve, Peyton's mouth twisted into a smirk.
"What's this, Sean? Did the noble master kick you out for being a lousy apprentice?"
"Not at all. Tomorrow is the festival for the Father of Heaven, so Mr. Hawke gave us the day off."
Sean seemed to be long accustomed to Peyton's sarcasm.
Thinking of the Iron Sword he had just received, he said eagerly.
"Uncle Peyton, please teach us some Swordsmanship!"
"You two?"
Peyton raised an eyebrow, the keg pausing in mid-air.
"Yeah..."
Sean nodded quickly, first pointing to his own sturdy chest, then patting Roland's slender shoulders.
"You know, as soon as the festival is over, Lord Beckham is going to recruit soldiers to crusade against the Demons in Black Pine Forest. I want to enlist... but all I have is brute strength..."
He scratched his head, embarrassed.
"As for Roland..."
Feeling Peyton's scrutinizing gaze, Roland offered a timely, humble smile and said.
"Uncle Peyton, I'm also very interested in Swordsmanship."
"Hmph, hmph..."
Peyton chuckled twice and set down the keg.
"What a coincidence. I'm not skilled with other weapons, but I do know a thing or two about Sword Skills. It's not impossible to teach you, but..."
He narrowed his eyes, revealing a sly, fox-like smile.
"What will you use to pay the tuition?"
"Tuition?!"
Sean's eyes went wide.
"Uncle, I'm your own nephew!"
"Don't give me that!"
Peyton tilted his head back for another swig of wine and let out a satisfied, loud belch.
"Do you know how much those retired veterans at the training grounds charge to teach their skills?"
He held up one rough finger.
"Ten Silver Coins a month!"
At this, Peyton deliberately lowered his voice in a show of feigned affection.
"But, seeing as we're family... I'll only charge you five Silver Coins. How about it?"