Ronan looked at Osian's broken sword and nodded in approval.
"A new weapon. Hoo-hoo, it certainly seems necessary."
"So I'm asking, do you know of any forges that specialize in swords?"
‘A forge that makes swords.’
Ronan stroked his chin, thinking.
"Hmmm. Swords are made everywhere. But usually they're everyday knives, then industrial cutters, then daggers for firearms."
Ronan glanced at Osian's sword.
He remembers the shape of it well.
"They don't usually make swords like yours, Mr. Osian. If you ask them to, they'd make one, but you wouldn't expect it to perform as well."
Osian didn't ask why not.As far as he was concerned, no one in the world could make a longsword.
Sure, they might be able to imitate it.
But a sword doesn't perform the same just because it looks the same.
The length of the sword, the center of gravity, the condition of the blade and the strength of the iron, there were many things to consider.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. As a collector of information, I don't deal in this sort of thing."
"Forget it."
Osian thought for a moment.
Ronan was a broker, but in this business, he was also an information merchant, a go-to source for information.
And Osian had yet to meet anyone as knowledgeable as Ronan.
‘There is no information.’
All information is graded.
What no one knows, but would make a huge impact if known, what many people want to know.
Information is valued accordingly.
In that sense, the information Osian wanted wasn't even in the information market.
"A sword. I've only been to gun shows, so I don't know."
Lorraine shrugged.
Her primary weapon was a firearm and swords were a distant second.
Naturally, the three's gazes turned to Diolan.
Then they simultaneously turned their heads away, as if to dismiss their interest.
The common thought was that he wouldn't know anyway.
"I know."
The answer came out of Diolan's mouth unexpectedly.
"What, you do?"
Lorraine asked in disbelief, and Diolan raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"What's with that reaction, shouldn't I know something?"
"It’s surprising that you know where a sword maker is in this day and age."
"I'm rather surprised you don't know. It's an old place, but it's still pretty famous, I'd think everyone would know."
"Where is it?"
"Eldin's Hammer Forge."
A name Osian had never heard before.
Ronan and Lorraine, however, seemed to recognize it.
"Ah, there. Do they sell old-fashioned long swords?"
What? Old-fashioned?
Osian cringed at the thought of his weapon being insulted.
His head didn't think much of it, but the knight's body didn't hide his discomfort.
"Humph."
Lorraine noticed, too, and broke out in a cold sweat, avoiding Osian's gaze.
Diolan watched in amusement as Lorraine, who had never been his favorite, became quiet in front of Osian.
But he didn't skip answering the question he'd been asked earlier.
“He has a long history as a workshop owner. Even if he doesn't make it now, he used to make it a lot back when he was young. At least he will make weapons that can be used in real combat.”
"I see."
If Diolan was going to talk like that, it might as well be worth a visit.
"If you're going, you'd better get there as soon as possible."
"Why?"
"Because it's a popular place, he might get booked up, and if people realize you're unarmed, there'll be some who'll want to take advantage of that."
"Really?"
“I know that you are a powerful person who defeated Daver of the Blood Brotherhood, but no one fully believes that. Especially when it’s such an absurd rumor.”
"I see."
Osian didn't really gag on that part.
If he hadn't drawn the Starlight, Osian might have been defeated by Daver, that’s how strong he was.
It was a fair assessment for someone who could instantly unleash four-star magic.
'Such a man was defeated by a novice fixer who appeared out of nowhere? Surely, a story that no passing dog would believe. I did it, but it's hard to believe.’
A far-sighted person would know that it wasn't just a fabrication even if they don't believe that rumors are 100% true.
"There are a lot of people like that in this business, hyenas who feed on rumors and use them to feed their own growth. You're going to struggle for a while. You're going to have to prove yourself over and over again. You're going to run into doubters."
So if you're going to give up, give up now.
That was the implication of Diolan's words.
But his advice was sincere, coming from a place of concern. At least that's how Osian felt.
"Then show me."
Osian said, as if it were no big deal but his eyes were sharpened, as if he saw a fight coming.
Diolan studied him, then smiled, showing his white teeth.
"I like that answer."
*
There is a Western proverb that says to strike while the iron is hot.
The idea is that you have to strike the iron while it's hot to shape it into the shape you want it to be, so don't miss your chance when it comes.
That's why Osian headed straight for Eldin's forge.
"I didn't expect you to come with me, though."
Osian looked at Diolan, who had followed him out.
"Well, I'm the one who introduced you, so it's only fair that I give you directions, right?"
"I know where it is because I heard about it."
"Don't be so guarded. There's a new junior here, and as a senior, I'm just trying to help. Besides, the workshop is crowded, so it's not easy to find your way around."
He's giving me directions even though we've never met before because he’s my senior.
Is that the right thing to do?
But Osian didn't question it.
Just as Diolan was curious about him, Osian was curious about Diolan.
Osian doesn't know this world yet.
The world he knew has changed too much.
He doesn't know if the things he knows are still there or not, and the reality he sees right in front of him is unfamiliar.
To adapt, he needs a variety of experiences and knowledge.
And the most efficient way to gain knowledge and experience in the shortest amount of time is to talk to someone, especially if that person is an experienced professional.
In that sense, Diolan was the perfect person.
Even if he didn't look like it, if he was a fixer working with Ronan, he was the real deal.
"So what kind of weapons do you use?"
Osian asked, and Diolan chuckled and held out his hands.
Osian realized immediately what that meant.
"Fists."
"Not bare fists. I have a weapon I wear."
It's a world where a severed arm can be replaced by a machine.
His weapon of choice is probably knuckles.
The steel knuckles that cover a strong fist must be packed with features beyond imagination but Osian had a feeling there was something more to Diolan.
Of course, this was an industry where the underside had to be hidden as much as possible, so he didn't dare point it out.
"So you've always been a swordsman?"
"Well, sort of."
I guess you could say that I only used swords.
In the game, it was the system, but now that I was in the real world, my body just craved it.
"You're still going to use a sword?"
"I don't see that changing."
"Good resolve. Well, at least you'll be able to say you're Ronan's man."
The trust in Ronan's voice was evident in the way he said it.
"Is Ronan really that great?"
"Weren't you brought here by Ronan as well, so you must know he's pretty extraordinary?"
"At least he was much more polite and accommodating than the other brokers."
"The man has a very good eye, and for him to go to such lengths means he sees potential in you. In fact, Ronan is known for picking and choosing, and the people he picks, at the very least, make a name for themselves in this business."
"Does that include me?"
"That's a given, isn't it?"
Diolan smiles mischievously, but then says,
"I have a thing about people who smile all the time, because they're usually hiding something. Something big and scary."
"I can't deny that."
From the looks of it, I'd be willing to believe Ronan's true identity is a hidden dark master in this city.
If that were true, Osian would not be surprised, and he could accept it.
"Still, it's helpful."
"It is."
In this moment, a rapport formed between the two men.
Osian felt himself connecting with Diolan on a deeper level.
"Ah. Here we are. There."
A large workshop loomed up ahead.
The street they were walking down was called Fire Street, and it was home to people who hammered iron.
There were signs on every building along the street, and Eldin's Hammer Anvil stood out from the crowd because it had a huge sign on a large workshop.
'This must be a big place. I'm guessing it's made by dwarves, right?’
Tirna is home to many different races, so it must be dwarves who are hammering away at this place.
With that thought in mind, Osian entered the workshop and saw a curious sight.
-Kagagak!
The master of the workshop wore goggles over his eyes and was grinding metal into a fine powder with a fast-spinning grinder.
Countless sparks fly and shards of metal pile up below.
It was not a dwarf, surprisingly enough, practicing modern methods not found in the forges of old.
"Elf?"
Working in the workshop was an elf with dark tan hair tied up in a bun.
It was hot inside, as it was basically a place to work with iron, and the elf was dressed in fairly simple clothes.
Apparently sensing Osian's presence, the elf paused in his work and turned to look at him.
"What is it, a visitor?"
He removed the goggles from his eyes, and his emerald-colored eyes glared at Osian.
"I'm told this is Eldin's anvil."
"Yes, it is. I am Eldin. I own this place."
"You're......not a dwarf?"
Osian could hardly believe that the owner of the best forge in the neighborhood was an elf.
Eldin frowned at the comment.
"What, you have a problem with that?"
"Don't be so hard on him. This fellow is new to the city."
"Diolan, did you come here to get something repaired or something?"
The two exchanged a quick hello as they knew each other.
"Uh, no. My purpose today is different."
“Are you the one looking for new weapons? Judging by your reaction, I guess dwarves did the smithing work where you lived?”
"......Dwarves usually do, don't they?"
Osian couldn't help but ask.
It was basic common sense.
At least in the game Osian was playing, all the famous smiths were dwarves.
Eldin frowned, not liking the response.
"Dwarves are skilled with their hands, yes, but that was a long time ago. What era is this?"
Times change, but do they change this much?
Osian was in for a shock.
In Osian's common knowledge, elves lived deep in the forests and were a nature-loving and friendly race.
Most of them were handsome and beautiful, long-lived and mysterious.
It was a common cliché not only in games, but also in media such as movies, comics, and novels.
In that sense, Eldin in front of him, aside from being handsome, broke the mold of elves head-on.
"You still don't get it. Come on, man. How many years do you think I've been doing this?"
"Well, elves live a long time......maybe a hundred years?"
"You're way off, 400 years."
"Four hundred years?"
The average lifespan of a dwarf is 300 years.
That was the official setting in the game.
That meant the elf in front of him had been doing his job for more years than a dwarf could be born and die in a lifetime.
Osian realized why this place was famous.
A 400-year-old elf blacksmith shop?
A person who has been in the industry for 30 years is called a craftsman.
So what kind of title should an elf who's been doing it for 400 years have?
What if there's a Chinese restaurant with a 200-year-old sign in the middle of 5-10 year old signs?
People will only go there.
Seeing the change in Osian's eyes, Eldin lifted his chin and slapped his chest in triumph.
"Welcome. Order anything! I'll make anything out of iron! There’s nothing I haven’t made in my 400 years of life.”
"Anything?"
Osian blurted out.
Eldin paused and looked at the man in front of him with interest.
"......hmm."
Then he smirked.
"Of course."