Chapter 19: Placing an Order, the Adventurer’s "Legacy
Chapter 19: Chapter 19: Placing an Order, the Adventurer’s "Legacy
As Jon approached the Blacksmith Shop, he saw from a distance the headless body of the gray wolf, hanging right where the great snow fox had been the day before.
Sutton Silverbeard stood on the steps of the Blacksmith Shop, arms crossed over his chest.
When Jon drew near, Sutton looked down at him and spoke with a sarcastic edge.
"Hmph! So, our wolf-slaying hero has returned?"
He was clearly displeased that Jon had ignored his warnings and ventured into the mountains again.
Faced with such a respectable elder who clearly cared for him, Jon could only hold up the wolf’s head and give a sheepish grin.
Fortunately, he had anticipated this situation and come prepared.
The best way to appease a Dwarf is to give him rare ores or delicious fine wine.
Jon couldn’t produce any ore at the moment, but when it came to fine wine, he had found a creative solution!
The young man walked into the Blacksmith Shop, pulled two herbs with plump, fishtail-shaped leaves from a leather pouch at his waist, and presented them to Sutton as if offering a priceless treasure.
"Sutton, these are for you."
The Old Dwarf, clearly still angry, turned his head away like a petulant child, a clear "I’m ignoring you" expression on his face.
"Hmph! Don’t think a little favor can just... buy... me... off?"
However, a peculiar aroma hooked his nose. It was a mixture of fresh grass and a hint of rich, mellow alcohol. It pulled his head back around, and his tone softened in spite of himself.
Sutton’s small eyes were glued to the herbs in Jon’s hands, unable to look away!
"Lad... wha-what is this? Why does it smell so good?"
He had lived for over two hundred years and tasted more fine wines than he could count, but he’d never smelled such a peculiar, wine-like fragrance!
Jon had no intention of keeping him in suspense and explained right away.
"It’s called Sweet Wine Grass. It’s very rare. My dad found some once when I was little. He gave me a sip, and I’ve remembered the taste ever since."
He took the Old Dwarf’s mug, pressed the leaves of the two herbs against the rim, and gave them a gentle squeeze. The plump leaves burst open, their juice trickling down to pool at the bottom of the mug.
In an instant, an even richer, wine-like aroma filled the entire Blacksmith Shop!
"I was lucky enough to come across it in the mountains this time, so I thought I’d bring some back for you to try."
As he spoke, he pushed the mug toward the Old Dwarf as if placating a child.
"So, Sutton... will you cool off a little?"
The Old Dwarf didn’t have a shred of anger left in him.
His ruddy, bulbous nose twitched as he sniffed the air. Drool was already running down into his tangled beard, and he began to mumble as if in a trance.
"Gimme... gimme... let me have a taste..."
Amused, Jon handed him the mug.
Sutton snatched the mug and eagerly downed it in one gulp. Then, his whole body went rigid.
A moment later, he "came back to life." Smacking his lips, he let out an exaggerated groan through his nose, like an old sot who hadn’t tasted alcohol in eight hundred years and had finally managed to get a single drop.
"AHHHH! DELICIOUS!!"
He greedily stuck out his tongue and licked the entire inside and rim of the mug clean, desperate to savor every last trace of that captivating flavor.
In reality, the two stalks of Sweet Wine Grass had only yielded a single small mouthful.
Only when he could no longer taste the slightest hint of an aftertaste did the Old Dwarf let out a long, regretful sigh.
"Alas... after tasting a drink this magical and delicious, all other ales will seem a little less flavorful..."
"Don’t you worry about that," Jon quickly reassured him.
"If I ever find more in the mountains, I’ll be sure to bring it back for you!"
"Hmph. So you do have a conscience, you little rascal. Guess I didn’t look after you for nothing."
Sutton wiped the drool from his beard with his thick fingers, his tone finally mellowing completely. He looked up and gave Jon a proper once-over, his gaze falling on the blade at Jon’s waist and the wolf head in his hand.
"Not bad. Your skills are improving. You can take down a wolf by yourself now. You haven’t brought shame on your father’s name."
He waved his hand.
"So, spit it out. What do you want Old Sutton to cook up for you this time?"
Jon knew the Old Dwarf was no longer angry, so he didn’t waste any time and laid out his request.
"Sutton, I’d like to ask you to make some thick nails for me. The tips should be like an awl, the kind that can easily pierce a beast’s flesh when thrown. And it would be best if they can be poisoned!"
The experienced Old Dwarf immediately grasped his meaning.
"You mean Flying Nails? Those are easy enough to make... but can you even use them, lad?"
He glanced at Jon’s slender, well-defined hands and added a warning.
"You can’t master thrown weapons with brute strength alone. If you end up throwing one and sticking it in your own foot, don’t blame Old Sutton for not warning you!"
"Practice makes perfect. You have to start sometime, don’t you?"
Jon appeared quite confident.
"Besides, I’ve had pretty good aim throwing rocks at birds since I was a kid. I figure throwing nails can’t be that different... I have to at least give it a try."
"You’re not wrong. Once you get the hang of it, it’s a useful skill to have... Fine. It’s a simple job. Come get them tomorrow."
The Old Dwarf grumbled a bit, acknowledging his point. With a twist of his stout body, he delved into a pile of scrap, apparently searching for materials.
’Sharp enough, and it has to hold a poison... Hmm... I think I have just the piece of metal for it...’
Seeing that Sutton was getting busy, Jon turned to leave.
But before he had made it down the steps of the Blacksmith Shop, the Old Dwarf’s urgent shout came from behind.
"Jon, lad! Hold on!"
"What is it?"
Jon turned back, confused.
"Hmph! You remember this: Old Sutton doesn’t take what he hasn’t earned!"
Sutton leaned out from behind the pile of scrap, his voice booming as he stressed his point.
"Making the Flying Nails will be my payment for that Sweet Wine Grass!"
"But this wolf is merchandise I’ve legitimately purchased, so I owe you your payment for it—down to the last coin!"
He paused, as if having made up his mind about something, then turned and rummaged for a moment in a corner full of soot and iron filings. With a grunt, he tossed a heavy cloth pouch over.
The pouch landed in Jon’s hands. It had a surprising heft to it, but it didn’t feel like it was full of metal.
Before Jon could speak, Old Sutton dusted off his hands and said sternly.
"Take it! It’s just some odds and ends from a wandering adventurer I used to know. The fool went philandering one too many times and got his legs broken by a woman, so he left this stuff here to gather dust."
"You’re a proper little Hunter with some courage now. It’ll suit you!"
The weight of the gesture choked back any pretty words Jon might have wanted to say.
He stood rooted to the spot, lost in Silence for a long moment. Then, as if he’d figured something out, his expression turned serious. He looked at the Old Dwarf and declared loudly.
"Don’t you worry, Sutton! I’m going to make a name for myself! And when I do, I’ll build you a huge Forging Workshop!"
"Ha! You’re going to build me a Workshop? How about you fix up that broken-down shack you live in first!"
"Er—!"
The young man was instantly mortified. He wanted to retort, but when he thought about the hovel he called home, he had no comeback.
In the end, all he could do was beat a hasty retreat, the Old Dwarf’s laughter—as loud as a hammer striking an anvil—following him out.
"I’ll be back! You just wait and see, Sutton!"