Chapter 40: Denvar The Blacksmith
The shopkeeper, who had been walking ahead with enthusiasm, suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned around. "You already know someone you want to talk to?" he asked, his voice laced with surprise.
"Yes," Derek replied calmly.
"And who might that be?" the shopkeeper pressed, sounding skeptical.
"Denvar," Derek said casually, as if it were nothing extraordinary.
But that single name hit the shopkeeper like a thunderbolt. His eyes widened in shock.
"You... how do you know Denvar?" he stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Derek.
"I just heard someone mention that he’s one of the best. I don’t know him personally," Derek said evenly.
The shopkeeper didn’t respond right away. He kept staring at Derek, as though trying to read something hidden behind his calm expression.
’How does this brat know about Denvar?’ he thought. ’That drunk barely steps outside the shop anymore. He only forges when he feels like it, and spends the rest of his time drinking himself half-dead. But for this kid to know his name... could he be...?’
Several questions swirled in the shopkeeper’s mind before he finally asked, "Is he... perhaps a relative of yours?"
"No," Derek replied plainly.
The shopkeeper studied him in silence for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. "So, you’re sure you’re not related to that person, yet you still want to try your luck and use your only chance convincing him?"
"Yes," Derek answered without any hesitation or taking even a second to think before replying.
The shopkeeper exhaled and shrugged. "Alright then. Follow me."
As he turned and began walking again, a sly smirk crept onto his face. ’If he were related to that lunatic, it’d be a different story. But since he’s not and unless this kid has some freakish level of talent, there’s no way Denvar will agree to forge for him. I’m definitely making some good money today,’ the shopkeeper gloated inwardly.
As they walked, Derek looked around, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. A faint smile touched his lips as he felt nostalgic for being here again.
Though the shop above ground covered barely 2,500 square feet, the underground area was an entirely different world. It felt like a hidden marketplace, a mini bazaar bustling with blacksmiths.
On both sides of the stone pathway stood small huts built from rough stone, each belonging to a different blacksmith, complete with its own forge.
The rhythmic clang, clang of hammers striking hot metal echoed through the air as sparks flickered like fireflies in the dim light. Around them, different people who were stationed here for management moved busily, ensuring supplies and helping customers. Some clients were deep in conversation with the blacksmiths, while others simply stood by, watching in awe as weapons took shape under glowing furnaces.
When Derek and the shopkeeper had stepped into the underground colony, several heads had turned in their direction. But after a brief glance, everyone went back to their work.
Amidst the steady chorus of metal and flame, the shopkeeper led Derek toward one particular hut. Unlike the others, this one was eerily quiet, no hammer strikes, no glow from the forge, only stillness.
The shopkeeper stepped forward and knocked firmly on the wooden door. "Denvar! It’s me, Ronald. I’ve brought a customer for you!" he shouted.
Then he paused, waiting for a response.
A few seconds passed..... nothing.
Knock! Knock!
Ronald knocked again, this time louder. "Denvar! Are you awake?" he called out.
Again, silence.
He repeated the process six times, each knock louder than the last, but there was still no reply from inside.
Finally, Ronald sighed and turned toward Derek. "You should probably pick another blacksm—"
Before he could finish, the door behind him suddenly creaked open, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Who the hell is disturbing me this early in the morning?!"
A disheveled man in his forties stumbled out, a half-empty bottle dangling from his hand. The liquid inside sloshed and rippled with each of his steps.
Ronald’s eye twitched. "Morning?! It’s already afternoon, you fool."
The man, clearly drunk, lifted the bottle to his lips, took a long swig, then staggered a few steps forward. "If I say it’s morning, then it’s morning," he grumbled. "Now tell me why the hell did you disturb my peace?"
Even his slurred voice made it clear just how much alcohol he had consumed.
Ronald sighed in exasperation. ’Why did I even bother reasoning with this man?’ he thought.
Abandoning any attempt at logic, he changed the subject. "Someone wants you to forge a sword for him," he said, stepping aside so Denvar could see Derek standing behind him.
Denvar squinted at Derek for a moment, his bleary eyes narrowing as if trying to focus through the haze of alcohol. Then, in a flat, dismissive tone, he said, "You can get lost, kid. I don’t know which rich family’s spoiled brat you are, thinking you deserve to wield a sword despite being a cultivator but I don’t have time to entertain your nonsense."
Saying that he turned to return to his hut.
’Even in that pathetic state, he can tell I’m a cultivator with just one glance...’ Derek thought to himself. ’That’s Denvar for you.’
Meanwhile, Ronald chuckled from the side, clearly amused. ’As expected. There’s no way Denvar would waste his time forging a sword for a cultivator. He doesn’t even bother with talentless rich kids, let alone one like him, a cultivator.’
The thought of easy profit made Ronald giddy inside. ’Heh, easy money for me today.’
"Let’s go, kid. Your one chance is over," Ronald said, already turning to leave.
But Derek didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed on Denvar’s back as the blacksmith began walking toward his hut. Then Derek’s calm yet sharp voice cut through the air.
"I thought you were serious about beating your brother in sword forging."
Denvar froze mid-step. Ronald also stopped, frowning in confusion, not understanding what the boy was talking about but Denvar’s eyes had suddenly gone wide.
He turned back sharply. "Who... Who are you?!"