"That is no small sum. I advise you not to get greedy."

Marco's face darkened. His gaze raked over the young man in front of him once more, sharp as a blade.

Messy black hair. A thin build. A worn shirt of coarse hemp.

The only things worth noting were the boy's fine features and those bright eyes.

Nothing about him said he should be able to stand unmoved before a fortune.

"Was my information wrong? Isn't this supposed to be some desperate mud-legged orphan with nowhere to go?"

While Marco was still puzzling it out, Roland spoke evenly.

"Mr. Marco, I am not bargaining."

"I simply enjoy forging. That is all."

"Hmph!"

Marco read the resolve in Roland's eyes and swallowed the threat on his tongue. He settled for a cold snort and walked off.

"Heavenly Father above..."

The moment Marco was gone, Sean sucked in air like a man surfacing from deep water.

"Roland, that was a gold coin! And you just..."

"What's one gold coin good for?"

Roland rolled his eyes, dropped onto the creaking stool, and shoved a soup-softened hunk of black bread into his mouth.

His voice came out muffled.

"You really think someone like Marco keeps his promises?"

"That... that's true..."

"But still, a whole... Forget it."

Sean weighed Marco's reputation against his own greed, forced the latter down, and sank onto his stool without another word.

Roland sighed at his dazed look.

He didn't blame him.

It had been a gold coin.

A sum like that would tempt anyone. Even Roland had wavered for a heartbeat when he heard the number.

But he had thought further ahead.

In this world, nobles stood above all and bloodline decided everything. A commoner's life was worth about as much as a weed.

If he wanted to break through the walls of class, then short of the still-unreachable Path of Transcendence, passing the examination and becoming a Blacksmith Apprentice was the only route within reach.

With the occupation panel, becoming a master blacksmith was only a matter of time.

By then, never mind nobles—even transcendent professionals would treat him with a degree of courtesy.

No gold coin could buy that.

Sean surfaced from his stupor, troubled.

"Buddy, I don't think that bastard Marco is letting this go."

"We're fine inside the estate, sure. But on the day of the celebration we'll have to leave. Maybe you should ask Mr. Hawk? Get him and the baron to..."

The gold coin was already forgotten; now he was fretting over Roland's safety.

Sean had grown up in the streets. He was far less simple than he looked, and he knew exactly what kinds of filth got done in the dark.

"You think too highly of Mr. Hawk."

Roland tipped the fish soup into his mouth and smacked his lips, wishing there were more.

"The baron respects him, but he's still a commoner. Haven't you heard? Even the servants staying on for the banquet went through several rounds of selection."

"Besides, I can't spend my life hiding on the estate because of Marco."

"True, but..."

Sean thumped him on the shoulder, tone hardening.

"Same as I said. Whatever happens, I'll protect you. What are brothers who grew up together for?"

Roland met his earnest gaze, chuckled, and needled him. "Settled, then. Next time we steal fruit from Old Frank's orchard, I get to be lookout."

"No way! You know I can't climb that high!"

Trading jokes, the two of them wandered back to the dormitory.

Lying on the lumpy bed, Roland breathed deep and pressed down his unease.

Was he afraid of Marco's revenge?

Of course he was.

All he had was Blacksmith Apprentice—an occupation with no combat value whatsoever.

But what good was fear?

When soldiers come, send generals; when the flood comes, raise the earthworks.

He would not let fear stop him.

"I've died once already, anyway..."

He murmured it into the dark. Around him the other boys' snores rose and fell, and sleep took him.

The next few days passed quietly.

Marco made no further move, and Roland honed his craft as usual.

The only change: no more running odd jobs between furnaces. He shadowed Hawk instead, tempering his Forging skill at the ringing anvil.

"Don't lose focus. Keep the rhythm!"

"More strength. Yes, yes—just like that!"

Hawk watched the sweat-drenched youth, satisfaction written all over him.

Bang!

The last blow fell. Roland shook out his aching arm and looked up, hopeful.

"Mr. Hawk, how was that?"

"You've improved a great deal. But at this level you still won't pass the examination. You'll have to work twice as hard. Understood?"

"No problem, Mr. Hawk!"

"Good lad!"

Not a flicker of discouragement—Hawk barked a laugh and brought a rough palm down on the youth's shoulder, nearly staggering him.

The old blacksmith was in a fine mood.

Roland seized the opening for the request he'd been rehearsing for days.

"Mr. Hawk, I... um... a friend of mine has a birthday coming up. I'd like to borrow the smithy's tools and forge a weapon as a gift. Of course..."

Worried Hawk might take it the wrong way, he scratched his head.

"I can pay for the metal ingot."

Hawk's mouth curved at the boy's fumbling.

From anyone else, the request would have earned a scolding.

But this one was obedient, willing to eat bitterness, and exceptionally talented.

What teacher wouldn't like such an apprentice?

Hawk leaned in and pitched his voice low.

"Kid, you've forged before. You know a fair bit of material gets lost in the process."

"Mr. Hawk, you mean..."

Roland's face lit.

"Only this once. It won't happen again. Understood?"

"Yes! Thank you, Mr. Hawk!"

"All right."

Hawk straightened and gave a careless wave.

"If the guards at the gate ask, mention my name."

"I have other business. If you need to practice, take ingots yourself. No need to ask me again."

With that, he left.

The boys nearby stared at Roland with naked envy.

Normally each of them got a single ingot for practice.

Roland could now help himself.

"That's way too unfair..."

"Yeah. Even Marco doesn't get that."

Roland let the chatter wash past. He collected an ingot and set to swinging, thinking as he worked.

"Since Mr. Hawk is letting me use ingots for free, there's no need to settle for a dagger."

"Besides the gift for Sean's uncle, I can make myself some simple tools for self-defense."

"No—first things first. Grind Forging to max level."

As the Forging experience on the panel ticked upward, fresh strength seemed to pour into his spent body.

After what felt like an age, amid the clear, ceaseless ring of metal, the unchanging text finally shifted.

[Forging has reached max level]