C12 The Old Drunkard Changed His Attitude!

A counterfeit is a counterfeit, no matter how you slice it.

Lies were futile in the face of the truth.

Quinn, lacking strength, was slow at the forge.

It took him a grueling two hours just to barely shape the sword blank.

John watched his awkward attempts at cooling the blade and began to harbor doubts.

Could this bumbling boy truly manage to craft five iron swords in succession?

Sizzle sizzle sizzle!

Once cooled, the sword blank finally set.

Quinn fished it out, inspected it, and with a trembling hand, offered it to John, "Master, I've... I've done it."

"Mhm." John received it with a stoic face, examining it meticulously.

Quinn's heart raced, lodged in his throat.

But as John's inspection grew more intense, Quinn dared to hope.

Could it be? Master John hasn't noticed?

If he had, surely he'd have berated me by now.

Suddenly, a clatter echoed as the sword blank hit the floor. Quinn was still processing when he was met with John's furious visage. "You scoundrel! You've learned to lie now, have you?"

"I haven't..."

Quinn was petrified, stumbling backward in panic.

"Not yet? You think I'm blind? What you've made is a complete mess! It's nowhere near the quality of the five on the ground. Even the most desperate swordswoman wouldn't bother with it! And you have the audacity to claim you forged those five sword blanks?"

John's anger escalated with every word, and he yanked Quinn to his feet.

"Master John, I beg you, no!"

Quinn's desperate pleas and frantic shaking did nothing.

John's iron fists were relentless.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Three punches in, Quinn was dazed, his head ready to burst.

Rinn watched from the sidelines, a chill in his heart.

Was this how I was usually thrashed by the old drunk?

Time passed in a blur.

Having vented his rage, John dropped Quinn to the ground.

He lay there, motionless like a beaten dog, gasping for air, his face streaked with tears.

"Hmph! That's the cost of lying! Also, your wages for the month are forfeit!"

John dropped the remark and turned his attention away from Quinn, his gaze resting on Rinn with a mix of emotions. If Quinn hadn't forged the sword embryo, then who had? The answer seemed painfully obvious.

"Who would've thought? This fool actually has such talent? But wasn't he terribly clumsy before? Did he suddenly have an epiphany?" John mused, though he remained wary. "I'm not going to take your word for it just because Quinn's a dolt. Perhaps you had someone else forge this sword embryo?"

"Master John, I get where you're coming from," Rinn acknowledged with a slight nod, stepping up to the forge. He spoke with conviction, "So, if I forge a sword embryo, you'll believe me?"

"Sure, but it has to be nearly as good as these five," John replied without hesitation.

"Done," Rinn agreed and set to work.

True masters don't need to brag, and Rinn wasn't one to boast. His hands moved with the grace and speed bestowed by the elementary forging technique, and in a mere forty minutes, the sword embryo was complete.

John examined the finished piece, his eyes bulging in disbelief. 'Could this really be the handiwork of that idiot?' The quality was exceptional, rivaling his own craftsmanship. He was certain that if these sword embryos were refined and sold in Bayhill, the destitute swordsmen would clamor for them, given their superiority to the common weapons flooding the market.

'When did this kid get so good?' John wondered, his gaze fixed on Rinn with a mix of astonishment and skepticism. As an observer and a connoisseur, he could appreciate the finesse of Rinn's forging. His fundamentals alone were so solid that John felt he was at best on par, if not slightly inferior.

Of course, fundamentals alone don't define a blacksmith's prowess. John had crafted two purple weapons in his lifetime, a feat that placed him among the elite in Bayhill's blacksmithing circles.

"Cough, cough," John cleared his throat, his voice tinged with complexity, "Rinn, how on earth did you manage this?"

It was unheard of—a fool turned prodigy. Such a tale would seem far-fetched even in the chronicles of rangers. It was utterly baffling.

Rinn bowed respectfully and said, "Master John, acknowledging my own limitations, I pledge to double my efforts in my studies. Each night, as darkness falls and you all retire to bed, I will quietly hone my skills in the smithy..."

"Hold on."

John cut him off with a wave of his hand, "Quinn the fool forges at midnight, and you claim to do the same, yet we only have one forge. So, who's telling the truth?"

Rinn remained silent, offering a modest smile.

John caught on to his implication and turned his anger toward Quinn on the floor, "You swine! You despicable liar!"

He stomped down, and Quinn let out a wail, curling up like a prawn.

After disciplining Quinn, John regarded Rinn with a complex look, "Fool, you've managed to surprise me today. But did you forget you're not authorized to handle the smithy's materials?"

The implication was clear.

You're free to forge.

But to produce so many weapons and use up so much material without my approval, how is that justifiable?

Rinn's heart raced with panic.

Could it be?

Has this blasted drunkard lost his mind?

I've crafted countless weapons for you, worked extra days, and this is how you repay my goodwill?

Thankfully, it was just a misunderstanding.

John hadn't been drinking; he was far from mad.

He cleared his throat and continued, "Nevertheless, considering your youthful eagerness to learn, I'll overlook this breach of rules. Moreover, given that your skills have matured, you're no longer an apprentice. From now on, you're a full-fledged blacksmith with free rein over the workshop's materials. And regarding your pay, do you have any particular requests?"

At these words, Rinn was ecstatic.

Though the system had already deemed him a blacksmith,

hearing John's validation filled him with pride.

This old drunkard, who had only ever cursed and belittled them, was now offering praise and recognition.

How could he not be thrilled?

Once the excitement settled, Rinn turned his thoughts to his salary.

Despite his many faults, John was known for his straightforward honesty.

Having proven his skill, Rinn was not only acknowledged but was also about to receive a fair wage.

"Master John, I'm not too familiar with the going rates. What do you think my skills would fetch in terms of salary in the city?"

Rinn figured that since John was willing to pay him, he wouldn't be the type to swindle him.

After pondering for a moment, John replied, "You could earn your keep at a city blacksmith shop, with a monthly salary of about seven to eight silver coins. But here in the town, we can't match city wages. Let's say I pay you six and a half silver coins a month."

Rinn gave it some serious thought. The pay might be better in Bayhill, but he was only at level one.

If he wasn't mistaken, Bayhill was the sort of place in the game where high-level bosses went after changing jobs, right?

For now, as a newbie, he was better off sticking to a starter town like Snakefield.

So he nodded and said, "Thank you, Master John!"

John nodded back, pleased. Meanwhile, Quinn on the ground was fuming.

The fool who once groveled at my feet is now a bona fide blacksmith?

And his salary is twenty-one times mine?

What kind of madness is this!

[Beep. Mission completed. Earned 50 experience points.]

With John's approval, the mission completion alert promptly followed.

Rinn was elated, not rushing to level up but instead asking, "Master John, may I continue to craft weapons at the forge?"

John cracked a rare smile. "Absolutely. The more weapons, the better, especially if you enjoy making them!"

His recent preoccupation with drinking had slowed down his weapon-making. If Rinn could diligently produce more weapons, John would only need to handle the sales in the city, which would make his life much easier.

With this in mind, John's view of Rinn grew increasingly favorable.

Rinn, catching John's unusually benevolent look, swelled with pride.

Had he managed to win over this drunken NPC so swiftly?

Indeed, he was truly cut out to be the protagonist!