Chapter 18: Acquaintance
He stepped out of the Adventurer’s Hall.
Turning around, he came to the smithy, which was also located in the square.
Gauss had come here to sell his spoils and buy equipment.
His wooden spear was already broken, and during the previous battle, he felt a bit awkward wielding such a long weapon in his accelerated-thought state, so he decided to browse the smithy for a new weapon.
The building—clearly darkened stone—bore the sign “Black Anvil Workshop.” Even before walking up, Gauss felt the temperature in the air rise several degrees.
The Black Anvil Workshop sat at a corner of the square and was unassuming in appearance.
But Gauss knew it was the best smithy in all of Graystone Town—far better than any of the other shops.
He had come to this conclusion because, when he first arrived in town, he worked here as a temporary laborer for a time.
Back then, he’d noticed that adventurers who looked strong and confident would come here to purchase gear.
Of course, the majority of customers were low‑rank adventurers.
Besides offering equipment and armor for elite fighters, the Black Anvil Workshop also sold many affordable weapons made by apprentices, as well as some second‑hand gear.
Although inexpensive, these weapons were not of poor quality—sufficient for ordinary adventurers.
A few days ago, when Gauss bought a weapon for the first time, he had hesitated to come here—but his sparse wallet had ultimately convinced him otherwise.
He walked into the shop.
The Black Anvil Workshop was divided into two sections—a front retail area and a back forging section—arranged much as it had been when he used to work here.
In the storefront, many finished products stood on display racks; out back, an open-air courtyard echoed with the clang, clang, clang of hammering.
“Customer, feel free to look around,” a male apprentice greeted; he was plain-looking, freckles scattered across his cheeks.
It just so happened that Gauss had a memory of him—barely more than passing acquaintances.
“Marin, long time no see,” Gauss greeted first.
Upon hearing this, the apprentice, Marin, looked up and scanned Gauss from head to toe.
After an initial moment of confusion, Marin spotted Gauss’s handsome emerald-green eyes and suddenly seemed to remember, shouting out loudly.
“Oh! You are… you are! You are?”
He recognized Gauss’s face but couldn't recall the name, and an embarrassed expression crept across his face.
“Gauss,” Gauss introduced himself. “I’m surprised you still remember my name, Marin.”
“Can't help it—I meet so many customers every day. Forgetting a name isn’t that strange,” Marin laughed heartily and patted Gauss on the shoulder.
“You, man, why the getup today? Not hunting anymore?”
Though now dressed in tattered equipment, Gauss obviously wasn’t attired like a hunter.
Also, having dealt with many adventurers over the years, Marin could detect that distinctive worn‑torn adventurer’s presence about him.
Clearly, Gauss now looked like the most typical low‑rank adventurer in Marin’s eyes.
“Yes,” Gauss nodded. “I registered as an adventurer not long ago.”
“Tch… I really envy you. My family absolutely refuses to let me become an adventurer,” said Marin immediately with a bitter face upon hearing Gauss’s confirmation.
Gauss smiled—the memory did include Marin complaining about his parents.
Unlike a wanderer like him, Marin was born and raised in Graystone Town.
His parents had worked hard to secure his apprenticeship at the Black Anvil Workshop.
They hoped that he would learn some craft and become a qualified blacksmith.
Blacksmithing in this age was a guaranteed livelihood.
In many people’s minds, being a blacksmith was far more dignified than wandering around as a low‑rank adventurer lugging around a head and a carcass.
However, Marin was a restless young man who naturally couldn’t appreciate his parents’ intentions.
He was full of longing for adventurers, swords, and magic—believing that life like that was free and easy, walking with companions through golden wheat fields, chatting as they slayed monsters and earned commissions, sampling fine food and wine in taverns of different villages and towns.
He believed an interesting life should be lyrical and stirring—not doomed to be spent in front of a small furnace with iron hammer and tongs.
His thought wasn’t entirely wrong, but it was limited in scope.
Marin’s idea of an adventurer’s life was that of a well-known, reputable professional—naturally colorful and heroic.
But what about the vast majority of low-rank adventurers?
Previously, Gauss didn’t know.
Yet after experiencing it himself, he understood that Marin probably wouldn’t like that kind of life.
Wading through broken limbs and corpses… eating in the open and sleeping under the stars… plagued daily by mosquito bites… always wary of wild dangers… and feeling that deep loneliness in the vast wilderness.
Even the two‑day return journey from Birch Village back to Graystone Town had impacted him deeply.
If adventuring lasted longer— a week, months, half a year—the loneliness would increase drastically.
No wonder adventurers formed small parties.
Normally, it’s tough for one to endure that constant invisible pressure alone.
Though fleetingly, many thoughts passed through Gauss’s mind.
But he didn’t act like an instructor or lecture Marin on the truth.
He only offered a meaningful smile.
“I guess you wouldn’t like the adventurer’s life.”
“Hah, you’re looking down on me again, aren’t you? If even you can be an adventurer, how could I fail?” Marin protested defiantly.
Marin was secretly saving money to buy a full set of equipment, then go to the guild to officially register.
Knowing nothing of that, Gauss steered the conversation to the matter at hand.
“Right, enough chitchat. I came to sell some spoils—see how much it’s worth?”
Gauss set down the large bag of gear on a stone table with a thud.
“Let me see… Oh wow, that’s quite a lot. But I’m not the one to decide on buy‑backs,” Marin paused, shocked at the amount when he opened the bag.
Although the quality looked average, he hadn’t expected Gauss to come with that much gear.
“You get so much loot? Picked up?”
Marin muttered, then ran to the back to call for the smithy’s boss.
The boss of the smithy, Groln Bates, was a burly man over six feet tall.
When he stepped out, he still carried a massive forging hammer.
He wore a hardened black leather apron to shield against flying sparks, strapped to his waist with a broad leather belt, but the apron did little to conceal his muscular chest and abdomen.
His hair was short and black, his face expressionless, and his left eye covered by a black eyepatch—only one coppery round eye visible.
More than a smith, Groln Bates looked like a powerful warrior.
That was many townsfolk’s suspicion, though never confirmed.
But his outstanding forging and smelting skills had won him recognition among adventurers.
“It’s you, Gauss.”
Unlike his rough appearance, Groln Bates was easy to talk to.
When Gauss first arrived in town seeking temporary work, it was Groln who hired him—even though Gauss then had no smithing skills.
Though Gauss didn’t stay long at the shop, he was still grateful to Groln Bates.
“Long time no see, Manager Groln.”
“Marin tells me you came to sell spoils?” Groln glanced at the gear on the table.
He still remembered Gauss—the kid was diligent and strong.
Only pity was he lacked money and couldn't pay for the apprenticeship fee.
He treated employees fairly and couldn’t make exceptions for Gauss at the time.
“Yes. Collected from a group of goblins.”
“I didn’t expect you to become an adventurer too,” Groln sighed.
Clearly, he didn’t think adventuring was a good profession.
He had seen far too many low-rank adventurers die and lie in the wilderness.
“This world’s getting tougher and tougher…” He sighed as he flipped through the gear on the table.
When times are hard, more people become adventurers.
In peaceful eras, more become scholars, craftsmen, clerks.
He recalled in his youth, there weren’t so many adventurers.
But now in town, adventurers make up almost thirty to forty percent of the population.
Even for Graystone Town, a major hub for travelers, that rate was still too high.
“You’ve also come from our smithy into adventuring. I’ll make a special exception and give you an extra tenth on the buy‑back.”
“This machete here—material is okay, but the tempering is decent—worth twenty‑five silver, though it wasn’t well‑maintained, or I’d ask a bit more.”
“That dagger here is too badly damaged to be sold second‑hand. I’ll only take it for reforging—won’t be much.”
Groln quickly audited the metal wares on the table.
“Total’s thirty‑six silver. Does that work for you?”
Gauss thought for a moment.
Feeling it was fair, he nodded.
He had a rough idea of second‑hand weapon prices himself.
This price, allowing for processing and resale, was reasonable.
He also planned to sell the machete—his strength wasn’t sufficient to swing it comfortably.
“By the way, Manager Groln. Do you know what this thing is?”
Gauss took a green stone from his pocket.