The old man standing before Hobart had wrinkles piled across his face, but his beard was shaved perfectly clean. His clothes were neither new nor old, yet equally clean. He was unsmiling, like the sort of elderly man who was exceptionally rigorous and serious.
The man's words first stunned Hobart, but he quickly reacted and asked the owner of the specialty shop beside him, "I remember there's a small courtyard behind the shop, right?"
The shop owner immediately nodded. "Yes, yes."
Hobart smiled at the old man. "Sir, let's talk inside, so we don't frighten the pedestrians."
The old man frowned slightly but still said, "All right."
The shop owner hurriedly invited them in. At the table and chairs in the small courtyard, he served tea and snacks before respectfully closing the door and standing guard outside.
A tourist was just about to enter the shop when the owner immediately drove him away. "We're closed for today. Come back tomorrow."
The tourist took out his Pocket Watch and glanced at it. Wasn't it only nine in the morning? Many shops had not even opened yet.
In the backyard, Hobart drew the Black Knife and handed it to the old man.
The old man took the blade, examined it from front to back, and even flicked it with a finger. "The person who forged this blade ought to die."
Hobart froze. "Huh?"
"Such excellent material, and this is the level of weapon they made?" The old man disdainfully tossed the blade onto the table. "And you treat it like treasure?"
Hobart smiled helplessly and honestly said, "At the time, I only knew one Artisan."
Then he tentatively asked, "Sir, may I ask who you are?"
"I knew your father and mother," the old man said. "I knew both your biological father