An Acquaintance

He walked out of the Adventurer Hall.

Turning around, he headed to the blacksmith shop, also located within the square.

Gauss was here to sell off his loot and purchase equipment.

The Wooden Spear had been damaged, and during the previous battle, he'd felt that under the Mind Acceleration state, the overly long spear wasn't very handy to use, so he planned to browse the blacksmith shop for a new weapon.

This was a noticeably blackened stone building, bearing a sign that read "Black Anvil Workshop." Before Gauss even got close, he could feel the temperature in the air rise by several degrees.

The Black Anvil Workshop sat in a corner of the square, inconspicuous.

But Gauss knew this was the best blacksmith shop in all of Grayrock Town; the other workshops couldn't compare.

He'd come to this conclusion because, when he first arrived in town, he'd worked here for a while as a temporary odd-jobber.

Back then, he'd noticed that this shop occasionally had adventurers who looked clearly formidable come by to purchase equipment.

Of course, the majority of customers were still low-level adventurers.

Besides supplying elite weapons and armor, the Black Anvil Workshop also offered a large number of affordable weapons made by apprentice blacksmiths, along with some secondhand recycled weapons.

Though these weapons were cheap, their quality wasn't bad—at least sufficient for ordinary adventurers.

When Gauss had first bought a weapon a few days ago, he'd also debated whether to come here, but in the end, his thin wallet had made him drop the idea.

He stepped into the shop.

The Black Anvil Workshop was divided into front and back sections, and the interior layout was much the same as when he'd worked here before.

In the storefront area, display shelves held many finished standard products, while the forging area in the back was a busy outdoor courtyard, from which came the constant clang of hammering.

"Customer, take a look and see what you want."

The greeter was a male apprentice, plain-looking, with freckles covering his cheeks.

Coincidentally, Gauss had some memory of him—barely an acquaintance, a surface-level friend with whom he'd exchanged nods.

"Marlin, long time no see." Gauss took the initiative to greet him.

The blacksmith apprentice Marlin looked up at Gauss's words, scanning him from head to toe a few times.

After an initial moment of confusion, he caught sight of those striking Jade Green Eyes, and suddenly, as if remembering something, he let out a loud exclamation.

"Oh! You're... You're! You're?"

He recognized Gauss's identity, but his mind suddenly couldn't recall the name, and a hint of embarrassment crept onto his face.

"Gauss," Gauss said proactively. "Too bad I still remember your name, Marlin."

"Can't help it, I have to receive so many customers every day. What's so strange about forgetting a name?" Marlin laughed heartily, reaching out to pat Gauss on the shoulder.

"You bastard, why are you dressed like this today? Not a hunter anymore?"

Though Gauss was now in shabby gear, it clearly wasn't a hunter's getup.

Plus, having dealt with all kinds of adventurers for years, Marlin could somewhat detect that unique, travel-worn aura belonging to adventurers.

Obviously, in his eyes, Gauss now fit the image of the most common low-level adventurer.

"That's right." Gauss nodded. "I registered as an adventurer not long ago."

"Tsk, I'm so jealous of you. My family won't let me become an adventurer." Upon hearing Gauss's confirmation, Marlin's face immediately fell.

Gauss smiled. In his memory, there were indeed scenes of Marlin complaining to him about his parents.

Unlike him, a tumbleweed-like outsider drifting freely, Marlin was a native born and raised in Grayrock Town.

His parents had put in considerable effort to get him an apprenticeship at the Black Anvil Workshop.

They hoped that if he could smoothly learn some skills, he'd become a qualified blacksmith.

In this era, being a blacksmith was an iron rice bowl for life.

In many people's minds, being a blacksmith was far more respectable than being a low-level adventurer, running around and risking their necks for a living.

But Marlin was a somewhat restless young man, naturally unable to understand his parents' good intentions.

Now, he was full of longing for the sword-and-sorcery adventures of adventurers, believing that kind of life was dashing—walking through golden wheat fields with companions, laughing and chatting, slaying monsters, earning commissions, and savoring fine food and drink in the taverns of different villages and towns.

An interesting life, he thought, should be so carefree and stirring, not like his own, trapped before a small forge, spending his dull days with a hammer and tongs.

This idea wasn't entirely wrong, but it was only partially right.

The adventurers Marlin pictured in his mind were all renowned Professional Adventurers, whose lives were naturally colorful.

But what about the vast majority of low-level adventurers? Gauss hadn't known before.

Now, however, after experiencing it firsthand, he understood that Marlin most likely wouldn't enjoy that kind of adventurer life.

Mired in brutal fights amidst severed limbs and broken bodies, sleeping in the open and eating in the wild, plagued daily by mosquito bites, constantly wary of threats to life from the wilderness, and facing the unknown of the desolate wilds—a deep loneliness from the soul.

Even during the short two-day journey back from Birch Village to Grayrock Town, he'd felt it keenly.

If the adventurer life were longer—a week, months, half a year—that loneliness would probably become even more severe.

No wonder adventurers liked to form parties.

It was hard for an ordinary person to bear that lingering, invisible pressure alone.

Though the moment was brief, many thoughts surfaced in Gauss's mind.

But he had no intention of playing the wise elder and explaining the ins and outs to Marlin.

He simply revealed a faint, meaningful smile.

"I have a feeling you won't like the adventurer's life."

"Tch, you again, looking down on people, are you? If even you can be an adventurer, there's no way this old man can't do it!" Marlin said, unconvinced.

Marlin had been secretly saving up, planning to buy a full set of equipment before heading to the guild to officially register.

Gauss had no idea what was going on in his head and steered the conversation back to business.

"Anyway, enough chit-chat. I came today to sell some loot. Take a look and tell me what it's worth."

Gauss plopped the large bag of equipment onto the stone table with a thud.

"Let me see... whoa, quite a haul. But I can't make the call on buying this back." Marlin opened the bag and was startled by the amount inside.

Though the quality seemed average, he hadn't expected Gauss to pull out so much gear.

"Where'd you get all this loot? Find it?" Marlin muttered, then turned and ran to the back courtyard to fetch the blacksmith shop's owner.

The blacksmith shop's owner, Gron Bates, was a burly man standing nearly two meters tall.

When he walked out, he was carrying a hefty forging hammer in his hand.

He wore a blackened hardened leather apron to block flying sparks and debris, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt, but even the apron couldn't hide the massive chest and abdominal muscles beneath.

With short black hair, a blank expression, and his left eye covered by a black eyepatch, only his right eye—wide as a copper bell—was visible.

More than a blacksmith, Gron Bates looked like a formidable warrior.

That was a common guess among the townsfolk, though it had never been confirmed.

What was certain was that his outstanding forging and smelting skills had earned the recognition of adventurers.

"It's you, Gauss."

Unlike his rough appearance, Gron Bates was an easygoing man.

Back when Gauss first arrived in town and was looking for temporary work, Gron had taken him in, even though Gauss knew nothing about blacksmithing at the time.

Though Gauss hadn't stayed at the blacksmith shop long before leaving, he still remembered Gron Bates with deep gratitude.

"Long time no see, Shopkeeper Gron."

"Marlin tells me you're here to sell loot?" Gron Bates glanced at the various pieces of equipment on the table.

He still had some impression of Gauss—a hardworking kid with a decent build.

The only pity was that he had no money and couldn't afford the tuition to become a formal apprentice.

As for the workshop's employees, Gron had to treat them all equally; he couldn't make an exception for Gauss. Otherwise, it would be unfair to the other formal apprentices.

"Yes. I stripped them off a group of Goblins."

"So even you've become an adventurer." Gron sighed.

Clearly, he didn't think adventuring was a good profession either.

He had seen too many low-tier adventurers left to rot in the wilderness.

"These times are getting tougher and tougher," he muttered as he flipped through the equipment on the table.

The worse the times, the more adventurers there were. In peaceful eras, more people would become scholars, craftsmen, officials, or employees.

He remembered that when he was young, there weren't nearly as many adventurers.

But now in town, the proportion of adventurers was nearly thirty to forty percent.

Even though Grayrock Town was a key stopover for traveling adventurers, that ratio was still too high.

"Since you're an adventurer who came out of our blacksmith shop, I'll take the liberty of giving you an extra ten percent on these pieces."

"This Chopper—average materials, but the tempering technique isn't bad. It's worth 25 silver coins. Too bad it hasn't been well-maintained, or it could've fetched a few more."

"This Short Blade is too badly damaged. Can't sell it as second-hand weaponry anymore; it'll only be good as scrap metal for forging. The price won't be high."

Gron quickly tallied up the metal items on the table.

"That comes to 36 silver coins in total. Does that work for you?"

Gauss thought it over for a moment, found no major issues, and nodded.

He had a rough idea of what second-hand weapons sold for. At this price, the Black Anvil Workshop would still need to process them before selling them as goods, so it was already quite fair.

He was planning to sell the Chopper too—his strength was average, and swinging it a few times tired him out. It wasn't suited for him.

"By the way, Shopkeeper Gron. Do you know what this is?"

Gauss pulled the green stone from his pocket.