Heart of the Storm

Weslan knew a little more. He had met Medlir and knew that the man was not actually mad—or rather, not completely mad. At the very least, his skill at forging had not vanished. And by chance, that mad dwarf had once owed him a favor. Relying on that favor, Weslan believed he would help him with this.

That was also why Weslan had dared to agree to Solam's request.

After Weslan explained the entire sequence of events, Bishop Will fell silent in thought.

"How certain are you?" The Holy Avenger was already in their hands. Asking the Church of Tyr to hand over this divine artifact now was simply too difficult. If possible, the bishop wanted to give it a try. Even though he did not have much confidence in Medlir—though Weslan said Medlir was not completely mad, he was still somewhat abnormal, and no one knew whether his abilities remained—as long as there was even a sliver of hope, he was willing to gamble. At worst, if they failed, they could trade the artifact back or think of another solution later. But if they succeeded, they would strike it rich.

"Thirty percent!" Weslan said, holding up three fingers.

"Thirty percent? Good! That's worth a gamble!" Hearing that, the bishop pondered for a moment. A thirty percent chance was not bad. At least there was still a chance of success, wasn't there?

But unexpectedly, Weslan said gravely, "There is actually another way to raise the odds by another twenty percent. It just depends on whether you're willing."

"It can be raised further? Tell me quickly. As long as we can secure the Holy Avenger completely, we will spare no expense!" Three plus two made fifty percent. Naturally, the bishop had no objections. Though Weslan meant they would need to invest