Isabella had come to her senses by then. This was not the time for gossip, so she hurriedly explained Solam's request.
"Repair armor?" The old dwarf, wearing a ridiculous red bowler hat, tilted his head as he looked at Solam and said with some difficulty, "Issa, you know I only sell weapons and armor here. I don't do repairs!"
As a weapons merchant, the old dwarf had long since thrown whatever qualities he possessed as a dwarf into the abyss. He wished everyone's weapons would break so they would come to him for new ones. Repairs? There was absolutely no need for that!
There was a reason a dwarf like him had ended up making a living among humans. That way of thinking would have been utterly heretical among dwarves. Because of their love for forging, dwarves cherished every weapon; after all, each one was a creation forged with a forgehammer's blood and sweat. Some particularly extreme dwarves even regarded weapons as extensions of their own lives and deeply disliked any disrespect toward weapons and armor.
"That isn't ordinary armor!" Isabella knew what dwarves were like. Old Pick's habit of not offering after-sales service was no secret in Beauclair. But that only applied to ordinary weapons and equipment. When it came to high-grade magical equipment, the old dwarf could never suppress his dwarven nature and would take the initiative to repair it.
It was just that Old Pick had always thought Isabella was a nice person, if a little poor. So he had never considered the possibility of some expensive high-grade armor.
"How extraordinary could it be?" Old Pick considered his experience far beyond that of a girl like Isabella. What seemed extraordinary to Isabella might not necessarily be much in his eyes.
"It just... it..." Isabella knew nothing about