"Is this where that blacksmith lives?"
Werther stared at the shabby house, its walls covered in moss.
"Yes, Lord Werther. A strange old man lives here. The Young Master saved him once, and he's stayed in Dressrosa ever since, forging equipment for our Family."
Werther had found Dellinger earlier and explained what he wanted. Dellinger had readily agreed to take him to the best blacksmith in Dressrosa.
Apparently, the weapons Diamante and Pica used had been made by this old man.
Those weapons weren't famous, but they were rare pieces of fine craftsmanship.
Werther only needed a sword sheath forged. The blacksmith didn't have to be exceptionally skilled.
Besides, Werther knew of only one well-known blacksmith, and that man was in the first half of the Grand Line. He wasn't going all the way back there just for this.
Standing before the dilapidated house, Werther knocked on the door out of courtesy.
"Creak... Bang!"
Werther's hand froze in midair. He stared speechlessly at the door, which had fallen inward.
He swore he hadn't used any force. He'd barely touched it.
"Who's that? You broke my door!"
An elderly voice came from inside the house, carrying a sly note.
Unlike the bewildered Werther, Dellinger looked unsurprised. He expertly lifted the patch-covered door and set it back in place. Clearly, he'd done this before.
"Robert, it's time you found a new trick. And this is Lord Werther. Are you sure you want to shake him down?"
Dellinger gave a cold laugh and entered the shabby house.
"Damn it, it's you lot. Well? What do you want forged this time?"
Werther, still standing at the entrance, had worked out what had happened.
He didn't know how skilled this blacksmith was, but the man was Absolute a crafty old fox.
That wasn't a door.