Chapter 77: Cutthroat
"So many cards… gone," Lamia muttered disheartedly as she walked beside Irwin.
Irwin couldn't hold back his grin, and he patted her shoulder. Although it was cold and the short day was ending already, he felt great.
A shiver ran through him as a cold blast of air blew in from a narrow alley.
Well, he felt really good, at least.
"Don't worry, Lamia. I'm sure you will learn how to do it soon."
"And waste another dozen or more cards," the burly girl declared as she slapped her hand on her leg as if to chastise herself.
"I don't understand… how come he succeeded?" she muttered, staring at Trimdir, who was walking a few feet ahead, together with Daubutim.
Irwin shrugged, not sure about that either and equally curious. Trimdir had brought some of his own common cards, and after Irwin had succeeded another time, the master smith had tried his hand at reforging. The first two cards had exploded, but Trimdir had been relentless, continuing on with great focus and dedication. The third card had shaken and jolted a bit before merely splitting in two instead of exploding. Undeterred, Trimdir had continued, and to the sounds of Bron's uncharacteristic whoops of joy, the fourth time he had managed to reforge the card successfully.
Irwin still felt a wave of surprise when he thought of the moment the smith had roared in joy, looking at the card as if it was the most precious thing in the world.
Perhaps he should be the one going to the Smith's Guild, Irwin thought, staring at the overly muscled smith's back.
Deep in thought, they continued in silence through the city's empty streets, their footsteps echoing softly while the dim light of flickering torches illuminated their surroundings.
When they reached the smithy, Lamia reluctantly left, saying she had to talk with her uncle but would return the next day.