Chapter 75 - Blessed Be Oriana’s Wallet
Tave followed Fokil into the smithy, and the moment he stepped across the threshold, it hit him. The heat.
The temperature inside was brutal, far worse than the already blazing streets outside. It wrapped around him like a thick, suffocating blanket, the kind of heat that clung to your skin and crawled into your lungs. But still, it didn’t even come close to what he’d endured in the rift a few days ago.
The forge dominated the room, an anvil at the center, tools scattered with practiced chaos, and furnaces roaring low like sleeping beasts. The air was heavy with the scent of scorched metal, burning coal, and thick, unmistakable alcohol.
Yep, Fokil was a drunk.
Tave didn’t waste a second. He approached the forging table and, with a flick of his hand, released the full carcass of the Shade-Tail Scorpinox onto the reinforced stone surface. Then he carefully placed the monster core beside it.
With a respectful bow, he stepped back. "Sir, this is a mini-boss monster we defeated during the last rift expedition," he said steadily, despite the tension. "And I would be truly honored if you’d accept my commission. To convert these materials into whatever item you believe would be best suited for them."
Tave had his own ideas. Concepts for weapons, armor. But he also knew better than to push his preferences on this dwarf. If Fokil so much as agreed to touch the materials, Tave knew the result would be nothing short of extraordinary.
Fokil said nothing. He didn’t even look at Tave.
Instead, he reached for his oversized wooden mug, took a deep, noisy swig, and slammed it back down onto the bench with a thud that echoed through the room.
That scowling, eternally annoyed expression didn’t shift an inch.
But he hadn’t said no. And that was already something.