The still was the smith’s pride and joy, something he forged with his own hands. And after draining his mug of homemade ale like it was water, he resentfully spat, “The forest is like a spring. If you take more than what comes out, then it’ll dry up! That’s just common sense!”
The building they were in was terribly old. The smithy itself had likely been in operation for generations, the rights to use this parcel of land passed down as time went on.
Outdated tools sat proudly on the walls. It was unlikely they would be usable in a decade or two.
Lawrence scanned the décor and quickly found what he was looking for. He also noticed how Holo’s expression hardened the moment they stepped inside.
“We’ve got to show Lord Tonneburg that his plan’s wrong, not necessarily to keep the smithy running, but for the sake of the forest.”
Building a road through the forest, extracting lumber, and building new smithies would be a direct encroachment on the smith’s business. It was not particularly surprising that he was against the plan.
“I’ve traveled various lands, and you rarely come across forests like this one. I would like it if they left it as is,” Lawrence said, and the smith nodded in agreement. “That’s why I will be visiting Lord Tonneburg, in hopes that he will reconsider his decision.”
They were sitting in what was essentially the home of every forest dweller’s mortal enemy. At that thought, Lawrence cast a quick glance at a bored Holo before continuing.
“How much labor do you think it will take to establish a new smithy in this forest?”
“A…huh?” That question took the smith by surprise. The expression on his face made it seem like he was being let down. “How much…labor?”
“Yes. I suppose I could rephrase the question and ask how easy you think it would be to build a smithy.”
“Listen, mister merchant. What I mean is that I’d never build a new smithy. That’s silly talk.”
The smith crossed his muscular arms across his chest—he was the very picture of a stubborn forest-dwelling craftsman. Though his mouth was hidden behind a beard singed from the heat of the forge, Lawrence could tell it was curving downward in a frown. The man was imposing.
He was overflowing with pride, like he would never move no matter what happened. Lawrence could practically hear him saying that he always solved his problems by himself and he would continue to do so. Lawrence had not seen any helpers or assistants around, so he would’ve believed the smith.
Besides the tools needed for forging, the room was also home to various other items needed for daily life. There was a pile of rags in the corner indented in the shape of the smith’s physique, which made it immediately clear that he spent most of his time here in this hut.
When Lawrence was just starting out as a merchant, he often did business in places with no other competition, where the roads were so bad that no other merchants dared to venture that way.
And so he was intimately knowledgeable about some things that were unfathomable to city merchants, the ones who licked the tips of their quills to manipulate numbers and called that “trade.”
One of those things served as the cause of an argument between him and Holo around the time they first met.
And that is exactly what he came here to ask.
“Building a new smithy in the forest and building a new house in the village are two entirely different things. Especially if one wants to maintain it.”
Behind the smith, a great big axe, a scythe, a longsword, a spear, and other things glinted ominously. They seemed like they had seen plenty of use, too much to have been personal projects he hung up in pride—they were tools to fight against the very forest itself as it threatened to swallow the smithy whole.
And wherever there was battle, there were victory trophies.
Hanging proudly on the wall was a magnificent wolf pelt that was roughly the same size as the smith himself.
“City artisans who do not understand how terrifying the forest can be will walk right on in, encumbered by their belongings. Then once they’ve finished building the smithy, they’ll have to work there day in and day out. What do you think? Do you think they’ll be able to greet the morning in one piece?”
The smith followed Lawrence’s gaze and gave a nod in understanding.
“I see—that’s what you mean. There are some city merchants who come to the village and ask me to fix their ironware. That lot just wanders the trees munching on their bread. But I make sure not to give any blades to idiots like them. Nothing’s more dangerous than those who don’t know the forest spending an extended amount of time in it.” The smith looked at Meyer, then turned his attention back to Lawrence. “The forest is in the heart of enemy territory. The smithy has found itself surrounded by wolves on moonless nights more than just once or twice. The reason I don’t keep an assistant around is because I know the kid’ll just get swallowed up by the trees.”
A single lapse in vigilance could mean vanishing forever.
That very thing had likely happened countless times.
“But Meyer,” Lawrence said, turning to the ranger. “I’m certain you’ve already advised Lord Tonneburg on how much it would cost to keep wolves away in order to build the roads and smithies. What do you think?”
Meyer had sat there, looking as though he was ready to speak up, and he nodded as though it was a given.