Perhaps it was because of Sera’s warning, or perhaps because this world was naturally a melting pot of various races. Once Ron started paying attention to the passersby, he discovered that the town of Fromm was indeed home to many strange, humanoid creatures.

"A pair of Spotted Cat People are staying in Room 204, there’s an Elf among the tenants in 203, and a Dwarf is in 206..."

Aive casually spun the key with the "205" plaque on her finger. Considering they still needed to purchase equipment tomorrow, it was best to save money on lodging wherever possible.

Besides, Delaford was small, so it wasn’t a big deal for the three of them to squeeze in together. The only thing that annoyed the Half-Elf was the Goblin Hunter’s insistence on letting that big white rat, Big White, stay with them—she was starting to develop a complex about rats.

"Can you tell where they’re from? Are they outsiders, or are they natives of this place?" Ron asked as he followed behind, carefully locking the door.

"I don’t know about the others, but the Elf is definitely an outsider," Aive said, knocking on the walls to signal to Ron that the soundproofing was decent enough; he didn’t need to be so cautious. "Elves wouldn’t like the environment around the town of Fromm."

Cold to the north, a great mountain to the east, and the Gobi Desert to the west. Forget forests—even woodlands were pitifully scarce. Not even an Elf who was well-adapted to the societies of humans and other races would choose this place for a settlement.

Aive’s mother was a Pure-blood Elf, which gave her judgment considerable weight.

"Oof, ahhh—"

Delaford tossed his cloak onto the floor, plopped onto the bed spread-eagled with his big belly up, and let out a series of groans that were equal parts blissful and pained.

"I’m gonna burst—"

"Serves you right," Aive snorted. "Who asked you to order so much food? And then to wash it down with a bellyful of wine. It’s a wonder you didn’t burst!"

’If he really did eat himself to death, she and Ron would finally be free.’

’To be honest, Aive had considered taking this opportunity to just kill Delaford and be done with it. After all, individual goblins weren’t particularly strong, and he’d be no match for her.’

’But...’

Aive glanced over at Ron, who was struggling to roll Delaford over to make the bed, and snuffed out the thought.

’He probably wouldn’t agree. Besides, if I did something like that, how different would I be from a goblin?’

’Being forced to drink raw blood yesterday was already a huge compromise for her.’

Aive took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the killing intent that rose within her. Fortunately, Ron was a complete rookie, and Delaford was busy battling his overstuffed belly. No one noticed Aive’s momentary lapse.

Only Big White lifted its head, its whiskers twitching slightly.

The night passed without incident. If anything of note happened at all, it was probably just the couple of Spotted Cat People next door, whose bed seemed to be rocking all night long.

"This is... so comfortable!"

By the next morning, Ron and Aive had already washed up, but the Goblin Hunter was still lazing in bed, refusing to get up. He’d never experienced such luxury in his entire life!

He was certain that not even his own boss had ever enjoyed such treatment!

’Might as well just live out the rest of my days in this bed...’

"Look at you, you’re pathetic!" Aive said, unceremoniously yanking Delaford up by one of his feet. "Let’s go! Don’t forget your cloak!"

"Stupid Mixed-blood," Delaford snarled, baring his teeth at Aive. But the Half-Elf Warrior, no longer suffering from her earlier ailment, wasn’t falling for his act. The goblin could only change his clothes resentfully and follow Ron out of the tavern.

As they went downstairs, Ron noticed Sera’s group gathered around the same table from last night, seemingly in a discussion. They waved in his direction when they saw him pass by.

Like the shops, the church, and the tavern, the blacksmith’s forge was also easy to find. His gaze traveled past two breakfast vendors, and the massive furnace by the entrance immediately caught his eye.

But there was no fire burning in the furnace.

As Ron’s party of three drew near, a human blacksmith in a rocking chair opened his eyes and sized up the strange customers.

"Things seem quiet here," Ron observed, walking in and looking around. "Not many orders lately?"

"I wouldn’t take any orders even if I had them. Where am I supposed to get that much water in this town?" The blacksmith had a bushy beard, and his mustache twitched comically as he spoke.

"I’ve still got some stock, though. Feel free to look around. If you find something you want to buy, I can even give you a discount."

’Can’t eat or drink chunks of iron. If I just let them sit here, they’ll rust away in the shop. Better to turn them into coin as soon as possible. That’s what’s really useful.’

"Aive, you go first." Ron made an inviting gesture. Aive was the Warrior; whether it was metal armor or weapons, she naturally had priority.

The lightest Chain Armor Shirt weighed nearly twenty pounds. Ron felt his own arms were heavy enough as it was; wearing a metal shell would just be self-inflicted torture.

"How much money do we have left?" Aive asked in a low voice. It would be embarrassing if they couldn’t afford anything.

"About thirty Gold Coins left."

Ron took out his coin purse and was about to count, but the blacksmith spoke first—without even glancing in their direction.

Not believing his ears, Ron counted it himself. After converting the Silver and Copper Coins, the total really did come to about thirty Gold Coins.

"How did you know that?"

"My family has been blacksmiths since my grandfather’s time. My father was a blacksmith, and I’ve been helping in the shop since I was fourteen. That was thirty years ago." The blacksmith seemed to relish being asked this question.

"I can tell even if it’s not all coin in there. Even if you mixed in a few scraps of iron, it wouldn’t change what I hear."

"Sounds like business used to be booming," Aive commented, walking among the various pieces of equipment. She occasionally flicked a piece of armor with her finger, listening to the sound it made. "The quality is quite good."

"But of course!" the blacksmith said proudly. "My grandfather was once apprenticed to a Dwarf Blacksmith. That Dwarf even forged genuine Magic Items with his own hands!"

"My family may not have that kind of talent, but forging ordinary equipment to be sturdy and reliable is easy for us. Even the outlaws in the West know of Ironbeard’s Smithy in the town of Fromm!"

"Your fame has spread far and wide, then. How much for this?"

Aive asked, taking a piece of Chest Armor from a rack. It was constructed from rolled metal plates, its front and back halves joined by hasps and hinges.

"Two hundred Gold Coins. The price is firm. You can’t afford it," the blacksmith said instantly after a quick glance.

"You’ve got a good eye, but that’s my masterwork. I poured my heart and soul into that piece, so you’d best not get any ideas about it."

Aive laughed, but Ron couldn’t decipher the emotion in her voice. Was it shock? Delight? Or was it anger?

"I don’t think so, blacksmith. The emblem engraved on this is of two lions framed by a cloak. Now you look me in the eye and say that again."

The Half-Elf Warrior strode in front of the blacksmith, holding up the Chest Armor. Her expression darkened, and her voice rose several notches.

"You forged this armor, which bears the emblem of the Elven Hailan Empire?!"