Wein and Terr rode to a quieter, less populated street and stopped in front of a small, shabby blacksmith shop called Ember Steel.
They both dismounted from the Goldenfur.
Wein curiously looked around. The street was nearly empty, and the steady clang of hammering steel echoed from within the shop.
While Wein explored the surroundings, Terr heaved one of the two large sacks off the beast's back—both stuffed with the dead and still-living Ratchas.
Wein was amazed at the sacks. They weren't ordinary—they had an enormous storage space inside, making them perfect for hunters and travelers.
"This is one of the blacksmiths I am familiar with," Terr explained as he led Wein inside. "His name's Alfa. He's pretty blunt, so don't mind what he says. His work isn't as fancy as that of the weaponsmiths, but it's solid and cheap. I really like the weapons made by him."
Terr pushed open the wooden door. A thick wave of smoke and the stinging scent of molten steel hit Wein's nose, making him sneeze.
Inside, the place was a mess. Weapons were hung haphazardly on the walls, swords and daggers were scattered across dusty tables, and the counter was buried under heaps of metal scraps. It looked like the shop hadn't been cleaned in years.
"Uncle, I'm here!" Terr called out as he pushed through the door behind the counter.
A booming voice roared from the back. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go in there, you brat?!"
Just from hearing his voice, Wein could already tell—this was someone who was hard to please. He could almost picture him: a muscular, tanned man, topless, hammering away at an anvil with sparks flying around him.
"Hahaha, sorry! I just got excited. Look, I brought what you asked for. Can you make my sword now?" Terr's voice was cheerful.
"Hmph. You had a good hunt this time. You got lucky pulling in this many. Did you go past the safety zone to get them?"
"Nah, don't worry. I didn't go that far from the safe area. I also had help this time."
"Help? You actually found someone to accompany you?"
"Of course! Who do you think I am?"
"You didn't threaten someone to join you, right?"
"Hey! Don't accuse me of that! I met him in the realm. He was lost—I helped him, and he helped me back. It was mutual."
"Alright, I'll believe you," the other person sighed. "I'll make your sword. Come back in a week."
"Thank you, Uncle! I'll come back for it then. I still need to bring my friend to the Central Alliance now."
"Huh? The Alliance? Why?"
"He's got… a complicated situation. Oh, I brought him here with me."
Wein heard Terr's footsteps approaching, and soon both Terr and a tall, muscular man with tanned skin and short red hair emerged from the back. The man was topless, his body slick with sweat, clearly in the middle of forging.
The blacksmith, Alfa, frowned as he studied Wein.
"This is your friend?"
"Hello, sir. My name is Wein," he greeted carefully, unsure how to speak to such a stern-looking man.
To Wein's surprise, Alfa turned to Terr and smacked him hard on the back of the head.
"You brat! You kidnapped someone from the high society?! Are you tired of living?"
"Ouch! What do you mean kidnapped?!"
Alfa immediately bowed to Wein. "I'm sorry for what this fool put you through. Please forgive him—he's had a ten-day fever that fried his brain."
"When did I ever have a fever?!" Terr protested.
"Huh? Why are you apologizing? Terr really did save me." Wein defended Terr, completely confused.
"How could he even think that Terr kidnapped me? I'm not even a child," Wein thought.
Alfa relaxed a little but still glared at Terr. "Shut up, you brat."
Terr crossed his arms in frustration. "Uncle, seriously, what are you talking about? What did I do wrong?"
"Look at him carefully."
Terr's gaze flicked to Wein. Wein, too, looked at himself in confusion.
Is it because of what I'm wearing? Are these clothes really that offensive?
"What was I even supposed to look at?"
"His hair, you bastard!" Alfa shouted again, his temples throbbing in frustration.
"My hair?" Wein mumbled, brushing his black, shoulder-length hair.
His eyes landed on a silver shield leaning against the wall. Curious, he walked over to check his reflection.
The shield reflected the image of a young man with a pale face and black eyes staring back at him. He had a rather scholarly appearance, and with his shoulder-length hair, he looked completely harmless.
He looked perfectly fine despite everything that had happened to him. There was nothing strange about his hair either. So, what exactly was the problem here?
Terr finally snapped to attention. "What about his hair? Isn't it just black—Holy shit! Why didn't I notice sooner?"
Alfa sighed heavily and face-palmed. "Now do you see what I mean?"
"Ah! That explains why everyone kept staring at us earlier," Terr groaned.
"Excuse me?" Wein asked, confused. "What's wrong with my hair?"
"Oh, right! Uncle, Wein doesn't remember anything. I found him lost in the Ratcha Realm. That's why I'm bringing him to the Alliance."
Alfa's eyes widened. "He can't remember? Then you need to get him to the Alliance fast. Otherwise, you'll be in serious trouble again."
"Wait—can someone please tell me what's wrong with my hair?" Wein pressed.
Terr scratched his head awkwardly. "So… pitch-black hair means you're from an Elite Family. They're the only people in this world with black hair. That probably makes you a descendant of one of those clans… which is good, right? At least we won't have to search all over to find your family."
"Elite Family? What?"
Terr scratched his head awkwardly. "So… pitch-black hair means you're from an Elite Family. They're the only people in this world with black hair. That probably makes you a descendant of one of those clans… which is good, right? At least we won't have to search all over to find your family."
"Elite Family? What?"
"Yeah. In this world, most people have blonde, silver, red, or brown hair. Black hair only shows up in the highest-ranking families. It's basically their symbol."
Wein's mind reeled.
He wasn't part of any Elite Family. On Earth, black hair was completely normal.
How the hell am I supposed to explain this?