Chương 180: Chapter 40: A Sword, Perhaps?

Selena walked toward it, her footsteps echoing in the twilight silence. The air smelled of hot coal, old iron, soot, and the deep moisture of stone. She opened the door, which gave way with a squeak of hinges in need of oil, and stepped into the room. Inside, the lingering heat from a recent forge enveloped the space, contrasting sharply with the cold outside. Light filtered through a high, dirty window, illuminating coal dust dancing in the air.

Standing before her, a slender boy, no older than ten or twelve, looked at her with immediate curiosity. He was the quintessential stereotype of an average Eraberghian: messy brown hair, a pale yet healthy complexion, and hazel-brown eyes scrutinizing her with a practical intelligence far beyond his years. —Miss, what do you need? —the boy asked, his voice clear, though carrying a hint of the formal tone reserved for customers— Is it a sword, perhaps?

He nodded, sizing her up from head to toe, from her travelling boots to the cut of her cloak. The look in his eyes revealed he had already categorized her as a specific type of client. —Perhaps you are looking for armor, tools, knives, or even steel shovels? We have everything. Just ask. Selena looked at the little boy, and a genuine smile curved her lips. There was something refreshing about his direct, predictable speech.

—I am looking for Alaric the blacksmith —she said, keeping a respectful tone— A friend recommended his work to me, and I wish to place a... private order. May I see him? From the back of the building, the rhythmic hammering on hot steel could be heard. The boy gave a quick, serious nod. —I must go tell Father. Please wait here for a moment. He vanished through a back doorway covered by a thick leather curtain. A few minutes later, he returned, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

—Father says he can take your order today. Though if it's armor or a sword, you must wait at least four months for him to finish it. The boy fell silent, awaiting an answer, his eyes observing her with the keen attention of a budding merchant. —That is no problem —Selena replied— Take me to him. The boy guided her down a short, low hallway where the smell of hot metal and coal intensified. They emerged onto a semi-covered backyard open to a precipice overlooking a deep valley.

There, beside a forge that now contained only sleeping embers, stood the man. Alaric was the perfect embodiment of a blacksmith: arms like the trunks of Titardes, a broad chest, and hands that seemed made for gripping hammers rather than delicate tasks. He wore a tanned leather apron, stained with soot and burn marks. His only distinguishing feature from the classic image was a shiny, polished bald head, far too clean for a blacksmith, that reflected the faint glow of the embers like a second tiny sun.

He was meticulously wiping a file with a rag, but he looked up when they entered. As the whistling wind blew gently through the opening, the boy introduced them simply: You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. —Father, the lady. He then withdrew with the same discretion with which he had appeared, leaving them alone in the yard with the mountain wind whispering through the cracks. —Tell me, girl, what are you looking for? —Alaric said without preamble.

His voice was deep, raspy from smoke and commands shouted over the roar of metal— I know my work is good, but I don't get many orders that aren't armor or swords. Something in your eyes tells me you're looking for something a bit more... special. While awaiting her response, he stepped away from the forge and sat on a low bench of worn wood, resting his elbows on his powerful knees. Selena took a step closer, looking directly at him without beating around the bush. —Yes, I am looking for something special.

A friend of mine, Corren, said you would know where to find tools forged with more than just steel. Tools that allow man to comprehend the world, not merely dominate it. Alaric stared at her, and for a moment, only the whistle of the wind filled the space between them. Then, a hoarse, deep laugh, full of dry humor, burst from his chest. —Ah, Corren! —he exclaimed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye— If you had simply spoken his name like that, it would have been enough.

Though yes, you do like speaking in code... but you definitely know what you're looking for. His laughter died down, replaced by an expression of resigned complicity. Selena blushed slightly, but there was no room for embarrassment; the blacksmith continued his thought. —I'll give you their location, no problem. You must have needed a map to get here... let me mark it for you. Or better yet... Selena shook her head, she did not have a map with her at the moment, and Alaric nodded.

—Don't worry, I'll draw one so you can orient yourself better. You can buy a map of the town or the region in the market square. Without getting up, he picked up a piece of charcoal from the ground and, on a scrap of clean leather pulled from his apron, began tracing clear, precise lines: the town, the southern road, the hidden trail behind a rockfall, the subtle marks on the walls of certain abandoned caves. It was not a map for tourists; it was a guide for the initiated.

After taking her leave of the man paying him not for the map, but for his time and discretion with a few copper crowns, which Alaric accepted with a grunt of approval, Selena headed back to the inn. She needed to rest; the day's journey and the strain of the search weighed heavily on her bones. But the location marked on the leather, and now seared into her memory, would not fade no matter how much she rested for the remainder of the day. It was a destination, not merely an address.

Though before resting, the glances of her two companions held questions, questions she now had to answer in norrun. The following day, once again alone under the pretext that she had informed Fjora and Samira she would be investigating local ruins and not to wait up for her until nightfall, she set out at first light.

She followed the map and, with additional directions from a few locals she asked about caves bearing ancient markings, reached a path winding along the mountain's higher slopes, far from the active mines. There, a series of dark openings, like old scars on the face of the rock, pointed to caves that had once been minor veins, now exhausted and abandoned. Selena ventured into the one indicated by the map. The air turned cold and still, smelling of mineral dust and accumulated silence.

She followed Alaric's instructions and the nearly imperceptible signals on the walls: a chalk line here, a small stack of stones there, a worn sign that served not as a warning, but as a sign of safe passage. After several minutes of walking through the dim gloom, the cave opened up abruptly before her. Yet it was no ordinary cavern; it was a vast chamber, illuminated by daylight filtering through a natural aperture in the center of the high ceiling, like a celestial eye opened over the space.

The dusty, golden beam of light illuminated the center of the room, where a group of people stood. There were at least ten, perhaps more hidden in the darkness. They wore simple robes of pale gray, the color of unadorned stone, the gray of the Path of the Voice. Some sat in a circle in silence; others read from parchment scrolls; still others simply watched the descending light, as if meditating. There was no haste, no fear, only a profound, deliberate calm.

She was finally in the lair of conscious knowledge, of the philosophy of tranquility, of the liberation of the mind.