Dragon Savior A New Beginning ( Update Version)

Echoes of a Restless Mind (168)

They instructed Atlas and Drogo to wait outside the blacksmith, and both readily complied. The two companions sat obediently by the entrance, their eyes gleaming with curiosity as they watched their humans step inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, a wave of anticipation washed over them. The air inside was thick with the scent of oil and metal, a rich blend of history and craftsmanship. As the shop bore the weight of years, its wooden beam darkened in soot and time. Scattered across the shelves were tools long forgotten–rusted axes, worn hammers, thick leather gloves stiff from use, and pliers that had likely seen generations of labor. Rows of armor lined the place, a mesmerizing fusion of steel, leather, and fur.

The shop bustled with activity. Warriors, mercenaries, and travelers examined weapons with keen eyes, testing their weight, running fingers along their sharp edges. The clicking of metal rang through the air as customers debated purchases, some already clad in newly acquired protective gear. It was clear–this place was thriving. Then, suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. " Are you seriously suggesting that I repair your armor for a mere twenty Mythos? "

The sheer force behind the words made everyone turn their heads. The speaker was a woman–strong, commanding, and utterly unimpressed. She stood near the counter, arms crossed, staring down at a young teenage boy. With a scoff, she added, " Do you really think fixing this armor will be worth twenty Mythos? This should be at least about eighty mythos the most. "

A ripple of amusement and curiosity spread through the room. It was clear–the group just met the owner of Emberforge Armory.

Nevertheless, the woman stood her ground, shaking her head in a firm refusal. " I can't possibly accept such a cheap price for the work you're asking for. "

The young teenage boy's jaws tightened, his determination unshaken. He leaned in slightly, pressing his argument. " At least you're getting paid to do your job. "

The women let out a sharp exhale, clearly exasperated.

" Because your armor isn't ordinary, " she explained, tapping a gauntleted finger against the counter. " I don't have the material in stock for this armor, which means I'd have to shut down my shop just to track him down. That takes time out of my days. "

Rather than conceding, the man scoffed and waved a dismissive hand.

" That's your problem, not mine, " he said. His voice carried an entitled edge, as though the inconvenience was an insult to him personally. The woman glared at him, her patience thinning.

"You don't seem to understand the effort that goes into quality work," she shot back, her tone steady. "It's not just about slapping metal together. It requires skill and resources."

The boy crossed his arms, his youthful stubbornness evident.

"But it's just armor. Can't you just use something else?" he challenged, naive to the complexities involved. She shook her head slowly. "This isn't just 'something else.' It has to fit perfectly, or it becomes useless."

Her voice softened slightly, as if she were trying to educate him. "Every piece of armor is crafted for a purpose. It's personal. If I skimp on quality, I compromise safety."

Yet he pressed on, undeterred by her reasoning.

"I've seen pieces go for less than what you're asking!" he insisted. She sighed, realizing that her work and artistry meant little to him.

"Yes, and those pieces lack the care and craftsmanship of a true artisan. Ask yourself, which one would you trust in an actual battle?"