By the time we reached town, the sun hung high overhead, its heat radiating off stone roads and packed earth alike. We didn't waste time. I led Slug straight through the crowded streets toward the blacksmith's district, ignoring the stares that followed us.
The rhythmic clang of metal echoed long before we reached our destination.
The blacksmith's shop was easy to spot—smoke poured steadily from its chimney, and sparks leapt from the open doorway as steel met hammer. An orc stood at the forge out front, massive arms corded with muscle, green skin darkened with soot and sweat. Each swing of his hammer rang out clean and powerful.
Behind him, sitting far too comfortably on a wooden chair, was an old man.
He leaned back with his arms crossed, barking insults between hammer strikes.
"Too slow!" the old man snapped. "What, are you forging armor or rocking a baby to sleep? Put some strength into it, you walking pile of muscle!"
The orc said nothing. His jaw tightened, but his hammer never missed its rhythm.
As we approached, the old man noticed us and pushed himself to his feet, brushing ash from his coat. His eyes flicked briefly to Slug—lingering there just a moment longer than polite—before settling on me.
"What do you want?" he asked, chin lifted, pride thick in his voice. "If you're here to waste my time, keep walking. I don't do charity work."
I met his gaze without flinching.
"We need goblin armor," I said. "One hundred and one sets."
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.
The old man's eyes went wide, his mouth hanging open just slightly. The forge went silent as even the orc paused mid-swing, hammer hovering above the anvil.
"One hundred…" the old man repeated slowly. "And one?"
He stared at me as if I'd just told him the sky had fallen.
It had been a long time—far too long—since anyone had placed an order like that.
The old man let out a sharp laugh, equal parts disbelief and excitement. "You're either insane," he said, eyes gleaming, "or you're about to make me very rich."
His gaze sharpened. "Now tell me, boy… how soon do you need it?"
"As soon as possible," I replied.
The old man studied me again, longer this time. His sharp eyes flicked over my weapons, my posture, then briefly to Slug. Finally, he nodded.
"That'll be five gold and fifty-five silver."
I knew immediately he had raised the price—by at least five silver. Normally, I would have argued. Bargaining was expected in places like this.
But time mattered more than coin.
"Deal," I said.
I reached into my pouch and handed over the money. The old man's fingers moved fast as he counted it, his grin widening when he confirmed the amount. He looked like a man who hadn't seen business this good in years.
As I turned to leave, something tugged at my thoughts.
I stopped.
"How much for the orc?" I asked, glancing toward the forge.
The hammer froze mid-swing.
The orc stiffened, eyes widening just slightly—but he didn't turn around.
The old man's head snapped toward me, his expression shifting instantly into naked greed.
"Three gold," he said without hesitation. "And he's yours."
I scoffed. "He's worth less than that to you. Two gold and twenty-five silver."
The old man clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. "You insult me."
"And you insult your craftsmanship," I shot back. "You wouldn't sell him if he wasn't valuable."
For several minutes, we went back and forth—numbers rising and falling, insults masked as compliments, greed wrestling with pride.
Finally, the old man exhaled sharply.
"Two gold and forty-four silver," he said. "Final offer."
I nodded. "Done."
I handed over the coin.
The old man reached into the air itself and pulled out a scroll made entirely of light, its surface shimmering with shifting runes. He passed it to me with trembling fingers.
The moment I touched it, the scroll dissolved into radiant particles.
A familiar chime echoed in my mind.
/New slave acquired/
Name: Guk
I looked up instinctively.
The orc—Guk—slowly turned to face me. There was no anger in his eyes. No fear, either. Just exhaustion… and something close to cautious hope.
Without a word, he lowered his head.
We turned to leave.
As we stepped out into the street, the old man called after us, barely containing his excitement. "The armor will be ready in two weeks. You'll have to pick it up yourself."
I nodded once over my shoulder.
And then we walked away—toward my home, toward my army, and toward a future that was beginning to take shape far faster than anyone in this town realized.
Guk walked a step behind us as we left the blacksmith's shop.
He was massive—taller than most men, shoulders broad from years of swinging a hammer—but his movements were careful, almost restrained, as if he had learned long ago that taking up too much space only invited trouble. The heavy chains around his wrists were gone, yet his hands still twitched as though expecting their weight.
He didn't speak.
Not at first.
The town bustled around us, people giving the orc wary glances before quickly looking away. Some whispered. Others sneered. Guk noticed every one of them. His tusks tightened, jaw clenched, but he kept his head down.
When we turned onto a quieter road, his footsteps slowed.
"…Master," he said at last, the word rough, unused.
I stopped.
Slug halted beside me, watching without interrupting.
I turned and faced Guk. Up close, I could see the scars—old burns along his forearms, healed cracks across his knuckles, and a deep notch in one tusk that looked like it had been shattered and left to mend poorly.
"Yes?" I said.
Guk hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I will work," he said. "Harder than any other. I can forge iron, steel, even goblin alloy. I don't sleep much. I don't complain."
His fists tightened.
"Please," he added quietly, "don't sell me again."
The word landed heavier than any weapon.
For the first time, I understood—this wasn't fear of pain. It was fear of being passed along, stripped of what little stability he had managed to cling to.
"I won't," I said.
Guk looked up sharply, disbelief flickering across his face.
"You belong to my empire now," I continued. "That means protection. Purpose. And choice—earned, not taken."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"…Thank you," he said, voice low, but real.
As we resumed walking, Guk straightened just a little. His steps grew more confident, his shoulders no longer curled inward. It wasn't freedom—not yet—but it was something close enough to hope that it hurt.
Behind us, the forge's hammer rang out again.
But this time, it wasn't calling Guk back.