They stayed in Ashenvill for a handful of days, letting sleep and simple routines sand down the jagged edges of what had happened. The barony's walls felt solid. The streets felt busy in a way that kept the mind from wandering to the ridge. By the end of the week, Arin and Raul were no longer just men who survived the same road. They were two people who shared food, watched each other's blind spots, and spoke without searching for words.
The market was loud that morning, carts clattering, hawkers singing out prices, the smell of boiled grain and tallow smoke mixing with wet iron and horses. Arin stood in the flow of bodies with his tattered chestguard buckled crooked and his run-down sword hanging from a frayed sash. Since awakening, his healing moved like a second heartbeat. It had been seven days, and the broken right hand was already knuckling back together. He rotated his wrist and felt a persistent ache from a previous fracture
Raul slid through the crowd with the ease of someone who always knew where feet would fall. He had that quiet way: compact body, eyes tracking weight shifts, shoulders that never tensed at the wrong time. Combat instinct, always on high alert.
"You're late," Raul said, half-grinning.
"Motherducker, I've been here for fifteen minutes," Arin said. "You just popped out of nowhere. How does that make me late?"
Raul's grin went wider. "You can't take a joke now?"
Arin snorted. "Save your jokes for someone else. Let's go. You said you found a blacksmith."
"Yeah. Out past the stalls."
They edged past baskets of onions and a rack of cheap leather belts, then left the busy ring behind. The outer zone opened into thin foot traffic and wind moving through old brick. Six or seven broken housings sat with their windows boarded, and roofs caved in. Beside them, a low-slung smithy crouched under an ash-stained awning.
Arin eyed the cracked lintel and the uneven threshold. "Seriously? You couldn't find something better?"
"With our budget, this is luxury," Raul said. "We're paying for heat, not pretty walls."
"That does make sense," Arin said. He exhaled. "Alright. Let's see."
Inside was not what the outside promised. The floors were swept. Hooks hung clean. A heavy bench ran the wall with a neat row of short and long swords, maces, hammers, daggers, bows, and a single coiled whip. Everything had been oiled without the lazy gloss that says someone hides rust.
___________________________
Arin tapped the counter with his knuckles. "Where's the smith?"
Raul leaned over the counter and peered down. "Sleeping," he said. He hopped over, crouched, and gave two tight slaps.
"wakey, wakey"
"Ehh—who's there?" The boy flinched awake, half-tangled in a blanket. "Intruders! Intruders!"
"Relax," Raul said. "I'm the one who came yesterday."
"Oh. Right." The boy pushed himself up, rubbing his face. "You're… Rahul?"
"Raul," Raul said, mild and firm.
Arin took in the smith. No older than eighteen. Black hair crushed at the back from sleep, brown eyes sharp when they settled, a patchy beard trying to exist. He looked at them and found the center of their chests, not their faces, the habit of someone who measures breath.
"Ahem," the boy said, embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I'm Victor. I started smithing three years ago, after I awakened blacksmithing as my core talent."
Arin's vision shifted when he wanted it to. A faint overlay of script, the edges of the world sharpening:
___________________________
Name: Victor
Core Talent: Blacksmithing
Rank: Soldier
Potential: Low
___________________________
The letters faded. Arin let his eyes be normal again.
"Victor, I'm Arin," he said. "You've met Raul. We need repairs."
Victor glanced at Arin's sword. He didn't touch it yet. "What's wrong?"
"Edge is tired," Arin said. He slid the blade free and set it on the counter. The steel had nicks from hard contact and a slight wave near the middle, pressure from a bad bind. "Guard's loose. Scabbards cut through at the throat."
Victor held the sword, light grip, eyes moving. "Tempered edge is patchable. The warp's small. I can straighten it on a low heat and re-balance. New pins for the guard. Scabbard's leather I can stitch and reinforce with a collar. Two days. Cheaper if you skip the collar."
Raul set his own dagger down, plain, honest steel with a chipped tip. "This one needs a new point and a better wrap."
Victor nodded. "I'll draw the tip and reprofile. Wrap, I can do now." He glanced up. "What's your budget?"
Arin looked at Raul, then at Victor. "Seventeen copper between us."
Victor didn't wince. He weighed the number like a hammer in his palm. "Alright. I'll do both for fifteen. You pick up in two days. If you want the scabbard collar, it's eighteen."
Raul raised an eyebrow. "Why the discount?"
Victor shrugged. "You walked in needing work and told me the truth. Also, I'm new enough to need customers who come back."
Arin flexed his right hand, testing the bones. "It'll be usable by then."
Victor's eyes flicked to the sling straps peeking from Arin's sash. "You were injured?"
"It's healed mostly," Arin said. He kept it simple.
Raul looked around the shop. "You keep a clean place," he said. "Outside looks like a kicked-in barn."
"Rent's cheap out here," Victor said. "Inside is what matters. Ashenvill doesn't notice a small smith unless the work sings."
Raul's combat instinct didn't ring. No false bravado, no greedy reach. Just a boy who knew what he could do and didn't pretend beyond it.
"Do it," Arin said. "Fifteen."
Victor nodded, relief hidden under a careful face. He started a tally in the ledger, then took the sword and the knife to the back. He moved well around the bench, no wasted steps, tools put back where they belong.
While Victor prepared the forge, Arin and Raul sat on a low stool near the door, letting the warmth settle into their bones.
"So, what's the next plan?" Raul asked without looking at Arin.
"We get the stamped report," Arin said. "We buy dried food and a map. Then look for a job that's doable and pays decent cash."
Victor came back to the counter, dusted chalk from his fingers. "Two days. Pick them up at noon."
Raul nodded. "Cool."
Arin said, "We'll be there."