After finishing their conversation outside, the group turned back toward the town, this time searching for a forge.
They didn't need to ask for directions.
Near the edge of a busy street stood a squat stone building, its entrance marked by a simple iron sign—a hammer crossed over an anvil. The metal was worn smooth by time, but the symbol was unmistakable.
"This should be it," Tim said.
Arjun pushed the door open.
A bell chimed overhead.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of hot metal and oil. Weapon racks lined the walls—swords, spears, axes—some polished, others dulled by use. Behind a wide wooden counter, a man with a heavy beard and soot-stained hands sat reading a book.
The bell drew his attention.
He looked up slowly, eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture.
"What are you here for?" the blacksmith asked gruffly. "Buying weapons, selling metals, or repairing gear?"
"Repairs," Arjun replied, stepping forward. He placed his sword on the counter.
The blacksmith picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and tapped the blade with a fingernail. A dull clang echoed.
He frowned.
"This is low-grade," he said bluntly. "Barely serviceable. I can patch it up, but you'd be wasting money." He set it down. "You'd be better off buying a new sword."
The group exchanged looks.
Raya hesitated, then asked, "What's the price for a weapon that'll last… say, until Level 5?"
The blacksmith didn't even pause. "Forty gold."
Rohit let out a quiet whistle. "That's steep."
Arjun did some quick calculations in his head, then spoke calmly.
"We have two hundred gold left after paying taxes," he said. "We also need storage bags."
He looked at Raya, then at his own sword.
"Let's do this. We buy two weapons—one for me, one for Raya. We sell our current weapons." He glanced at Koushik. "Then we use what's left to buy two low-grade storage bags."
Raya blinked. "You sure?"
Arjun nodded. "We need reliable weapons more than anything right now. Storage can be basic for now."
Tim crossed his arms, thinking for a moment, then nodded. "Makes sense. A broken weapon in a fight costs more than gold."
Rita smiled faintly. "I agree. Staying alive comes first."
Koushik shrugged. "I'll make do for now."
One by one, the others nodded.
The blacksmith watched them with mild interest, then grunted. "Smart choice. Most people try to cheap out and regret it later."
He reached behind the counter. "I'll bring out something suitable."
As he disappeared into the back of the forge, Arjun exhaled slowly.
The blacksmith disappeared into the back of the forge and returned a few moments later, struggling slightly as he carried eight large wooden boxes. He set them down one by one with heavy thuds that made the floor vibrate.
"Alright," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Let's see what suits you."
He opened the first four boxes.
Inside lay one-handed swords, their blades clean and well-balanced, grips wrapped in worn leather. The metal gleamed faintly under the forge's light.
"These are for fighters who value speed and control," the blacksmith explained.
Arjun stepped forward immediately.
He lifted one of the swords, testing its weight. It felt natural in his hand—light enough to move quickly, solid enough to strike with confidence. He swung it once through the air, the blade cutting cleanly with a sharp whistle.
"This suits me," Arjun said quietly.
The blacksmith nodded. "If you fight with precision. One-handed is the right choice."
Next, the blacksmith opened the remaining boxes.
Inside were two-handed swords, broader and heavier, their long blades built for power. Just holding one demanded strength.
Raya's eyes lit up.
He grabbed one with both hands, lifting it onto his shoulder. The weight didn't slow him—instead, it grounded him. He took a step forward and brought the blade down in a controlled arc.
A faint thud echoed as the tip struck the floor.
"I like this," Raya said with a grin. "It maches my style."
"Two-handed weapons reward commitment," the blacksmith said. "And punish hesitation."
As Arjun and Raya compared their choices, the blacksmith pointed toward two swords resting apart from the others.
"But if you want something better," he said, his tone changing slightly, "these are what I'd recommend."
The group's attention sharpened.
Both swords were iron—but unlike the others, faint purple patches ran along the blades, like veins beneath the metal's surface.
Arjun narrowed his eyes. "What's so special about them?"
The blacksmith's lips curled into a faint, proud smile.
"They're forged from an alloy called magic iron," he explained. "It conducts mana smoothly through the blade. Makes skills easier to activate and reduces strain on the user."
Raya whistled softly.
"How much is it?" Arjun asked.
"Forty-nine gold for this one," the blacksmith said, lifting the first. "And fifty-five for the other."
Arjun and Raya exchanged a glance.
After a brief moment, Arjun nodded. "We'll take the magic iron ones."
"Good choice," the blacksmith said approvingly.
While the purchase was finalized, Tim stepped forward and placed his dagger on the counter.
"I need this repaired."
The blacksmith inspected it, nodding. "Just some minor damages. Come back in two hours."
They also bought two low-grade storage bags, simple leather pouches etched with faint runes—small, but invaluable.
As Arjun finished securing his new sword at his waist, Divya hesitated near the counter.
"Do you sell magic wands or staffs?" she asked.
The blacksmith looked up from noting their purchases and shook his head.
"No," he replied plainly. "This is a forge. Metal is my trade."
Divya nodded, slightly disappointed.
"But," the blacksmith added, closing his ledger, "you can try the magic shop. It has a star like symbol ."
"That's where spellcasters usually go," he continued. "Wands, staffs, catalysts. Anything related to magic can be found there"
Rita glanced at Divya. "Sounds about right."
Divya smiled faintly. "At least we know where to look."
Once everything was settled, the blacksmith waved them off. "Dagger'll be ready when you return."
They stepped out of the forge, the door bell chiming behind them.
With new weapons at their sides and lighter coin pouches, the group turned down the street.
Ahead of them, rising above the rooftops, stood the towering silhouette they had been trying not to think about.
Myriad of Techniques.
Without speaking, they began walking in its direction.