Herald of death

None of the bystanders seem to react to the window appearing in front of Ethan. 'So, the system is very much a thing on this side too,' he mentally notes.

Garrett jumps to his feet before unsheathing his sword. He yells, "You're dead!" He runs, screaming at the top of his lungs.

'Tackle,' Ethan thinks, and Russ bites Garrett at the ankle, dragging it backward. Garrett's face crashes on the stone pavement. His sword escapes his grip and tumbles a few meters away.

'This situation is too complex. I can't kill them, or other bandits will replace them. And I can't let them be, or they will be a thorn in my side until I leave,' Ethan thinks. The three other deserters draw their blades. Ethan asks loudly, "Old man. Are those the only people able to protect this village from monsters?"

"Yes, the Ranger we had was killed a few months ago," the old man answers.

'Russ, place,' Ethan mentally orders as he points to the old man's bench. Russ runs to sit on the bench. Ethan draws the Starfell kingdom's long sword from his haversack. The young man, the one the deserters were bothering, gasps at the sight of the blade. 'Silent steps, strengthening,' Ethan thinks, drawing slivers of Ether from the air.

The deserters gang up on him, throwing themselves at Ethan in disorganized unison. Ethan dashes to the side, grabbing one of them by the face. He hurls his victim's skull at the pavement, knocking him out instantly.

A deserter swings his blade, trying to hit Ethan in the head. With a flick of the wrist, Ethan deflects the blow with his own sword. Ethan reverses his blades to pommel his opponent's chest. The force of the blow lifts the deserter into the air, forcing him to throw up his stomach's contents.

The last deserter hesitates, taking small steps backward. He turns his back to Ethan and runs through the crowd. Ethan grabs Garrett's purse and throws it. The mass of coins hits the coward on the head and explodes in a shower of copper. He falls forward, tumbling to the ground.

"Do you have a prison, a cell, or even crates for animals?" Ethan asks the old man.

He points at a decrepit building at the edge of town. It's built like a small square fort, with bars blocking the lower-floor windows. "We have an old guard house, but no one has used it for years," he answers.

Ethan swiftly moves to tie up the incapacitated deserters with their own belts. With the help of a few braver villagers, they drag the unconscious men to the decrepit guard house. The building is old and worn, the windows' bars are rusted, and the heavy wooden door creaks ominously.

The cells are small, each with just enough room for a wooden bench and a rusted iron bucket. Ethan and the villagers heave each deserter into a separate cell, locking the doors with a clang of metal.

As the villagers leave the building, a shiver spreads through Ethan's body. He comes back to his senses, as if exiting a trance in which he was but a mere spectator. He grabs a bucket left in the corner of the main room and pukes parts of his meal. He just displayed his abilities, acting as a hero to save some miserable old man.

Russ emits a muffled bark towards the building's entrance. Ethan sees a strand of blond hair protruding from the corner of a wall. "What do you want, kid?" he asks, recognizing through the wall the figure of the young man who gasped at the sight of his sword.

"Hiii," the young man begins. He enters the room with a sidestep. "I just wanted to know if you could let me see the sword you used," he says.

Ethan grabs a left-over cloth to clean the corners of his mouth. "Why?" he asks.

The young man shuffles his feet, looking nervous yet determined. "Because I've never seen a blade like that one, I don't even know what metal was used to make it. And I'd like to learn how to make one like that," he explains.

'Insight,' Ethan thinks, summoning the boy's status.

Sylas Hartwell

Lv.15/24 (Blacksmith) Human

Strength: 15 Charisma: 9

Dexterity: 15 Perception: 13

Constitution: 15 Willpower: 13

Intelligence: 12

Talents

Greater potential

Rapid growth

Titles

Bright steel artisan

Iron artisan

Leather artisan

Steel artisan

Abilities

Elemental forging (F)

Heat resistance (E)

Identification (E)

Reverse engineering (E)

"Sylas, right?" Ethan says, locking eyes with the young man. "You have quite the skill set. How are you at such a high level at your age when those who fight monsters are only around level eight?" he asks, motioning toward the cells.

Sylas looks perplexed. "I mean, I level up by crafting anything the people need. Like any other craftsman," he explains as if it were obvious.

Ethan's expression softens. "I see. That explains your interest in my sword," he says. He gently pulls the Starfell sword from the haversack. "I'll let you examine it if you give me a sheath for it and what I need to carry it on my belt," Ethan says.

Sylas nods eagerly, his eyes fixed on the sword with curiosity. "Of course, I can do that," he responds, gesturing for Ethan to follow him. "I have everything you need at my forge."

They walk through the streets, turning down a narrow lane that leads to the outskirts. The forge is a standalone structure near the edge of the village. The smoke of its smelter blackened its exterior walls.

As they enter, the heat hits Ethan like a wave. The interior is lit by the glow of the remaining coals in the forge. It illuminates the tools, metal scraps, and several unfinished projects. An anvil stands at the center, surrounded by tongs, hammers, and chisels of various sizes.

Sylas leads Ethan to a workbench strewn with leather pieces and metal fittings. "I'll start by making the sheath," Sylas says, selecting a thick piece of leather. His hands move with practiced ease as he measures, cuts, and stitches the material.

As he works, Ethan places the Starfell sword on another part of the bench, allowing Sylas a closer look. He glances around the forge. Most of Sylas projects are horseshoes, saddles, saws, pickaxes, shovels, and other tools. "You must not work on many weapons around here," he says, still looking around.

Without lifting his gaze Sylas answers, "Except the guys you beat up, no one needs any weapons. And I won't make any for deserters and thieves. Last time I made a sword, it was with my father for an order coming from the capital." His tone hints at boredom.

Ethan uses predator's sight to scan the building but finds no other living being. "Your father is a blacksmith too?" he asks.

"Was," Sylas answers. He locks in metal fittings to keep the sheath straight. Sylas presents its creation to Ethan with a look of satisfaction.

Ethan sheaths and unsheathes the sword several times without any resistance. Yet, it doesn't move inside when he shakes the ensemble. "Great job," he praises as he hands it to Sylas for him to study the blade.

Sylas accepts the sheathed sword with reverent care. He gently unsheathes the Starfell sword, the metal gleaming even in the dim light of the forge. His fingers trace the intricate etchings in the blade, a look of awe on his face. "This is unlike anything I've ever seen," Sylas murmurs. "The balance, the weight distribution, the way Ether flows through it." He cautiously swings the sword, feeling its weight and movement. "Identification," he says, summoning the sword's description before him.

'Even if it blows my cover, I should ask him all my questions,' Ethan thinks. He pulls out a dungeon stone from his haversack and asks, "Do you know what this is?"

Sylas glances at it before looking at Ethan, a look of confusion on his face. "That's a dungeon stone. A fragment of the elder god power that guides adventurers to the place they are most needed," he explains. His tone is a mix of obvious explanation and curiosity.

Ethan's mind clouds, filling with growing pain as he's thrown into one of Maelor's memories.