"You said you haven't properly learned blacksmithing, right?" the old lady asked.

  Shun nodded. "Yea."

  BLAG.

  The old lady dropped a thick book right in front of him.

  Pages thick as her two thumbs.

  Shun leaned back a little.

  “The hell is this.”

  Shun was taken aback a little.

  "These are some of the basics in blacksmithing," the old lady said. "I wanted to teach you properly, but... at my age… I can’t handle working the forge anymore."

  Shun didn’t waste a second, he grabbed the book and flipped it open.

  Started reading right there, standing in the smithy with dust still settling on the cover.

  The old lady watched him for a moment… Watched his eyes move across the pages, then smiled softly.

  Before turning away and heading back toward her house.

  "I'll leave you be, then."

  Shun closed the book. Set it on the table beside him.

  “Let's see.”

  He looked around the smithy.

  “I need this… this one… ohh—this one too… what else…”

  He grabbed that hammer, that tongs over there, that chunk of ore on the shelf.

  He stood there for a second.

  Shun rubbed his chin lightly, gaze sweeping the cluttered workspace.

  “Hmm…”

  The old lady stepped out the door.

  Click.

  She locked the smithy behind her, fingers lingering on the handle a second too long.

  “Please… be safe,” she whispered.

  Then she slowly made her way back toward her house.

  A thought came to her.

  Finally… someone had come.

  Someone who might fulfill the promise they failed to keep.

  On their behalf.

  You could see it in her eyes.

  Hope.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Then—

  THUD.

  Her heart slammed against her chest.

  “—urk…”

  Her hand flew to her chest, fingers curling tight into the fabric.

  She ran.

  Fast as her old legs could carry her. Back toward the house. Back toward—

  BLAG.

  She slammed the door shut behind her.

  Just by looking at her… you could tell she was suffering.

  Hand still pressed to her chest. Face pale. Breathing shallow.

  She passed the living room—

  —and saw Dumdum still eating.

  “…yo—you’re here…” the old lady muttered weakly.

  Dumdum blinked, then kept chewing.

  She locked the door behind her…

  …and immediately hurried toward her room.

  Did Dumdum care?

  Heckkk nooo.

  Crunch.

  Back at the smithy—

  Shun picked up some steel bars and whatever else he needed.

  The book stayed open beside him.

  He skimmed.

  “Err… start a fire…”

  Shun grabbed a crumpled bundle of dry straw and placed it at the center of the forge.

  Small charcoal pieces went on top… then larger chunks of coal circled around it.

  He clasped his hands together.

  “Ohh fire god… grant me your flame,” he muttered.

  Then—

  he slowly raised both arms… waving them like some overly dramatic priest mid-ritual.

  Then Shun suddenly giggled.

  He turned his head—

  Looked around for the hiding camera man.

  Right through the readers.

  “Pff. I’m just messing with y’all.”

  At the old lady’s room…

  Pain gripped her again, harder than before.

  Her body tensed—she clutched her chest, face twisting.

  Her breath caught—then ripped out as a screech.

  It lasted a few seconds.

  Then…

  just like that—

  the pain vanished.

  The old lady stayed still for a moment, breathing hard. Slowly… carefully… she pulled air back into her lungs.

  In.

  Out.

  A thin tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

  “…haa…”

  She steadied herself and reached for the sword resting inside her room, fingers tightening around the worn handle.

  Then she stepped outside her room.

  In the living room, Dumdum was already done eating—half-asleep and wobbling where he sat.

  The old lady gently patted his head.

  “You’ll be safe here…” she murmured.

  She turned toward the door.

  Stepped out.

  —and quietly locked it behind her.

  As soon as she stepped outside… you could feel it.

  The sky looked darker than usual.

  The wind pushed hard against the trees, whistling through the quiet village.

  One by one… the elders gathered.

  The old people from the village had gathered around.

  All of them.

  And yeah—all of them were old. Every single one.

  Each carried a weapon.

  Rust along the edges… worn grips… Some of them looked like they hadn’t tasted proper sharpening in years.

  Chief… we’re here…

  The old lady— their chief— gave a small nod.

  Her eyes swept across them.

  “…Who is it this time?” she asked quietly.

  A beat.

  Then—

  “…It’s Greyedge.”

  The air shifted.

  “…Him, huh,” someone muttered.

  Old Man Greyedge.

  The chief… and the rest of the villagers…

  slowly lifted their gaze—

  and stared at the statue.