The old Demon Hunter looked at Lann’s smile, and couldn’t help but pause.
Then, as if suddenly coming to his senses, he shook his head.
"Damn it, what the hell... Don’t smile at me in the future!"
Lann shrugged indifferently, dismounted, and walked towards Belengar.
"That’s the first time I’ve heard an employee make such a request to their boss."
"Fair enough. So tell me, old man. How’s the job going? If I’m not satisfied, no paycheck."
Lann teased the old Demon Hunter whose face was covered in coal dust.
Belengar found a towel to wipe his face, tilted his head, and spat on the ground.
"Tch~ As you said, the technique for forging this steel isn’t complicated. I finished researching it in about two weeks."
"But it’s still that problem; I need Magic assistance."
"I estimate the Magic Power required for this steel isn’t massive, nor is the magic complex. But I’m just a Demon Hunter; if you want me to lift a curse, I’ve got it down, but parsing spells... you get it, right?"
"Got it," Lann nodded understandingly. "That’s why I brought you the parsed spell."
Lann pulled a piece of parchment from his armor pocket and handed it to Belengar.
The old Demon Hunter accepted it suspiciously.
"Forging this rough stuff is one thing, but can you really complete such precise work like parsing spells within a few weeks... Damn it!"
The spell wasn’t long, and given the general technical level of Demon Hunters, it wasn’t tongue-twisting either.
So Belengar glanced at it and memorized it.
And as the spell was firmly imprinted in his mind, the whole piece of parchment seemed to have triggered some condition, suddenly catching fire.
In the blink of an eye, not even ashes remained.
Lann stood on the side with his arms crossed, smirking.
"How about it? This is the real Mana of a Dean Airetusa-level Warlock."
Actually, after Lann revealed the spell for reforging Valerian Steel to Margaret, the Female Warlock completed it in less than half a day.
The secret of Valerian Steel crafting also displayed itself in front of them after the spell was parsed.
During the casting of this steel, besides Magic Power and materials, the key component—blood containing Magic Power—was needed.
According to Lady Margarita’s analysis, whose magic history scores were quite good, this technology originated from primitive blood sacrifice rituals.
After being refined and modified from the primitive gore, it evolved into a spell.
"Quite simple, right?"
Lann spread his hands towards Belengar, who nodded repeatedly, seemingly inspired by it.
"It’s very simple, but if there weren’t professional assistance, just relying on a Demon Hunter, we’d never fathom this spell in our lifetimes."
"Indeed, experts are the remedy for most woes... How long until you can produce Valerian Steel, even if it’s just a trial piece?"
The young man queried about the progress of the reproduction project.
Belengar rubbed his chin, estimating a timeframe.
"To output... It’ll take at least two weeks."
"Alright, I hoped to wield a Valerian Steel Sword for a spin."
"Then you’ll have to wait. The first one I’m definitely keeping for myself!"
The obsession Demon Hunters have with weapons and armor is inevitable; these people living by violence and bloodshed find it difficult to have a sense of security.
And because of that, they are inevitably obsessed with weapons and equipment as their lifeline assurance. Even someone like Belengar who is determined to retire, if given the chance, would certainly mount a display for weapons and armor in his house.
Saying this, Lann reluctantly pulled a money pouch from his back waist, hesitantly handing it to Belengar.
The old Demon Hunter took it without hesitation; even sensing Lann’s reluctance, he adamantly pulled the pouch from the young man’s hand.
"Tch tch tch..." Belengar smirked, his expression as a fellow seasoned person, easily saw through Lann’s embarrassment.
"Low on cash, huh? Spending freely after earning a tidy sum, right? Don’t pull that face, all Demon Hunters act this way after closing their first big deal."
"Look at your arm armor, masterwork piece, must have cost a pretty penny, you’re really daring. Demon Hunters always think they’ll earn more on their next job, so they spend lavishly. I’ll bet, with the proud expression you had just when you got back, even without that face, you’d have tavern girls flocking to you in Vizima!"
Belengar weighed the money pouch up and down, the crisp clink of coins inside made Lann feel even worse.
"Hurts, doesn’t it? Damn right, it does! This is an old-timer teaching you to take life lightly! Come on, let’s drink, my treat."
While drinking, Lann found out Margaret had come by the last time, directly paid a year’s rent, and booked the guest rooms in the inn entirely.
This level of extravagance left the Demon Hunters all speechless.
"If I were you, I’d retire right away!"
Belengar said, his face like a palette of envy, jealousy, and hatred.
Yet Lann, the target of his emotions, remained calm.
"I know it would be easy... But I just can’t do it! What can I do?!"
"Alright, young ones who haven’t undergone genuine impoverishment just don’t learn! But you look good..."
Belengar gloomily downed his cup of rye vodka.
"Even if things with Margaret blew over, there’s still Triss in Vizima."
"Hey, don’t talk about people like they’re some kind of safety net."
Lann set down his cup, protesting to Belengar.
The old Demon Hunter was unfazed.
"Yeah, she’s not some ’safety net,’ she’s one of Temeria’s hotshots right now. But to say she isn’t interested in you? What royal advisor would travel to this godforsaken lakeside village every week without using a transport portal?"
"You say she comes by every week? For me?"
Lann seemed a bit stunned.
He always carried the cone-shaped crystal used for communication; if he came near Vizima, Triss should be able to sense it.
The only explanation is... Did Margaret kick Triss out from the ’contact list’ of the cone-shaped crystal?
The hidden conflict between Female Warlocks left Lann slightly agitated; he really lacked experience, just instinctively feeling he shouldn’t get involved in this muddy water unless he wanted trouble.
A kind of survival instinct peculiar to men.
"Does Triss come over to chat with you? Any recent news?"
Lann swiftly shifted the topic to the two subjects men drinking always discuss—history and politics.
Sure enough, Belengar’s interest perked up fast.
But limited by his horizon and educational experience, among a pile of not very nutritious insights, only one left an impression on Lann.
"Veltrest’s spy conveyed that Sintra’s Lioness—Calanthe—intends to marry her granddaughter, Shirela, to Prince Viden. To strengthen alliance relations against Niflgaard."
Although it’s just intent, in such kingdom cooperation intentions, as long as no issues arise between kingdoms, involved parties have no right to object.
This princess from Sintra is probably going to become Prince Viden’s wife.
Lann paid attention to this news because of his external claim, ’Lann of Sintra.’
Meanwhile, his sharp instinct also caught a latent message—
The influence of the Niflgaard Empire hasn’t been sensed much in Temeria yet, but it’s already made its Northern neighbors uneasy to such an extent.
Atmospheres sometimes reflect a trend.
This tale of alliance marriage had Lann smell the scent of blood and steel.
He hoped it was the illusion of a foreigner.