When Gauss went out, he overheard townsfolk chatting about several knights on griffins having landed in Grayrock. At first he took it for rustic rumor and didn’t believe it—street gossip shouldn’t be swallowed whole; he often heard people boast they’d seen a dragon.
Only when he walked past the stable by the Adventurers’ Guild and saw, with his own eyes, those griffins fitted with gleaming barding and tack did it hit him: the talk he’d heard was true.
As wild monsters, griffins have a challenge rating of Level 2 and up. That might not sound high, but with flight and superb mobility, unless you can hard-lock their aggro, once they spread their wings most adventurers can only look up and sigh.
Tamed griffins painstakingly bred by humans and raised with immense resources usually far outstrip their wild kin in combat power.
At least to Gauss’s faint senses, those eagle-lion hybrids lying at rest radiated a pressure that was unusually intense.
It was like back when he was a bottom-tier adventurer and ran into that ghast at the docks—enemies he couldn’t yet handle.
He didn’t dwell on it. Just as he could now probably one-shot that ghoul that once sent them fleeing, he believed that in a little while his strength would surpass even these griffins.
He lingered beside the stable a moment longer, indulging his curiosity at the rare chance to see such creatures up close. Quite a few onlookers stood at a distance doing the same.
The griffins, eyes closed, dozed on, utterly indifferent to the gawkers.
“I’ll tell Alia on the way back—there are griffins to see here.”
After a bit, Gauss turned toward the Guild.
He wondered who owned the griffins, and how strong they were. He thought of Grayrock’s guildmaster, Eberhard, who also rode a griffin—though its size and tack were clearly superior to these. Perhaps there was a connection?
The first-floor hall was much quieter than usual: only a few adventurers murmured to each other, and they didn’t look like they were here to take jobs. They noticed Gauss come in, let their eyes rest on the badge at his chest for a beat, then looked away.
Not seeing anyone he knew downstairs, Gauss went straight up to the second floor. He was here to return books.
As a perk for professional-rank adventurers, he could borrow from the Guild library’s public stacks for free, and he came often.
He returned his books and borrowed a few new ones.
At the library door, he hesitated, then headed to the magic-items shop.
His gaze drifted over the longswords on display. He asked the clerk about prices, thanked her politely, and left.
He really did need to replace his weapon. But these ordinary-grade “magic items” were, in essence, just mundane goods with a simple enchanted effect; truly rare or higher-grade pieces simply couldn’t be found in a small-town shop.
He recalled seeing similar gear back when he worked at the forge. Likely the Guild shop sourced some of its weapons from local forges.
Of course, even the Guild shop’s most basic wares were already the best most smithies could produce.
Rarer weapons require enchanters or arrays; forging technique and special materials alone won’t cut it.
After pricing things at the Guild, he decided to go straight to the Black Anvil Forge and skip the middleman.
Heading out, he glanced at the griffins again as he passed the stable, then turned toward the forge.
The Forge’s steady rhythm grew louder with each step. The air was noticeably warmer; even the snow at the threshold had melted thinner.
The apprentice minding the counter looked vaguely familiar to Gauss, but he couldn’t place a name—perhaps one of the ones who’d quietly snubbed him when he worked here.
The other clearly didn’t recognize him either. Or rather, compared to a year or two ago, Gauss had changed so completely he was almost a different person.
Spotting the two-star bronze badge on Gauss’s chest, the apprentice stiffened and spoke with strained respect. “Sir, how may I help you?”
Seeing the kid so on edge, Gauss felt no urge to “get even.” The original Gauss might have nursed grudges against those aloof coworkers and fantasized about lording it over them someday, but to him now those memories had faded into trivialities.
He simply stated his purpose. “Do you have magic-item-grade weapons for sale?”
“Y-yes! I’ll fetch the master at once!” A deal this big was far above an apprentice’s pay grade.
In fact, the moment this vaguely familiar, young two-star adventurer walked in, he’d wanted to run to the back and get the boss. Important guests were always served by the owner himself.
An apprentice might feel a smidge superior to the poorest bottom-tier adventurers, but that evaporated the instant a professional with a badge walked in.
“Master Gron, a distinguished guest!”
Gron Bates stepped out from the forge.
As always, he wore a black hardened-leather apron; a black eyepatch covered his left eye, and his exposed right held its habitual edge.
When he saw who it was, a flicker crossed his otherwise impassive face.
“Long time no see, Gauss. So you’re a bronze adventurer now?” His gaze dropped to Gauss’s chest. “And two stars, at that—”
“Yes, Master Gron.” Gauss smiled and nodded. “Didn’t Senior Andeni tell you?”
He’d thought Gron would already know—after all, it was Gron who’d sent him to the Thorn Cottage, where he’d met the halfling mage Andeni; the two had been teammates once, and she’d known early on he’d advanced.
“That one… hasn’t been in touch for a long time.” Gron sounded unconcerned—speaking of an old teammate as if of a stranger.
The apprentice listened, frowning in thought. The name “Gauss” rang uncomfortably familiar, and the man gave him a nagging sense of déjà vu.
That made no sense… How would he know a professional?
Using the pretext of tidying shelves, he stole a closer look.
The young man was tall and well-proportioned—no rock-hewn bulk like Gron’s, but an inwardly coiled strength. A brand-new plain black mage’s robe draped over broad shoulders; wide sleeves fell like raven wings.
His hair was ink-black, neatly cropped; a few stray locks hung over a smooth brow and the sides of his neck.
His face drew the eye: handsome but not delicate, carrying that quiet, mysterious air unique to spellcasters.
The apprentice narrowed his eyes.
“Congratulations,” Gron said frankly. “When you came last time I thought you had talent, but your speed still exceeded expectations.”
Two stars was still weak in his eyes, but at this pace Gauss would certainly surpass the likes of his former peers.
“I owe it to your help back then,” Gauss said sincerely. It had been Gron who first opened the door to the world of professionals for him.
Gron shook his head. “You should thank me—thank me for not forcing you to stay when you left. Otherwise the world would have one more useless apprentice and one less capable mage.” He gave a wry smile. “You’re here for a weapon, right? Those cheap things out front aren’t for you anymore. Come with me.”
They headed to the back. The apprentice chewed on Gron’s last line.
I didn’t force you to stay when you left…
Suddenly, a flash of lightning across his mind!
The name “Gauss” snapped into place and memories cracked through like breaking ice.
Him! That inconspicuous black-haired kid!
He swallowed, dizzy, the world turning unreal. Watching Gauss’s tall, straight back recede, he felt a rush of fidgety discomfort.
“He… probably doesn’t remember me, right?”
In the back room, the weapon selection matched Gauss’s hunch: some of the Guild shop’s stock did come from here. Compared to Guild prices, each piece was cheaper by several dozen silver.
“Master Gron, may I cast Identify?” Gauss had just learned the spell and wanted to try it.
Gron nodded casually. Adventuring parties often brought a mage to identify purchases; he was used to it.
Gauss drew his bone wand. Light kindled at its tip, and an unseen aura washed over the longsword before him.
Soon the sword in his sight glowed with a white halo faintly laced with blue.
… ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel※fire.net
Fine-Steel One-Handed Sword
Grade: common magic item (white)
Description: A fine-steel one-hander repeatedly folded and forged to burn out impurities, with a dash of light, wind-conductive wind-vein stone grit mixed in. Subtle natural wind-runes seem to have formed along the blade, reducing air resistance during a swing.
He cast Identify on the other one-handers. Embarrassingly, he botched a few—no idea if Gron noticed.
The others also showed white light tinged with pale blue in his vision, each with its own effect: reinforced, weighted, faint illumination, slow self-repair…
After a moment’s thought, Gauss chose the first sword—the one that reduced drag.
Less resistance meant faster strikes and a bit less effort mowing down fodder.
It was pricey, though: 6 gold. A plain longsword cost only a few dozen silver—ten-plus times cheaper.
He guessed the gap came from the complexity of the craft and from that pinch of “wind-vein stone” in the description.
Wind-vein stone—remember that. He tucked the material’s name away. If mere grit was this expensive, it had to be good stuff; maybe he’d find some in the wild.
That’s the value of Identify: without it, you’d walk past many rare resources in the field without ever knowing.
He’d have to practice and raise his success rate. Out on the road, whenever he came across unfamiliar plants or ores, he’d try Identifying them—who knew what surprises might turn up.
Still, the spellbook had warned that Identify’s results track with the caster’s knowledge: it gives solid info on basic items, but the rarer the object, the fuzzier the result if you lack the background—sometimes it fails outright.
So besides practicing the spell, he needed to read more.
After a few more words with Gron, Gauss pocketed the fine-steel sword and headed out, careful not to take up more of the man’s time.
Oddly, the apprentice at the counter had vanished.
Aren’t you minding the shop?
Puzzled, he glanced outside—no customers approaching—so he let it go.
Only after Gauss left did a figure cautiously emerge from a heap of junk by the door, watch his retreating back, and exhale in relief.
For a single adventurer like Gauss, the year-end festival didn’t carry much special meaning. To keep things simple, he and Alia decided to have the holiday meal at his place—just the two of them for now.
He’d stopped by the Thorn Cottage; the halfling mage Andeni was away again. She was supposedly retired, yet she still disappeared from time to time; Gauss had gotten used to it.
Sophia’s inn still had a few out-of-towners staying through the holiday, so she had to mind the counter and would come later.
In Gauss’s kitchen he shrugged off his robe and tied on an apron; Alia helped at his side.
Together they turned out a small spread: pan-seared salt pork ribs, hearty vegetable soup, herb-roasted chicken, soft rolls, honey-baked apples, and a light ale…
Nothing extravagant for people in their line of work, but especially warm and cozy.
They ate and traded recent odd news as Ulfen and Echo demolished their own feast of roasted and stewed meats in the sitting room.
Outside, every house blazed with light. Streets dripped with decorations; celebratory bonfires roared, driving back the deep-winter cold and thickening the holiday air.
In the central square a giant bonfire was lit, and townsfolk gathered of their own accord.
After dinner, Gauss and Alia changed into plain clothes and met up with the later-arriving Sophia and her clerk Winnie, then headed to the square together.
People queued to toss copper coins or slivers into the New Year bonfire—an ancient tradition of the Kingdom of Carlos, symbolizing the burning away of last year’s ill luck and praying for fortune in the next.
They followed suit, then watched a song-and-dance program put on by the town hall.
Time slipped by amid laughter and cheers.