In a world where war is the norm, venturing out without decent gear is as good as suicide.
The Blacksmith's Forge
A burly man hammered away with rhythmic clangs, shaping a bar of iron with practiced force.
Eric stood quietly nearby, watching for a long while. Only when the hammering paused and the blacksmith took a breather did he step forward.
"Good day. What brings you here, traveler?"
"Do you sell weapons? Or maybe armor?"
The blacksmith looked up and gave Eric a sideways glance.
"So… you're not from our town?"
"Then no. You can leave."
The blacksmith shook his head curtly.
Eric quickly added, "Wait! I'm willing to pay. Just name your price."
The blacksmith sighed, then turned back to him with a serious look. "It's not about money. No amount will do. Weapons and armor made in Bree are only for Bree folk. And even then, not just anyone can buy them."
He added pointedly, "If you're just looking for something to keep you from getting gutted out there, I'd suggest visiting the farm next door. They might sell you a hoe."
Eric blinked, and then the realization struck him.
Right. This wasn't a video game world where you could stroll into a shop and grab a full set of gear from the nearest merchant.
Here, weapons and armor were strategic resources. Not the sort of thing you could casually sell to some stranger claiming to be an 'adventurer.'
Especially not to someone with an unknown background.
"In that case… could you sell me some iron? Just a little. For, uh, research."
The blacksmith hesitated. "How much?"
Eric gestured with his hands to show a small chunk.
The blacksmith shook his head again.
Eric's expression soured.
If he had the right kind of metal, he could make his own equipment. But unlike in games where you could dig straight down and eventually hit a jackpot of ores—or even stumble into an underground cavern full of riches—real life wasn't that generous.
You couldn't just start mining wherever you liked.
"Hey there, friend. I couldn't help overhearing—looking to buy a few things?"
Both Eric and the blacksmith turned to see a ragged man with a tangled beard and messy hair stand up from behind a barrel, smiling at Eric.
Clearly, he'd been eavesdropping for a while.
"And you are?" Eric asked.
Before the man could answer, the blacksmith slammed his hammer down on the anvil and barked, "Get lost, you junk-peddling rat. Don't come sniffing around here!"
The man didn't even flinch. Still smiling, he said cheerfully, "Easy now, my friend. I was just passing through when I heard a conversation I might be able to help with…"
The blacksmith cut him off, "Don't give me that silver tongue nonsense. I'm warning you—don't test Bree's patience."
"Of course, of course! I'm always respectful of local customs!" the man said, still grinning.
"Three seconds. Out of my sight," the blacksmith snapped.
The blacksmith stood up, hefting his hammer ominously.
"Alright, alright, I'm going!" The stranger scurried back, shooting Eric a few glances as he retreated.
Eric looked from the man to the blacksmith, then shrugged and followed after the stranger.
The blacksmith's eyes followed him for a long time. Just before Eric disappeared down the street, the blacksmith called out, "Careful who you trust, adventurer."
Eric gave a silent nod in acknowledgment.
Once they reached a quieter alley, Eric asked, "What's your name?"
"I'm William. William the Scrapper, at your service."
"Yeah, that's what they call us. 'Scrappers.' It's not exactly a compliment. Local merchants see us as competition—junk dealers who buy and sell everything and anything. We're everywhere and nowhere. Travelers, tinkerers, bottom-feeders… pick your term."
William gave an exaggerated shrug. "Hey, I don't deny I deal in junk. But sometimes, hidden among the trash is exactly what someone's looking for."
"You think you have what I need?"
"Oh, I know what you need. Weapons. Armor. Something to keep the guts on the inside, yeah?"
"Follow me, good sir!" William said with a confident grin, leading him into a less traveled part of town.
Eric hesitated for a moment but followed anyway. The guy's confidence seemed genuine, and besides, Bree was chaotic enough that you never knew what you might find in its backstreets.
Before long, William brought him to a shadowy corner of the town—far from the busy main roads. The buildings here looked old and neglected. Vines crawled up their sides, cobwebs hung from the eaves, and the whole place felt like it had been forgotten by time.
Someone clearly still lived in these parts though. One of the doors creaked open, and a scruffy man stepped out. He glanced at William, then stared at Eric for an uncomfortably long time as he walked by, only closing his door once they were well past.
The door locked behind them.
"…This is your armory?" Eric asked, eyebrows raised as he looked around.
William beamed proudly. "Indeed!"
Eric's voice went cold. "You think I'm stupid? Or just easy to fool?"
He pointed at the small yard, filled with rusted swords, dented helmets, and armor so decayed it barely resembled its original form. "This is what you wanted to show me?"
He was seriously debating whether attacking a merchant counted as a crime here.
William quickly raised his hands defensively. "Please, good sir! I assure you, I'm a respectable trader. Everywhere—Bree or beyond—weapons and armor are strictly controlled. Selling them is no joke. You get caught, you're done for!"
"I had to pull a lot of strings to get these. And I promise you, no one else in this area has access to this kind of supply. You won't find better. Or any, for that matter."
He pulled out a rotting longsword and held it up with all the flair of a magician revealing his grand finale. "Look at this beauty! A bit rough around the edges, sure—but still useful! And if you strike someone with it, well… they won't be lasting long. Rust poisoning and all that!"
Eric took the sword with a skeptical look. The moment he touched it, a familiar screen popped up.
[Decayed Longsword – Attack +1]
He gave it a test swing, and a chunk immediately fell off the blade.
If he actually tried to fight with it, odds were the sword would break before it even scratched anyone.
A stick by the roadside would be a more reliable weapon.
He glanced over the rest of the yard—yep, everything here was junk of the same miserable quality.
No wonder Bree let this place exist. What was there to regulate?
Eric clicked his tongue in frustration and casually moved to toss the sword aside—
—but just as he raised his arm, a system message flashed into view.
[New Synthesis Recipe Unlocked]
[Reverse Smelter (new)]
Description: Maximizes material recovery.
Input: [Decayed Longsword] → Estimated Output: 50%–80% raw materials
Suddenly, that piece of junk in his hand didn't seem quite so worthless.